Bittersweet, my images of Bogey
Lately, I've been on a Bogart appreciation arc, from re-reading 'The Maltese Falcon' and 'The Big Sleep' with my own film adaptations running in my head--[in my versions, Mary Astor would not make an adequate femme fatale, and the censors would have cut 'The Big Sleep' to ribbons if the script had more resembled the book]--to watching every Bogart film I can stream on Netflix and Amazon Prime. I end-capped my journey by reading Stephen Bogart's biography of his father. He was eight years old when his father died, and his description of his search to know and remember Humphrey Bogart, the man, is funny, sweet and heartbreaking.
Here is the image that I've loved finding the most, Bogart [minus one ever-present hairpiece] with his tiny daughter Leslie. Things were so different back then--rather than protecting their children from photographers, movie stars loved putting forth the image of happy family men. In this case, I think it was true. From what I've read, I don't think Bogey could have faked that gleam in his eye. Leslie's memories must be even foggier than her brother's--she was only four when Bogart died.
Here is the image that I've loved finding the most, Bogart [minus one ever-present hairpiece] with his tiny daughter Leslie. Things were so different back then--rather than protecting their children from photographers, movie stars loved putting forth the image of happy family men. In this case, I think it was true. From what I've read, I don't think Bogey could have faked that gleam in his eye. Leslie's memories must be even foggier than her brother's--she was only four when Bogart died.
