From Vanity Fair, Feb. 19, 2016:
A BIRD IN HAND
Left, one of Hank Risan’s two plaster statuettes.; right, a still from The Maltese Falcon, with Humphrey Bogart admiring the elusive Falcon statuette. Digital Colorization by Lorna Clark; Left, by Paul Schraub/The Collection of Hank Risan;
Right, from the Everett Collection.
A statuette from the John Huston–Humphrey Bogart classic The Maltese Falcon
is one of the most recognizable, and sought-after, pieces of movie
memorabilia in history. In fact, Steve Wynn paid $4.1 million for it.
But was it the genuine article? Bryan Burrough tracks down a flock of
Falcons, with links to both Leonardo DiCaprio and a famous Hollywood
unsolved murder.
“What is it?”
“The stuff that dreams are made of.”
“Huh.”
—A cop asking Sam Spade about the Maltese Falcon in the final scene of
the 1941 film.
Along with the ruby slippers Judy Garland wore in The Wizard of Oz and Orson Welles’s “Rosebud” sled, which burns in the final frames of Citizen Kane,
there is probably no more iconic item of Hollywood memorabilia than the
Maltese Falcon, the black statuette that Humphrey Bogart, as detective
Sam Spade, tracked down in John Huston’s classic film of the same name.
Lost
to history for decades, it resurfaced in the 1980s in the hands of a
Beverly Hills oral surgeon, and beginning in 1991 traveled the world as
part of a Warner Bros. retrospective, with stops at the Centre Pompidou,
in Paris, the Museum of Modern Art, in New York, and elsewhere. In 2013
it was offered for sale by Bonhams auction house. There was talk it
might go for $1 million or more. But at the auction in Bonhams’s Madison
Avenue showroom on November 25, 2013, the bidding quickly passed $1
million, then $2 million, then $3 million. Spectators gasped as a bidder
in the audience dueled with one on the telephone, driving the price
higher and higher.
Only
when the bidding reached $3.5 million did the bidder in the crowd
surrender, sending the Falcon to the man on the phone, who was later
revealed to represent Steve Wynn, the Las Vegas hotel and casino
billionaire. With the buyer’s premium, the total price came to a
stunning $4.1 million. The crowd burst into applause. The auctioneers
wheeled out a tub of champagne bottles to celebrate.
And with good
reason. It was one of the highest prices ever paid for a piece of movie
memorabilia, and two of the others were for cars: the original
Batmobile, which had sold for $4.6 million earlier that year, and the
Aston Martin Sean Connery drives in Goldfinger. News of the
Falcon sale was carried on the network news and in newspapers around the
world. Today it sits, along with a pair of Picassos, a Matisse, and a
Giacometti sculpture, in a meeting room in Wynn’s Las Vegas villa.
That
is the official version of what happened to the Maltese Falcon. But it
is just one chapter in a complex tale. It turns out there is another,
far stranger version, and another Falcon, several more in fact. And this
version, which draws in characters as diverse as Leonardo DiCaprio and
the woman butchered in one of Hollywood’s greatest unsolved murders,
constitutes a real-life mystery every bit as bizarre as the one Sam
Spade confronted on film.
Flight of Fancy
Hank Risan, the protagonist of this
noir thriller, is as unlikely as the tale he has to tell. A sinewy,
60-year-old Internet entrepreneur, he works out of three modest office
suites in downtown Santa Cruz, the Northern California surfing mecca. In
Silicon Valley, Risan is best known for creating a massive library of
computer-generated copies of popular songs, including the entire Beatles
catalogue. When he took them online in 2009, selling individual
downloads for a quarter, the EMI record label promptly sued to shut him
down. (Risan settled without admission of liability for $950,000.)
His
second business is a software start-up that Risan, using the shopworn
promotional language of entrepreneurs everywhere, swears will
“revolutionize” computer security. He says he is working with everyone
from the Internal Revenue Service to the National Security Agency to put
his software on government and corporate computers. In the start-up’s
office, though, I see only a single employee working beneath whiteboards
covered with calculations.
What one can say for certain is that,
whatever the success of his business ventures, Risan is one of the
country’s leading collectors of rare guitars. When he put nearly 300 of
them up for auction two years ago, Guitar Aficionado termed it
an “immaculate collection,” a “staggering” assemblage featuring
instruments used by the likes of Eric Clapton, Mick Jagger, and Stephen
Stills. Its centerpiece, still in Risan’s hands, is an 1835 Martin long
owned by Mark Twain. In 1999 Risan played a Stephen Foster song on it on
National Public Radio.
Dozens of guitars are on display at
Risan’s home, a tidy urban compound packed to the rafters with modern
art and collectibles, including a Warhol screenprint, and Risan’s latest
obsession, antique British chess sets. We enter past a Jaguar in the
carport, into a small room hung with graffiti-inspired paintings. “This
is my Banksy room,” Risan says, taking a moment to explain the stories
behind several of them.
Through the next door is a courtyard with a
glassed-in guesthouse, a workshop where Risan’s assistant is busy
restoring an antique guitar, a conversation pit, and a hot tub sitting
under a set of bison horns.
We turn away from all this, stepping into the bungalow, then through a kitchen into a dining area.
“And in here,” Risan says with a flourish, “I might as well show it to you first. This is my Falcon.”
Suddenly
here it is, plopped down in the middle of an antique chessboard like a
massive rook, a foot-high black statuette of a falcon. The hunched,
brooding shoulders are instantly recognizable.
There is a long moment of silence.
“This is the thing dreams are made of,” Risan announces....MUCH MORE
HT: The Paris Review's "Remember to Authenticate Your Falcon, and Other News"