The treatment basically consists of removing anything that would suggest the movie was ever shot on film, instead making it look like a video game somebody opted to do in black & white. If this kind of radical do-over becomes the standard for upgrading older films, we’re in for a long, bleak future.

The grain is gone and there’s no sense of movement of film through a gate, which makes everything look too firmly etched. That might not sound like a big deal, and might even sound like a good thing, but the look of projected film was always taken into account when these movies were shot and is now being ignored, which is one of the reasons backdrops often look laughably fake in HDR transfers. The view out Sam Spade’s office window now looks like a diorama from It’s a Small World, with any illusion of depth shattered. And the HDR enhancement of the neon signs on the cardboard cutout buildings is so bright they look like Christmas ornaments hanging just on the other side of the panes.

Everything feels cold and plastic, especially the people. The Victor Laszlo action-figure look is most obvious on Spade’s partner, Miles Archer, who looks like he has Naugahyde skin and forehead furrows brushed in with model-airplane paint. Peter Lorre passed out on Spade’s couch looks like a ventriloquial figure. No one is spared—it’s all a matter of degree.

And, yes, some of the shots feel three-dimensional but since they were never meant to look that way, it’s kind of the equivalent of teaching your dog to tap out “Chopsticks” on the piano—kind of cool the first time you experience it but ultimately little more than a Stupid Pet Trick.

All of which raises the question of, who or what is this kind of brazen makeover meant to serve? It can’t really be argued it’s in the best interests of the film, because it runs roughshod over the whole aesthetic of the original creation. It could be argued it’s intended to make films like this one more accessible to people accustomed to the precise, antiseptic look of the digital world—but that sounds like the same kind of crap you hear in defense of colorization, and I have serious doubts whether either form of egregious meddling attracts enough people to justify the desecration.

I think it comes down to they do it because they can, and damn the consequences.

The Maltese Falcon isn’t John Huston’s best film—that would be The Asphalt Jungle—but it’s the one that put him on the map, and its cheeky tone and often arch performances still work remarkably well. Bogart’s Spade is more than a bit of a bully and creep, indulging in more than a little smiling sadism, but he does make it all feel true to the character. His take on Hammett’s detective also helps to underline the huge distance between Spade and Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe. People often confuse the two—partly because Bogart played both—but Marlowe followed a core code of honor (“Down these means streets a man must go . . .”) and never would have done anything like fool around with his partner’s wife (or even have a partner).

The Sidney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, Elisha Cook Jr. ensemble of bumbling rogues has of course become iconic and it’s enjoyable to watch their outsized, genre-defining performances and appreciate where it all began.

I assume partly for budgetary reasons (this was a Warner Bros. production, after all), a little too much of the movie plays out in Spade’s apartment, which can make it feel stagey and claustrophobic, but Huston makes the limitations work to his advantage, creating a decent amount of action through cutting, tone, and stage business. The film remains surprisingly brisk and engaging, managing to avoid most of the stuffier conventions of the time.

One quibble before I wrap this up, because it’s become pervasive. Kaleidescape labels The Maltese Falcon a film noir. It’s not. Almost all the “dark” little movies, usually with a crime element, that people like to call noir don’t qualify for the tag at all. (Going there is just trendy laziness, like constantly leaning on “iteration” to say “version” or “variation,” or mangling “deconstruction.”) Every film noir is drenched in paranoia and in some way revolves around a cocky, deluded schnook. That doesn’t pertain here at all. Falcon can be called a crime drama or a mystery or even a thriller, but it has none of the trappings of noir. (The genre wouldn’t even be born until three years later with Chandler and Wilder’s take on Double Indemnity.)

By all means watch The Maltese Falcon in 4K HDR, but just about any of the earlier home releases, despite—or because of—their flaws, is far more likely to convey what Huston and his collaborators intended and what drew audiences to the film in the first place. I’m not saying higher-res transfers can’t be done well—“4K HDR Essentials” features more than a dozen classic films that have benefited significantly from the upgrade. And it’s not that old black & white movies can’t benefit as well—just look at Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt. This is an issue of taste, not technology, of shameless pandering prevailing over any respect for the material.