Ever Wonder Who My Favorite Screen Mike Hammer Is?

June 30th, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

I guess I haven’t talked as much about Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer here as you might expect. But my pal Andrew Sumner – also my editor in the UK at Titan Books – sent me this fun audience-recorded clip of Ray Gelato and his band performing “Harlem Nocturne,” which was the theme of the Mike Hammer TV show. It’s a lovely job of it.

For Andrew and a lot of Hammer fans, the entry point for Mickey and Mike seems to be the three TV series and the various TV movies starring Stacy Keach, which were the last time Hammer hit the popular culture hard in the late twentieth century, a time when Mike Hammer ruled until James Bond came along, an imitator of sorts who usurped the original. Stacy was Mike starting in 1983 and as late as 1998 (not counting the early 2000’s audios I did with him).

You might expect my entry point to have been the novels themselves, and I started reading those and Mickey’s other books at a very young age. But my introduction to Hammer was through the 1958-1959 syndicated series starring Darren McGavin. Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer was a tough show with episodes written by various pulp writers and adapted from pulp stories with McGavin extraordinarily hardhitting and violent with just enough tongue-in-cheek humor to get past the censors despite the bevy of sexy ‘50s starlets who also inhabited the series.

Pat Chambers was present, played mostly by Bart Burns, but Velda – mentioned a few times – was not. (In my fannish mind she was absent because, in the books, she disappeared behind the Iron Curtain for a decade or so.) At times, in interviews, McGavin disowned the character, but the persona he developed on the series was one he carried with him into The Outsider, The Night Stalker and countless other TV appearances post-Hammer.

The series was mostly shot on the Republic backlot but with enough location shooting in NYC to sell it. McGavin was a great Hammer, though Mickey was unhappy that a .38 replaced the trademark .45. Part of what made McGavin work for viewers at a time when Spillane himself was a big media figure was McGavin’s physical resemblance to the character’s creator.

Check out this complete rendition by Martin of the full Riff Blues/Hammer theme, with some cool images.

Hammer on screen was always a problem. The first-person nature of the novels meant that everybody had a mental image of who this tough private eye was. That included Mickey, who didn’t think the original screen Mike Hammer, the still underrated Biff Elliot, was big enough. Mickey lobbied for his cop pal Jack Stang, who did a test film directed by Mickey and whose image appeared as Hammer here and there in the mid-‘50s.

But Stang was no actor. In the film Ring of Fear (1954), Stang was implied to be Hammer under an alias, but it was Mickey playing himself – famous mystery writer Mickey Spillane – who seemed like Hammer come to life.

That led to Mickey taking over the role in the first movie following McGavin’s TV run, The Girl Hunters (1962). Though not everyone agrees with me, I’ve always felt Mickey did a terrific job, and one that was actually compatible with McGavin’s take. Mickey also fit in well with the other accurate screen Hammer, the aforementioned Biff Elliot, who was the first motion-picture Mike in I, the Jury (1953).

Already you may have noticed there’s a small army of actors who have portrayed Hammer. Ian Fleming was lucky the producers of Dr. No (also 1962) stumbled onto Sean Connery. And a question I am often asked is: who’s your favorite Hammer on screen?

First, let’s rule Mickey out. Obviously he’s my sentimental favorite – The Girl Hunters (1963) is the most faithful to the character and the novels, and Mickey was and is Mike Hammer, so let’s set that aside.

Who are Hammer actors that are not favorite Hammers of mine? Robert Bray is physically correct but overacts blusteringly throughout the rather dismal My Gun Is Quick (1957). A bare-headed Brian Keith played Hammer well enough in the abortive pilot that preceded the McGavin series; but he’s not really Hammer. Kevin Dobson in Margin for Murder (1981) was just okay (Cindy Pickett was badly miscast as Velda). Rob Estes was Hammer in name only in Come Die With Me (1994).

Now it gets tricky.

Ralph Meeker is the best big-screen Mike Hammer, but his take – and director Robert Aldrich’s and screenwriter A.I. Bezzerides’ – is so counter to Spillane’s intention as to be irrelevant to this discussion. Meeker and Kiss Me Deadly (1955) are oranges while we are discussing apples. I love the movie – it’s my favorite Hammer film by a country mile – but it sits in a niche of its own, the anti-Spillane movie that nonetheless captures Spillane’s mood, sex, violence, pace and tone better than any other.

Who does that leave?

Stacy Keach did the impossible – he lightly kidded Hammer while remaining tough; in this he’s similar to McGavin. But McGavin – and Biff Elliot, Ralph Meeker and Mickey Spillane himself – were of the original Hammer era. The Keach Hammer is a man out of time, a motif the series effectively played with in its best episodes. I’m honored to have worked with this great actor on two audio dramas and hold his Hammer in high regard.

I have to rule out Gary Sandy, who appeared in the only stage version of Mike Hammer to date – in three live productions at three venues, the final time in Muscatine, Iowa, and captured on camera in Mickey Spillane’s Encore for Murder, which I wrote and directed.

But it was Darren McGavin’s Hammer who captured my adolescent imagination. And the episodes hold up. A good half dozen of the 78 episodes were rage-filled, vengeance-fueled visits to Spillane’s world at its harshest.

So, with my arm twisted, I have to tip my invisible fedora to Darren McGavin. And admit that Skip Martin’s “Riff Blues” – the Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer theme – will always take my personal first place over the great “Harlem Nocturne.”

Listen and look: here is the McGavin opening followed by the three Keach openings with some of the greatest private eye music you’ll ever hear.

M.A.C.

If You Don’t Like Love Stories, Skip This One

June 23rd, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

Barb and I celebrated our 58th wedding anniversary on June 18. As we have done in recent years, we did so in a favorite getaway location of ours — a day trip on a beautiful early summer day. Galena is in the midst of deep, lushly green valleys of trees and decorative stone. Storybook stuff.

We started going together in the fall of 1966, at Muscatine Community College, when we were just about the only two of our high school crowd who didn’t go off to college anywhere but Muscatine, Iowa. We’d known each other in grade school and junior high – I’d had a crush on her in the fourth grade – and we played trumpet, side by side, in the junior high band. She was much better at trumpet than me, which may be why our friendship didn’t blossom into romance just then, as I hear males have fragile egos.

Our romance ran hot and heavy. We were one of those couples hanging all over each other in the community college halls that make everyone but themselves sick. We parked and made out and had a quite wonderful time – so wonderful that Barb’s mother tried to break us up by hauling her off to Arizona on false pretenses (a story in itself, which I will skip). Barb was out of my life for a few months, but she returned and we picked up where we left off and then some.

We married young, as Barb had a home situation I wanted to get her out of (and she wanted that, too – this has to do with the Arizona story I am skipping). So she was 19 and I’d just turned twenty. Our honeymoon in Chicago consisted of transplanted Broadway shows, movies in vast downtown palaces (all gone now) and incredible restaurants (many gone now), and a stay at the Bismarck Hotel (also gone now). It was a very Nathan Heller honeymoon, though Nate wasn’t born yet (neither the fictional character nor his namesake son of ours). Among other things, including some touristy stuff like the Museum of Science and Industry and the Art Institute, Barb patiently accompanied me on a search of used bookstores, seeking the two Richard Stark paperbacks I lacked.

The latter indicates not only Barb’s enduring patience with me and my quirks, but the extent to which we became, quite early on, inseparable. For people who really know us, we are Barb-and-Al. Did we have bumps in the road? One major one, about eight years in, but we both realized what we had – that it was special — and came to our senses.

We have made short stories, books and movies and one spectacular child together. But most all of we have been supportive and loving, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

The current joy of our life is our grandchildren, Sam and Lucy, so very smart and loving, both of them. And our son Nate – their father – and his wife Abby – their mother – live just up the street from us. How great is that?

But the love of my life remains Barbara Jane Mull, who became Barb Collins and my best friend. That she is an enduring beauty has not been at all bad, either.

M.A.C.

I Just Completed PREY FOR THE MALTESE FALCON – What Now?

June 16th, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

I have completed Prey for the Maltese Falcon, but I really should say “completed,” because – although the final draft has been completed, a big part of the process remains and will take me from a few days to a few weeks.

I also probably should have said “final draft,” too. The idea of multiple drafts of a novel (or a short story or a screenplay) went out the window for me, and maybe most professional fiction writers, when word-processing came along.

It would be possible, of course, to write a get-it-all-on-the-page first draft writing on a computer and not, as we once did, a typewriter. Some brave souls write a longhand draft and I can understand the benefit. For me, slowing down like that is an impossibility. I write quickly, in general, because I am chasing the story; it’s unfolding improvisationally in my mind.

This is not to say it isn’t unusual for polishing and reworking a paragraph to take an hour or longer. Even a single sentence can take, say, half-an-hour. But that tends to be scene-setting stuff, mood intertwined with presenting information about what something is, what it looks like.

But after I get a draft of a chapter – and I view each chapter as if it were a short story, with a beginning, middle and end, with something central to accomplish – I go through it at least three times rewriting, tweaking, cutting, adjusting, before I move on to the next. Does that ad up to four drafts? Not in the old sense, because before word-processing and computers, you had to retype the whole chapter on every draft. To me, I’m rewriting more now than in the typewriter days, because sometimes I’d lie to myself that it was just fine to move on.

I wrote something like thirteen drafts of the first chapter of True Detective back in the early ‘80s and that experience – which immediately became largely retyping – led to Barb and me selling our second car to buy a $5000 word-processing computer (that today couldn’t do what your phone has been able to do for decades).

My process, one I’ve been using for a long, long time, is to write a fairly detailed synopsis of what I envision the novel to be. A Nate Heller synopsis can run over twenty pages. Such a synopsis begins as one flowing document that is essentially a sales tool – a pitch to an editor about a book I want to write. If it works, I get a contract, and in this long and somewhat blessed career, it usually has.

Then I break that synopsis down into chapters. Often those chapters are just a single paragraph. I try to anticipate what locations I need so I can do the research ahead of the writing. But here’s the thing: that chapter breakdown/synopsis always changes for me. On this novel, I did something like eight revisions…of the synopsis. These revisions would begin after chapters were completed, so that the later revisions were only as long as it took to describe briefly the chapters ahead. Prey for the Maltese Falcon is eighteen chapters and the last revision of the synopsis covered only the last three chapters.

I don’t share my methods with you as a suggestion for how other writers should work. This is what works for me. It grew out of the need to have a document that was, again, my “pitch” to an editor and sometimes a publisher so that I could have a commitment before I began the real, hard, put-on-your-helmet-and-go-down-into-the-coal-mine days and weeks and months of work ahead.

On rare occasions I’ve written an entire book without a publisher lined up first. True Detective was one of those, the primary one, because it was genre-busting (private eye mystery meets historical fiction, Raymond Chandler Meets Samuel Shellabarger), far longer than a P.I. novel generally was, and could only be sold by demonstrating entirely what this mutated creature was.

I also learned early on that – again, for me – in a novel that included a mystery, I needed to know who did it and why before I took the journey. In any other direction lies madness. However…you can change your mind about the destination somewhere along the way, although if that happens to me, I have to replot the entire rest of the novel.

Now I am at a critical and somewhat frightening stage of my process. How I wrote Prey for the Maltese Falcon was typical – starting with a synopsis, then breaking it down into a chapter outline, revising that outline as I go when things have changed and discoveries have been made, but then not going back and re-reading much (other than making sure things like names and character descriptions are consistent). Why? You can find yourself constantly rewriting and never finishing a novel that way. It’s often a dead-end street.

I will be re-reading the entire manuscript – it’s fairly short, 52,000 words – over a two-day period. I tweak and refine as I go, using a red pen on the printed-out manuscript. If I run into a rough patch, I go back to the computer and work on it. Barb helps me, often, entering my tweaks and changes and minor fixes.

Each chapter is a file, and at the end I have to go through combining them into one file. My son Nate has tried without success to get me to write just one big file, but the time I took his advice the size of that file became clumsy and slow. So I do it my own stubborn way.

I have a step that is maddening but there’s no way around it. I work in WordPerfect and publishers demand I deliver in Word. That results in the need for a conversion that will have to be checked page-by-page. Sometimes the page numbering is uncooperative, but I manage. Cursing helps. (Root word “curse,” not “cursor.” I would the curser.)

I am sharing all of this because it’s what I am dealing with right now, and is why this update/blog entry is rather short – I have an important task at hand. I don’t mean it to be a lesson, because all writers have only one true teacher: themselves. I went to the University of Iowa in the early 1970s and had some great teachers, especially Richard Yates, and I got some valuable advice, which I’ve talked about elsewhere.

But the only school where you really learn is what you learn at the College of Trial-and-Error, where you teach yourself.

M.A.C.

Sam Spade and Me

June 9th, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

This week, or at the latest next, I will likely complete Prey for the Maltese Falcon, my follow-up to Return of the Maltese Falcon. It takes place in 1939 and posits what Sam Spade might have been up to around ten years later.

It’s an honor, and frankly a relief, to have had Return so warmly received. My wife Barb warned me I was really sticking my neck out this time – who was I to be writing a sequel to what many (including me) consider the best the best tough mystery novel ever written – the book that can be viewed as the paradigm for the entire sub-genre of the private eye novel?

I tried to answer that by respecting Dashiell Hammett and his creation, and honoring him with something more than just a pastiche. Readers coming to the book will always have to judge that for themselves.

A perhaps more interesting question is: why had I been thinking about doing a sequel to The Maltese Falcon for something like twenty years? When the novel was decades away from going into the public domain, making any such effort even possible? Prior to the novel gaining public domain status, I thought it highly unlikely the Hammett estate would come to me for the job.

Sam Spade got on my little-kid radar by way of advertisements in comic-strip form that appeared in Sunday newspapers and occasionally comic books. My discovering those strips was in the mid-1950s and even then those ads/comics were old news – literally, old newspapers and comic books that had somehow gotten into my grubby little hands (and psyche).

It was common for advertisements in the Sunday funnies to disguise themselves as just another comic strip, or a page of comics in a comic. Sometimes such strips invented their own recurring characters, the better to fool readers into thinking they weren’t reading an ad at all (particularly kids). Sometimes advertisers went so far as to license existing comics characters to hawk their goods – famously, Al Capp’s Li’l Abner (for Cream of Wheat) and Fearless Fosdick (for Wildroot Cream-Oil) appeared in mini-comics in the pages of slick magazines like Look and The Saturday Evening Post, as well as comic books and Sunday comics sections.

Like Fosdick, Sam Spade appeared on behalf of Wild Root Cream-Oil (a hair tonic) in a strip called The Adventures of Sam Spade, tying in with a popular radio show of that name starring Howard Duff. The strip took up a lot of real estate in the funnies – a half- or even full-page – and each was a short mystery, solved usually in a way that (you’re ahead of me) had to do with Wild Root Cream-Oil.

They were lively strips, many of them beautifully drawn by Golden Age comics great, Lou Fine, a Will Eisner crony. Over a three-year period, at least 25 strips were published. This link will take you to some nice examples.

Because of these strips, I knew about the Sam Spade radio show, but missed out on those, because The Adventures of Sam Spade aired before my time, from 1946 to 1951 (on NBC). The series was enormously popular and made a star out of Howard Duff, who graduated to movies (and later TV) but never was as big a star as he’d been in radio. Another popular radio series, Suspense, did two episodes with Duff as Spade, one of which (“The Kandy Tooth Caper”) was a 60-minute sequel to The Maltese Falcon.


Howard Duff as Sam Spade

The series was a spoofy take on the genre not at all in keeping with Hammett’s original approach, but its success having almost as much to do with establishing Sam Spade as the iconic private eye character (maybe the ironic private eye character) as Bogart’s Spade had with the John Huston classic film.

The series might have lasted longer, and perhaps made the transition to TV, but the anti-Communist witch-hunt led to creator Dashiell Hammett, known for his association with left-wing causes, becoming a ripe target for Senator Joe McCarthy. Hammett, who had served his country in two wars, even did hard time when he refused to name names in the HUAC hearings. McCarthy’s odious assistant Roy Cohn even tried to have Hammett’s five novels banned from U.S. Information Service (USIS) overseas libraries. Cohn failed when Hammett fan, President Dwight D. Eisenhower, intervened.

In the witch hunt’s wake, the radio show was re-tooled as Charlie Wild, Private Detective (1951), with a new detective taking Spade’s place, although secretary Effie Perine stayed on board; the radio series didn’t last long, although it did make a shaky transition to TV (1950-1952). Effie came along (the setting now New York) played by young Iowa gal Cloris Leachman (later picked up by Mike Hammer at the start of the film Kiss Me Deadly).

I’m not sure when it was that I first saw the Bogart/Huston Maltese Falcon. I vaguely remember faking a stomach ache so I could stay home from church and see it on the Sunday Morning Movie. I loved it, of course. The likes of the Saint and Sherlock Holmes, two of my previous obsessions, couldn’t hold a candle to Bogie’s Sam.

Finally I caught up with the original Sam Spade in the Permabooks 35-cent edition of The Maltese Falcon with a great cover by Harry Bennett (a very ‘60s rendition of Brigid, Wilmer and Caspar Gutman). And at some point I discovered a Dell paperback of A Man Called Spade, with the three Hammett-published Spade short stories.

In my teens I was inhaling all the Hammett I could find, usually in ill-lit old secondhand bookstores; same with Raymond Chandler and Mickey Spillane – the Big Three, as far as I was concerned (and still am).

Periodically I discovered other Spade oddities, like the 1946 David McKay “Feature Book” adaptation of The Maltese Falcon in comic-book form, with funky art by Rodlow Willard; and one or two of the record albums of the several Falcon radio adaptations starring Bogart and other original cast members.

As I mentioned elsewhere, I have never watched an episode of the AMC series, Monsieur Spade, not wanting to be influenced; and I have not revisited Spade & Archer by the late Joe Gores. I frankly recall not being taken with it, and thinking I’d like to have a crack at the character myself someday (though I am otherwise a Gores fan).

It’s clear that Hammett did something very special in The Maltese Falcon, and a lot of it was Sam Spade, who despite appearing in one novel remains for many of us the quintessential private eye. The imprint of the author and his character on me was such that I could become intrigued with them both just by reading a comic strip advertising hair oil tonic.

* * *

Guess what movie is considered one of the best Irish mob movies ever?

M.A.C.