The Case of the Falcon, An Appraisal Story

Right, buckle up, because this appraisal was one for the books (or maybe for a dusty VHS tape, given the circumstances). Moon Rabbit Art, as you know, is all about online appraisals – quick, efficient, modern. But sometimes, the universe throws you a curveball in the form of a sweet, elderly lady who’s about as tech-savvy as a rotary phone.

This lovely woman contacted us convinced she possessed an authentic Egyptian sculpture of Horus, a majestic falcon. This wasn’t just any falcon, mind you. This was her late husband’s falcon, a former commissaire de police, no less! It had perched proudly on his desk for years, a silent witness to countless… well, police-y things, I presume. Now that he had passed, she wanted it appraised.

Because she couldn’t navigate the digital realm, I, your intrepid art appraiser, found myself trekking out to her modest suburban Paris pavilion. Before even glimpsing the prized falcon, I was subjected to a pre-appraisal of her entire worldly possessions. Think framed Daumier prints (not exactly first editions), an Empire armchair that had seen better centuries, and then… the pièce de résistance: an ancient TV accompanied by a magnetoscope and hundreds of VHS tapes. I half-expected to find a Betamax player lurking in a corner. It was a time capsule, a veritable museum of obsolete technology.

Finally, we arrived at her late husband’s office. There it was: the falcon. Perched majestically (or as majestically as a mass-produced resin bird can), it held court on the desk. “This,” she declared, with the air of unveiling the Mona Lisa, “is the masterpiece.”

I, of course, had to ask the obvious: “How do you know it’s Egyptian?”

She then proceeded to pull out various art and cinema books, flipping through them with the determined focus of a detective on a cold case. She showed me pictures of real Egyptian falcons in museums. “See?” she exclaimed, pointing at a vaguely similar silhouette. “It’s the same!”

I inquired about its provenance. Her husband had acquired it a few years before his passing. Had he ever mentioned anything about its origins? “No,” she admitted, her eyes twinkling. It became clear her true passion wasn't ancient Egypt, but her late husband and classic films. She had a massive collection, she told me.

It suddenly dawned on me. “I suppose you’re a fan of The Maltese Falcon?” I asked.

“Of course!” she beamed. “It was my husband’s favorite film!”

And that’s when the penny dropped. Or rather, when I had to gently break the news that her “priceless Egyptian artifact” was, in fact, a replica of the famous prop from the Humphrey Bogart classic. The kind you can find on Amazon for less than €100.

She looked a little crestfallen, then a slow smile spread across her face. She looked at the falcon, then at me. "So you're saying it's famous because it was in a movie?"

"Exactly," I said.

She laughed, a hearty, genuine laugh that filled the room. She picked up the falcon, turning it over in her hands. "Well," she mused, a thoughtful look in her eyes, "it certainly has a story to tell."

As I left, the air still thick with the nostalgic hum of old VHS tapes and the quiet echo of a police commissioner’s cherished memento, I was reminded of Sam Spade’s famous line from The Maltese Falcon when he delivers the statuette to the authorities: “It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.”