In everything that can be called art there is a quality of redemption. It may be pure tragedy, if it is high tragedy, and it may be pity and irony, and it may be the raucous laughter of the strong man. But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor — by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world. I do not care much about his private life; he is neither a eunuch nor a satyr; I think he might seduce a duchess and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin; if he is a man of honor in one thing, he is that in all things.
Raymond Chandler, “The Simple Art of Murder.”
Pulp paper never dreamed of posterity and most of it must be a dirty brown color by now. And it takes a very open mind indeed to look beyond the unnecessarily gaudy covers, trashy titles and barely acceptable advertisements and recognize the authentic power of a kind of writing that, even at its most mannered and artificial, made most of the fiction of the time taste like a cup of luke-warm consommé at a spinsterish tearoom.
Raymond Chandler.
That’s what you get with men making movies. They always think the woman goes swooning for the man in the end. Good luck to them.
Crime writer Hilary Davidson describes her tough-as-nails grandmother’s reaction to the end of Double Indemnity.
(Source: jensbookthoughts.blogspot.com)
Trailer for the new Todd Haynes-directed Mildred Pierce miniseries.
Small town noir.
Author Christa Faust is previewing the cover art for her forthcoming Angel Dare book, Choke Hold. If you like crime/noir fiction, especially from a female perspective, and you’re not reading her, you are totally missing out. Pick up Money Shot immediately.
Eddie Muller’s List of Film Noir’s Gayest Couples
Reposted by the wonderful Christa Faust:
1. ROPE: Farley Granger and John Dall. Not only is it what the film is all about, it was written by a gay man (Arthur Laurents) and both actors are actually gay. Someone should have told Jimmy Stewart what was going on.
2. DESERT FURY: John Hodiak and Wendell Corey. “We met in New York,” Hodiak explains to Liz Scott (he’ll switch for a butch gal), “It was 3 am at the Automat. He bought me a sandwich.” Uh, huh.
3. THE MALTESE FALCON: Sidney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre and Elisha Cook. Lorre and Cook have both been kept by the Fat Man; Cook’s just not yet all the way out. Spade sees it all clearly, snickering “Give ’em the gunsel.”
4. THE LINEUP: Robert Keith and Eli Wallach. The old school queen will by the end sincerely regret ever trying to teach manners to his rough trade pupil.
5. GILDA: Glenn Ford and George Macready. Someone once asked me: “Why are Johnny and Gilda so mad at each other?” Easy: they both hate themselves for having sex with a creepy Nazi pervert. Well, she might not have.
6. THE BIG COMBO: Lee van Cleef and Earl Holliman: The chummy button-men share more than pajamas when they’re hiding out. Holliman: “I’m hungry.” Van Cleef: “So eat something.” Holliman: “I can’t swallow no more salami.”
7. THE BIG CLOCK: Charles Laughton and George Macready. Homosexuality runs amuck in the novel, but in the movie all that’s left is the suggestion that Earl Janoth can call upon his “right hand man” for just about anything.
8. BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN: Edmond O’Brien and Mark Stevens. A “buddy cop” film that should have stuck with its original title, Prowl Car. These two are all too happy to roam the city in the dead of night looking for trouble.
9. WALK A CROOKED MILE: Dennis O’Keefe and Louis Hayward. The FBI man certainly takes a shine to his debonair Scotland Yard colleague. They share a room, kill a bunch of commies, and walk arm-in-arm into the sunset. J. Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson must have watched it a hundred times.
10. CRY OF THE HUNTED: Barry Sullivan and Vittorio Gassman. Even though Sullivan is a happily married cop, he’s compelled to journey into the bayou after his escaped prisoner, whom he likes to wrestle with in jail cells and swamps. These guys aren’t really gay … they’re “experimenting.”
Classic noir, in addition to being not quite progressive in attitude towards the ladies, has a pretty dismal track record on treating gay characters even nominally well. Reflection of the times, of course, but it’s interesting to examine what was lurking under the surface. I’d like to see modern noir explore this more.
Jill Tracy, “The Fine Art of Poisoning.”
My new noirish heroine, musician Jill Tracy - “Let’s Spend an Evil Night Together.”
