Film Noir: From Berlin to Sin City

SHORT CUTS

INTRODUCTIONS TO FILM STUDIES

OTHER TITLES IN THE SHORT CUTS SERIES

THE HORROR GENRE: FROM BEELZEBUB TO BLAIR WITCH Paul Wells

THE STAR SYSTEM: HOLLYWOOD’S PRODUCTION OF POPULAR IDENTITIES Paul McDonald

SCIENCE FICTION CINEMA: FROM OUTERSPACE TO CYBERSPACE Geoff King and Tanya Krzywinska

EARLY SOVIET CINEMA: INNOVATION, IDEOLOGY AND PROPAGANDA David Gillespie

READING HOLLYWOOD: SPACES AND MEANINGS IN AMERICAN FILM Deborah Thomas

DISASTER MOVIES: THE CINEMA OF CATASTROPHE Stephen Keane

THE WESTERN GENRE: FROM LORDSBURG TO BIG WHISKEY John Saunders

PSYCHOANALYSIS AND CINEMA: THE PLAY OF SHADOWS Vicky Lebeau

COSTUME AND CINEMA: DRESS CODES IN POPULAR FILM Sarah Street

MISE-EN-SCÈNE: FILM STYLE AND INTERPRETATION John Gibbs

NEW CHINESE CINEMA: CHALLENGING REPRESENTATIONS Sheila Cornelius with Ian Haydn Smith

SCENARIO: THE CRAFT OF SCREENWRITING Tudor Gates

ANIMATION: GENRE AND AUTHORSHIP Paul Wells

WOMEN’S CINEMA: THE CONTESTED SCREEN Alison Butler

BRITISH SOCIAL REALISM: FROM DOCUMENTARY TO BRIT GRIT Samantha Lay

FILM EDITING: THE ART OF THE EXPRESSIVE Valerie Orpen

AVANT-GARDE FILM: FORMS, THEMES AND PASSIONS Michael O’Pray

PRODUCTION DESIGN: ARCHITECTS OF THE SCREEN Jane Barnwell

NEW GERMAN CINEMA: IMAGES OF A GENERATION Julia Knight

EARLY CINEMA: FROM FACTORY GATE TO DREAM FACTORY Simon Popple and Joe Kember

MUSIC IN FILM: SOUNDTRACKS AND SYNERGY Pauline Reay

FEMINIST FILM STUDIES: WRITING THE WOMAN INTO CINEMA Janet McCabe

MELODRAMA: GENRE STYLE SENSIBILITY John Mercer and Martin Shingler

FILM PERFORMANCE: FROM ACHIEVEMENT TO APPRECITATION Andrew Klevan

NEW DIGITAL CINEMA: REINVENTING THE MOVING IMAGE Holly Willis

FILM AND PHILOSOPHY: IMAGES OF WISDOM Adrian Page

THE MUSICAL: RACE, GENDER AND PERFORMANCE Susan Smith

TEEN MOVIES: AMERICAN YOUTH ON SCREEN Timothy Shary

THE NEW HOLLYWOOD: FROM BONNIE AND CLYDE TO STAR WARS Peter Krämer

DOCUMENTARY: THE MARGINS OF REALITY Paul Ward

ITALIAN NEOREALISM: REBUILDING THE CINEMATIC CITY Mark Shiel

FILM NOIR

FROM BERLIN TO SIN CITY

MARK BOULD

WALLFLOWER

LONDON and NEW YORK

A Wallflower Book

Published by

Columbia University Press

Publishers Since 1893

New York • Chichester, West Sussex

cup.columbia.edu

Copyright © Mark Bould 2005

All rights reserved.

E-ISBN 978-1-904-76450-2

A complete CIP record is available from the Library of Congress

ISBN 978-1-904764-50-2 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-231-50391-4 (e-book)

A Columbia University Press E-book.

CUP would be pleased to hear about your reading experience with this e-book at [email protected].

         CONTENTS

acknowledgments

a note on terminology

         on dangerous ground: introducing film noir

1       the set-up: fabricating film noir

2       out of the past: the prehistory of film noir

3       dark passage: the main cycle of film noir

4       against all odds: neo-noir

         afterword: kiss tomorrow goodbye

filmography

bibliography

index

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It started out as a kind of joke, and then it wasn’t funny anymore because money became involved. Deep down, nothing about money is funny.

– Charles Willeford (2000: 3)

With thanks to Susan Alexander, Caroline Bainbridge, Emma Bircham, Anita Biressi, Andrew M. Butler, Istvan Csicsery-Ronay, Jr., Graham Fraser, Carl Freedman, Gillian Glitre, Joan Gordon, Veronica Hollinger, Rob Latham, Iris Luppa, China Miéville, Heather Nunn, Mike Sanders, Greg Tuck, friends and colleagues at BCUC and Historical Materialism, my family and, above all, Kathrina Glitre – their friendship, solicitude and kindnesses made the year before I wrote this book easier to bear. Additional thanks to Iris for helpful comments on Weimar cinema; Carl for his Walter Neff secret; Mike Harrison for ‘Fat Michael Douglas, every woman’s dream’; and Kathrina for making this a better book than it would otherwise have been. Thanks also, of course, to Glenn Ford, Gloria Grahame, Ida Lupino, Robert Mitchum, Dick Powell, Robert Ryan, Barbara Stanwyck, Claire Trevor, Richard Widmark…

A NOTE ON TERMINOLOGY

Determinism argues that the state of a system at one moment gives rise to the state of that system in the following moment. Determinism should not be confused with fate, fatalism, cause-and-effect or predictability. Fate intrudes a metaphysics in which the entire history of a system, from which it is impossible to deviate, is laid down in advance. Fatalism is a resigned belief in this inescapable fate. Cause-and-effect is a narrative technique by which we make sense of the transition of a system from moment to moment. It is always a retrospective and partial account, an abstraction which marginalises or ignores the totality of the system. (It is, nonetheless, a useful tool for modelling the world and for telling it.) Predictability is the inverse of cause-and-effect. The ability to construct retrospective cause-and-effect chains implies that it should be possible to extend their construction into the future; this is an error based on forgetting that cause-and-effect is a retrospective abstraction. A determinist system does not require fate, inevitability, predictability or cause-and-effect. In the non-linear dynamics of complex systems, there is no necessary correspondence of magnitude between a microscopic fluctuation in a system and the macroscopic divergences it can produce in that system. This is not about a small cause having a large effect, but about the initial conditions of the entire system producing unforeseeable conditions in the entire system at a subsequent moment; it is about a sensitive dependence on initial conditions; it is about determinism without predictability. In complex systems, order can emerge from chaos, and chaos often contains deeply-encoded structures of order. (See Earman 1986, Hall 1992, Hayles 1990 and 1991, and Hoefer 2003.)

The point of all this will become clear.

ON DANGEROUS GROUND: INTRODUCING FILM NOIR

One day in 1993, Emmy Award-winning filmmaker Ara Chekmayan visited a Pennsylvania fleamarket, where he discovered a statuette that looked exactly like the Maltese Falcon. Chekmayan purchased the black bird for $8 and, not long afterward, believing it to be one of two identical props that had been used in the famous 1941 Warner Bros. movie, he offered it up for auction at Christie’s, who estimated its value at $50,000. Before an auction could take place, however, a Los Angeles collector pointed out that identical copies of the statuette could be purchased at $45 a piece from a book dealer in Long Beach…

– James Naremore (1998: 254)

James Naremore takes this anecdote to prove that certain 1940s Hollywood thrillers have accumulated sufficient ‘artistic and cultural cachet’ to become ‘valuable as other things besides movies’ (1998: 255). Looked at differently, it provides a key to the central problematic of identifying, delineating, defining film noir: this book opens by quoting from another book on film noir which retells a story from People magazine about a man who found one of many copies based on the original (two copies of the) prop of the Maltese Falcon – which, diegetically, was a fake – in the third film to be based on Dashiell Hammett’s 1931 hard-boiled detective novel The Maltese Falcon, itself originally serialised in Black Mask pulp magazine between September 1929 and January 1930. So what exactly was it that Chekmayan thought he had found when he thought he had found (one of) the original Falcon(s)? In this welter of copies of copies in different media and adaptations from one medium to another the notion of an original evanesces. Even Hammett is no guarantor. His cynical deflation of the Grail myth in the modern urban waste land is not the first (his 1931 The Glass Key alludes to T. S. Eliot’s 1922 ‘The Waste Land’), nor is his Sam Spade the original hard-boiled detective (a more likely contender is Carroll John Daly’s Terry Mack).

Similarly, when we approach film noir, we are faced with neither an objectively-existing object out there in the world nor some ideal to which particular films more or less conform. Instead, as Naremore argues, film noir ‘has less to do with a group of artefacts than with a discourse – a loose evolving system of arguments and readings that helps to shape commercial strategies and aesthetic ideologies’ (1998: 11). Like any genre, film noir is an intersubjective discursive phenomenon: a fabrication. But as Dudley Andrew observes, ‘A fabrication … is by no means a fiction’ (1995: 12).

After indicating the number of films that have been considered film noirs, this introduction suggests how that canon might be further expanded and considers one influential attempt to more rigidly delineate the genre, detailing some of the difficulties implicit in it. Marc Vernet notes that ‘the Americans made [film noir] and then the French invented it’ (1993: 1). Chapter one therefore surveys some of the Francophone criticism which first identified – or fabricated the idea of – film noir before outlining some of the early Anglophone statements about film noir, showing how the idea was taken up and developed prior to the academicisation of film studies in the 1970s. The purpose of this chapter is to demonstrate the historically-contingent discursive fabrication of the genre.

If the idea of film noir originated in mid-1940s Paris, the origins of the genre are typically traced back to four sources: German expressionism, French poetic realism, American hard-boiled fiction and American crime films (see Richardson 1992 on Italian neorealism as a neglected influence). Chapter two expands the consideration of interwar German cinema beyond expressionism, noting similarities with Hollywood’s 1930s fallen-women cycle before turning to the work of Robert Siodmak and Fritz Lang, German directors who made numerous film noirs in exile. It then considers 1930s French cinema, contrasting several poetic realist films with American film noirs. It examines 1930s American crime films, particularly the gangster cycle – how the anachronistic figure of the 1930s gangster proved integral to the meaning of 1940s film noirs, and how the moratorium on producing gangster pictures produced alternative kinds of crime film – and three films, two of them directed by Lang, in which the increasing psychologisation of crime already apparent in hard-boiled fiction can be traced. In focusing on these filmic sources, the treatment of literary sources will remain cursory (on hard-boiled fiction, see Forter 2000, Madden 1968, Marling 1995, McCann 2000, Nolan 1985, O’Brien 1997, O’Connell 2002).

Chapter three offers detailed consideration of a variety of film noirs from the main cycle, which began with Stranger on the Third Floor (1940) and The Maltese Falcon (1941). Production peaked in the late 1940s and early 1950s and continued into the late 1950s, petering out with Cape Fear (1962), The Manchurian Candidate (1962), Shock Corridor (1963) and The Naked Kiss (1964). The films treated in this chapter were selected in order to explore the genre’s recurring concern with notions of determinism, particularly the constitution and shaping – and simultaneous shattering and dissolution – of individual subjectivity. By examining two overlapping groups of film noirs – one dominated by images and ideas of entrapment, the other by images and ideas of investigation – this chapter does not argue that these are the primary concerns of the genre or even necessarily of these particular films, but rather explores how they are articulated in a significant proportion of film noirs. The construction of gender, particularly white masculinities, is a recurring concern throughout (on film noir and race, see Diawara 1993, Kaplan 1998b, Oliver and Trigo 2003).

Chapter four offers a brief overview of the development of neo-noir, culminating in a discussion of Femme Fatale (2002), a film whose self-conscious combination of various elements of film noir, spectacle-dominated action movie and erotic thriller is typical of many neo-noirs (as are its homophobia, misogyny and racism), while its major plot twist combines a fantastic coincidence which rearticulates noirish determinism.

Finally, the afterword considers This Is Not a Love Song (2002) and Sin City (2005) as digital remediations of film noir.

The inclusive filmography offered by Paul Duncan (2003) lists 1,028 film noirs:

Foster Hirsch (1999) lists a further 47 American neo-noirs released between 1993 and 1997, and Robin Buss (1994) a further 79 French film noirs between 1942 and 1992. Although Andrew Spicer (2002) only lists 538 films, this includes almost 200 titles not mentioned by these other authors, many of them among the 104 British film noirs he identifies. These figures illustrate two important points.

First, that the main cycle of American film noirs is recorded in sufficient detail that, despite the debatable inclusion of many of the titles in these encyclopaedic listings, few more additions are likely to be unearthed, although some might arise from critically rethinking other genres, especially melodrama and, possibly, the western. Several westerns – Pursued (1947), Ramrod (1947), High Noon (1952), Rancho Notorious (1952), the five James Stewart westerns directed by Anthony Mann – have been described as noir westerns and many more from the 1950s feature badly disturbed protagonists or, like some scenes in My Darling Clementine (1946), noirish lighting. Additionally, several film noirs utilise western imagery: Florian’s bar in Murder, My Sweet (1944) seems to be an only-slightly-redressed western saloon, complete with swinging doors and music that stops when Marlowe (Dick Powell) and Moose Malloy (Mike Mazurki) enter; in High Sierra (1941) and White Heat (1949) western costumes and settings anachronise their protagonists; in Gun Crazy (1950) similar costumes expose the tendency to romanticise crime and outlaws even as, contradictorily, it depicts a passionate amour fou. Furthermore, the growing number of science fiction films which play on and with film noir conventions, from Alphaville (1965) to Cypher (2003), might encourage a re-examination of earlier science fiction films for traces of or affiliations to film noir.

Second, that outside of the main period of American film noir the terrain is still lacking any kind of consensus. There is still work to be done on film noirs before film noir, film noirs after film noir and film noirs in other national, linguistic and international contexts. For example, Michael Walker suggests that further research into 1930s crime films might produce ‘more proto-noir films’ (1992a: 33) like Nancy Steele is Missing (1936), and James Naremore notes the critical neglect of the direct-to-video industry – in the mid-1990s, a ‘seventeen-billion-dollar-a-year industry, involving more money than all the major studios combined’ (1998: 161) – which produces numerous softcore erotic thrillers, perhaps the primary contemporary manifestation of film noirs about sexual obsession, blackmail and murder. Similarly, research into other national cinemas might uncover more films like the Japanese Keisatsukan (1933), while discussions of neo-noir have yet to consider East Asian crime cinema in detail. Furthermore, if one accepts that film noirs are still being made, then each fresh example could potentially reshape the genre, narrowing or, more probably, widening it. Questions of omissions and additions inevitably return to questions of definition, and any attempt at definition restructures the genre, drawing in or casting out particular titles. It is through such complex feedback processes that genres form and reform.

In 1978, James Damico proposed a working model of film noir in terms of characters and plot structure so as to cut through the ill-discipline of encyclopaedic listings and the confusions they engender:

Either because he is fated to do so by chance, or because he has been hired for a job specifically associated with her, a man whose experience of life has left him sanguine and often bitter meets a not-innocent woman of similar outlook