Prime Noirs: 10 Films for Noirvember

Essential prime projections of classic film noir.

Dana Andrews admiring the portrait of the ostensibly dead Laura in Otto Preminger’s staple of the genre, Laura (1944).

Noir wasn’t so much a genre as it was a movement. What constitutes as noir can sometimes be up in the air, but you know it when you see it, like the French critics who coined the term just after WWII, catching up with the beloved American films they’d been deprived of during German occupation. The term never stuck with American audiences and filmmakers until Raymond Borde published the first book on film noir in 1955, Panorama du film noir.

The antecedents for noir films were set long before the 1940s, but at some point the gangster films of the 1930s - starting with Humphrey Bogart’s star-making turn in Raoul Walsh’s High Sierra (1941) - bled into darker territory and evolved with more style. Dutch angles, low-key and chiaroscuro lighting, urban mise-en-scene with slick city streets and lurking shadows revealed (or concealed) the more sinister narratives at play. European émigrés like Fritz Lang, Otto Preminger, Jacques Tourneur, Billy Wilder, Robert Siodmak brought over their influences and inspirations from German Expressionism, poetic realism, and even surrealism to the movement.

With two world wars in the past 30 years and an economic depression in between them, the glamourous escapism of the 30s gave way to these fatalistic, nihilistic, and psychological crime capers. The invention of the atomic bomb was the icing on the cake, as the realization that all of it could just go away in an instant intensified the absurdity of life on Earth. Freudianism hit the silver screen and the modernism of literature and other artforms was etched onto celluloid. Fast-talking dames gave way to the languorous, conniving femme fatale, while cops went corrupt, criminals became relatable protagonists, murderers more vicious and psychotic, and private eyes were cool but flawed. Thus, with the exception of the Western (which occasionally was infused with noir characteristics, films like Blood on the Moon [1948], Station West [1948], Day of the Outlaw [1959]), film noir became the greatest American genre (or, more accurately, movement), though there were also noirs set abroad, especially in London. Even period noirs arose, known as “gaslight noirs,” mysteries of murder and blackmail set in early twentieth-century or Victorian England and they were some of the best films of the movement.

An extraordinary, horrible war. Concentration camps, slaughter, atomic bombs, people killed for nothing. That can make anybody a little pessimistic. - Abraham Polonsky, writer/director

Critics weren’t fans of these crime films and many of the major studios released them as B-pictures. Fortunately, they were reevaluated by young critics in the 60s and filmmakers in the 70s and 80s even helped to revive the genre with neo-noirs like Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974), Sidney Lumet’s Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat (1981), and even Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976). Now we look back at the prime years of noir - early 1940s to the early 1960s - with great fondness and filmmakers today are still influenced by their ability to beguile and shock.

There are so many great noirs, but I agonized over a list of some of my favorites and what I think are some of the best of the genre. Though there are plenty beyond this list worth watching, which is why I also provided honorable mentions (my ache was too great to leave some out). Even still beyond that (not mentioning the ones I have yet to see too), there are more masterworks, prime projections of the genre for the rest of your Noirvembers.

Laura (Otto Preminger; 20th Century Fox, 1944)

Few line reads are more disturbing than Clifton Webb’s Waldo Lydecker confronting Lieutenant McPherson (Dana Andrews) about his quai-necrophilia, falling in love with the supposedly dead Laura Hunt (Gene Tierney): “You'd better watch out, McPherson, or you'll finish up in a psychiatric ward. I doubt they've ever had a patient who fell in love with a corpse.” Lydecker is one of the sickest villains of noir, loving the ideal of Laura rather than the corporeal while the charming and cool Dana Andrews lets the investigation slip away from him in the most unexpected way. Meanwhile, Vincent Price is hanging around as Laura’s fiance, Shelby Carpenter, sort of creepy in his mannerism, always suspicious looking. Preminger and the understated cinematography by Joseph LaShelle manage to keep it all bubbling under the surface until the shocking breaking point, a deceiving ending that leaves you more uneasy than relieved.

The Woman in the Window (Fritz Lang; RKO, 1944)

A cop out ending (thanks to the Hays Code) doesn’t negate the rest of the picture. Edward G. Robinson is a psychology professor who becomes obsessed with a painted portrait of a woman (Joan Bennett) in a storefront window. A psychoanalytic exploration into imagination and dual natures of reality ensue, plus murder and deception involving the same lady in the window and an especially diabolical Dan Duryea. Try to forget the groan-inducing ending, take all that comes before it as the truth.

The Phantom Lady (Robert Siodmak; Universal Pictures, 1944)

Franchot Tone is one creepy fella in this one. A killer with a penchant for hands and an apartment that screams “I’m a murderer.” Ella Raines is wonderful taking on her own detective duties to save her boss and a very horny Elisha Cook, Jr. (always a delight) pauses the plot for a bit to give us a badass drum solo. Not to mention the beautiful expressionistic lighting and cinematography, phantasmal silhouettes and shadows. It’s a blast.

The Suspect (Robert Siodmak, Universal Pictures, 1944)

Charles Laughton is Phillip Marshall, a sweet and naive man just wanting a better life - specifically a love life. This being a noir, his methods to get there are not the best. This gaslight noir (set in Edwardian London) goes to unexpected places in the best way possible and Ella Raines again is wonderful as Mary Gray, a woman that Marshall befriends in spite of his wife before things turn deadly because of what he decides to do to his wife, wanting Mary to be more than a friend. Also, a rare gratifying instance where a Code-induced ending fits thematically.

Barbara Stanwyck being not so discreet with Fred MacMurray in Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity (1944)

Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder; Paramount Pictures, 1944)

Barbara Stanwyck.

Hangover Square (John Brahms; 20th Century Fox, 1945)

Linda Darnell’s role as singer/showgirl Netta Longdon is the epitome of femme fatale duplicity. Laird Cregar (in his last role before his untimely death) is the successful but insecure composer George Harvey Bone, inexplicably blacking out on occasions and falling in with Netta, writing music for her rising career to win her love. It’s a shame she’s only using him. This doesn’t end well, especially when he’s capable of some terrible things during those blackouts. One disappointing line at the end threatens to invalidate Bone’s sympathy and justify his fate, but Brahms makes clear throughout that Bone is undeserving of what comes to him. We don’t fall under his spell and feel bad for him for nothing (Laird Cregar, so gentle, such a sad early loss, especially knowing how hard he worked to break into Hollywood). The foggy streets of London are a sight to behold in this gaslight noir (set in the early twentieth century), where in this story it’s a given that smoke will supplant the mist.

Laird Cregar and Linda Darnell in Hangover Square (1945)

The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks; Warner Bros., 1946)

Twice I’ve watched The Big Sleep and twice I can’t follow what’s happening. That’s a common experience with this frazzled noir. But Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall are worth every second of the bewilderment.

The Killers (Robert Siodmak, Universal Pictures, 1946)

Not to be confused with Don Siegel’s 1964 remake (also very good) or Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1956 short film (again, also pretty good) this adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s short story is the best of all three good screen adaptations. It helps that its stars Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner are so damn beautiful.

The Third Man (Carol Reed; London Films, 1949)

Joseph Cotten is great but every film just elevates to something greater when Orson Welles shows up. The zither score makes this one seem like a more whimsical noir, but its playfulness underscores the darker elements at play, especially when the setting is a wartorn Vienna. An all time final shot, the anti-Hollywood ending with Alida Valli’s Anna Schmidt walking by the waiting Holly Martins (Cotten), sticking to her choice and freedom to love whoever she wants, even if that happens to be the unenviable Harry Lime (Welles). Orson Welles’s 1951-1952 prequel radio series The Lives of Harry Lime is well worth a listen too.

Criss Cross (Robert Siodmak; Universal Pictures, 1949)

Dan Duryea has never been better or sleazier as the mobster Slim Dundee. The title does not fool you, this one has double crosses on top of the criss crosses. Burt Lancaster is Steven Thompson, blinded by lust and love for Yvonne De Carlo’s Anna. Has perhaps a bit too many similarities to Siodmark’s previous noir with Lancaster, The Killers, and there’s quite a bit of suspension of disbelief in Lancaster’s working-class Thompson, who just shouldn’t be that dumb. A great time, nonetheless.

The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston; MGM, 1950)

An extra dose of Hays Code comeuppance - in which a long speech is given on the importance and necessity of the police - can’t disregard the film’s examination of cop and criminal on equal footing. The cops say the criminals don’t feel like normal humans, but little do they know that the reason the criminals try to pull off a jewel heist is precisely because they feel like normal humans. The first film to show a jewel heist from the perspective of the robbers, their planning and scheming is followed by Huston’s sympathetic lens. The final shot is a Code bummer but still a stunner - Sterling Hayden’s horse loving thief just trying to get back to the beloved Kentucky farm of his childhood, his horses standing over his dead body.

In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray; Columbia Pictures, 1950)

“I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.” Not only a pitch-black noir but a beautifully haunting and moving film. That’s thanks to Ray’s natural touch and his ability to evoke so much feeling with such dynamic force. This one hurts, because all there is to yearn for in a noir picture - what there was and what could’ve been - is especially heartbreaking in Ray’s iteration. Not only my favorite noir but one of my favorite films.

Gun Crazy (Joseph H. Lewis; United Artists, 1950)

While considered a B-picture at the time, Joseph H. Lewis’s pulpy, psychosexual Gun Crazy is a thrilling ride directed with such gusto and flair, it influenced directors of both the French New Wave and New Hollywood. A long take inside of a moving car during a bank robbery scene still awes today, especially when considering the technology that hindered the ability to achieve such shots. Lewis was a master stylist of B-pictures including his first noir My Name is Julia Ross (1945) and the inimitable Western Terror in a Texas Town (1958). While Gun Crazy may be more lovers-as-criminals-on-the-run than noir, it has all the raw and dark underpinnings of the latter. Probably the most exciting film on this list.

Night and the City (Jules Dassin; 20th Century Fox, 1950)

Richard Widmark is Harry Fabian, an “artist without an art” in another London-set (contemporaneous) noir. The ultimate low-life begins and ends the film running from people, conniving and failing every step of the way. The guy is a major heel and for some reason, Gene Tierney’s Mary Bristol still loves him. Director Jules Dassin, about to be named a communist and forced to flee America, imbued the story with this personal experience of being pursued. The difference is that Fabian deserves what he gets and boy is it satisfying. Thanks to Widmark, Fabian is never annoying and always watchable, no matter how much we despise him.

On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray; RKO, 1951)

Another Ray picture filled with passion, emotion, and tenderness. Robert Ryan is the violent, irascible, and bitter cop Jim Wilson in New York City sent up-state by the police chief to blow off some steam. He is softened by the blind Mary Malden (a brilliant Ida Lupino) as they become entangled in the hunt for a murderer, who might be closer to Mary’s home than they expected. A more suspenseful noir from Ray, though no less suffused with deep feeling.

The Big Heat (Fritz Lang; Columbia Pictures, 1953)

Fritz Lang’s first of two noirs with Gloria Grahame and Glenn Ford (the other is Human Desire in 1954) and while both are good and deliciously seedy, this one is more memorable. That’s thanks to the brutal acts of throwing scalding hot coffee in faces; Grahame’s Debby Marsh is the first victim, the scarring on her face fueling her wrath and path to revenge. Add on some erotic flavor involving Ford’s Detective Bannion and Debby in a hotel room and we have ourselves one steamy noir. 

Honorable Mentions:

The Maltese Falcon (1941), The Glass Key (1942), Detour (1942), Shadow of a Doubt (1943), Gaslight (1944), Mildred Pierce (1945), My Name is Julia Ross (1945), The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), Out of the Past (1947), White Heat (1949), The Set-Up (1949), No Way Out (1950), Drive a Crooked Road (1954), The Killing (1956), Cape Fear (1962)

Noirs are a year-round experience too, as the Criterion Channel proves with its upcoming “Holiday Noir” collection in December. But for now, Happy Noirvember and Happy Thanksgiving!