Why we need noir
Every fella has a drink of choice. Some fellas go for a whiskey neat. Others an ice-cold beer. Me, I prefer a full glass of noir. Pure, unsweetened, hardboiled noir. The stuff that nightmares are made of. This summer, as the heat scorched the lawns and melted the pavements, I went on a bender of classic noir fiction. I read, then watched, The Postman Always Rings Twice, James M. Cain’s 1934 novel about a drifter who gets a gig at a crummy roadside diner. Soon he’s falling for the boss’s wife, a pretty gal who bats her eyes at him and drives him to break the Sixth Commandment (and the Seventh too, obviously). It was adapted for the screen many times, but the best version is the 1946 one starring Lana Turner as the pretty gal and John Garfield as the drifter.