I Ain’t Got No Attitude!: An Explanation of Noir as a Philosophical Attitude and Reflection of The Societal Beliefs of 1930’s and 1940’s America

Jonah Jerabek

Sinowitz

Noir Film & Fiction

11/3/17

I Ain’t Got No Attitude!: An Explanation of Noir as a Philosophical Attitude and Reflection of The Societal Beliefs of 1930’s and 1940’s America

The Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity, and Sunset Boulevard are extremely different films. The Maltese Falcon follows Samuel Spade, a private investigator, as he spars with dangerous adversaries and searches for the valuable bird that gave the novel, and later, the film its name. Double Indemnity features insurance salesman Walter Neff, who is seduced by a client’s wife, Phyllis Dietrichson, and convinced to murder her husband. He attempts to continue with his daily life while his boss and closest friend, Barton Keyes hunts for the killer. In Sunset Boulevard, screenwriter Joe Gillis is invited to live with aging film star Norma Desmond as she plans a comeback and struggles with her sharp loss of fame and possible psychological issues.

            Each of these films are unquestionably noir but their plots only hold minimal similarities. How can viewers toss each of these critically acclaimed films in the same category when they are so different? When I’ve asked others about their similarities, I’ve often been dismissed and assured that they “just are”.  I wonder if there are some undefinable similarities beyond human articulation or perhaps even beyond human understanding. Like the mystical intricacies of Big Mac sauce, the human race may enjoy the result without ever reaching a full understanding of what it is and how it came to be.

            However, I reject this theory. Perhaps I reject this indefinability due to an unhealthy amount of optimism, or a thoroughly impressive egocentrism. Maybe I refute this theory simply because I refuse to conclude my essay on the first page. But I reject it nonetheless.

            Some claim that noir is a genre, a term coined by critics, or a visual style. However, none of these explanations have ever satisfied me. If noir were a genre, it would be the least defined genre in existence. Westerns all share the same setting and focus on the adventures of outlaws and lawmen. Noir films and hardboiled novels feature a variety of characters engaging in a variety of tasks to accomplish their many different goals. Noir is simply too broad of a term for a singular genre. Noir cannot be a term solely used by critics because critics must have some criteria for categorizing beyond some innate gut feeling or mood they receive from it. This explanation is nothing more than a decorative manner of the “they just are” theory explained above. And noirs are clearly much more than a visual style as a black and white romantic comedy in a raining, urban setting clearly has no place among Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity or Jacques Tourneur’s Out of the Past.

I instead believe that noir is a philosophical attitude. It is a reflection of the American society that created it. Noir is a mistrust of the justice system, a suspicion of the society around them, a foreboding sense of inevitability, and a desperation for some superhuman savior to free them from it all.

The American skepticism of the judicial system is shown extensively through esteemed District Attorney, Kyle Sackett, and his fierce opponent, defense attorney Katz, as they banter and bet over the fate of their clients in The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain. D.A. Sackett cared little for ensuring the right people were imprisoned and Katz was strictly motivated by his desire to pull a fast one on his opponent. By committing a crime, Frank Chambers and Cora Papadakis handed their fate over to characters who lacked the moral standing that was expected of their offices and were left insurmountably vulnerable to the system. Katz and Sackett’s significant moral deficiency was most emphasized by the glib manner in which they discussed the fate of their clients. Katz describes this relationship to Frank Chambers in his recap of the trial: “And Sackett had started in howling for blood. He wanted the death penalty. Oh, he’s a bloodthirsty lad, Sackett is. That’s why it stimulates me to work against him” (The Postman Always Rings Twice, 80). This excerpt says quite a bit about both Sackett and Katz himself. Sackett’s “bloodthirsty” nature is a sharp contrast with the characteristics supposed to be assigned to an upholder of justice. Katz on the other hand, enjoys the cruel nature of his rival, even at the risk of innocent deaths.

A similar disdain for the judicial system was shown throughout Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon and John Huston’s screen adaptation in 1941. When attempting to make a deal with adversary Casper Gutman, private investigator Samuel Spade continually reemphasizes their need for a “fall man”. He continues to describe District Attorney Bryan: “Bryan is like most district attorneys. He’s more interested how his record will look than anything else… To be sure of convicting one man he’ll let half a dozen equally guilty accomplices go free- if trying to convict them all might confuse his case” (The Maltese Falcon, 180). This cynical view of the district attorney’s office gives another strong example of the early 20^th century American’s disdain for the legal system. Whether motivated by bloodlust or self-obsession, the district attorneys throughout hardboiled novels and film noirs fall obviously short of the moral expectations set for them.

However, the judicial system isn’t the only institution that early 20^th century Americans were skeptical of. They were skeptical of the entire society around them. The hardships of the Great Depression in the late 1920’s and early 1930’s led directly into World War II as the 1940’s began. Americans had endured a decade and a half of starvation, fear, and war. It only makes sense that they would see the world in a darker, less welcoming light. This negativity is very clear in almost every film noir and hardboiled novel through the dreary settings.

Although California was often the state of choice, the majority of films featured dark, raining, urban settings. The black and white filming and heavy use of shadows also served to emote a fiercely ominous background to each plot. The dark setting seems to allude to a melancholy ending that is almost always served up readily. In Stanley Kubrick’s The Killing, after pulling off a daring heist, surprisingly likable career criminal, Johnny Clay, is taken back into custody after each member of his team was gunned down. Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity was originally designed to conclude with a heart-wrenching view of a California gas chamber as astray insurance agent Walter Neff lost his life. The man who’d caught him, his best friend Barton Keyes, would have watched painfully from the viewing area. The dark and harsh endings that arose from such a dark and harsh time can hardly be a coincidence.

However, even in such a dark society, there had to be some sense of hope. These poor, downtrodden Americans must have hoped that life could get better in some way. But they clearly couldn’t turn to a government or police force that they considered to be somewhere between inadequate and corrupt. They instead wanted some exterior savior: a man who lived by his own rules and morals. He should definitely be cool, clever, and a great fighter. Maybe he’d have a troubled past, and he didn’t have to be perfect, but he shouldn’t have any major vices. The American public certainly had their wish granted in the noir and hardboiled protagonists. In Orson Welles’s Touch of Evil, Mexican detective Miguel Vargas’ only real fault is his inability to pay attention to his wife. Meanwhile, on his quest to investigate a car-bombing and a cop he suspected of planting evidence, Vargas beat up a bar full of men and used his constantly accurate intuition and wit to maneuver through each situation with ease. In The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler, private investigator Phillip Marlowe pointedly tirades about his role in life during a fight with potential love interest Vivian Sternwood:

I am so money greedy that for twenty-five bucks a day and expenses, mostly gasoline

and whiskey, I do my thinking myself, what there is of it; I risk my whole future, the hatred of the cops and of Eddie Mars and his pals, I dodge bullets and eat saps, and say thank you very much if you have any more trouble, I hope you’ll think of me… I do all this for twenty-five bucks a day–and maybe just a little to protect what little pride a broken and sick old man has left in his blood... (The Big Sleep, 227-228).

Through this rant, Phillip Marlowe angrily reveals himself to be the morally superior hero that the unfortunate 1930’s and 1940’s Americans could admire. He valued his freedom over monetary gain and held himself to a higher standard among the chaos.

            In each of the early hardboiled novels and classical noirs, the settings, characters, and plots aligned with emotions, beliefs, and hopes of the country that created it. Noir novels and films have common threads defined by the pessimism and mistrust of society.   The genre is a bleak depiction of the motivation of the individual, yet there is always a backdrop of hope. Unlike other films of Hollywood’s “Golden Age”, hope is not aspired to through an omnipotent and loved hero, but through an often ostracized and dark anti-hero that is far more morally pragmatic.  Americans were facing economic hardship, world war, and later a new threat of communism and nuclear war. This uncertainty and inevitability must have shaped the dark novels and films of the noir era.