Under the myth of the American dream lurks a dark, seedy side — a gutter littered with broken hearts and despair. And yet, a stubborn sliver of hope endures, a longing for all things brighter. Here, two things exist at once, dancing like shadows in the night. A chiaroscuro, sometimes shining, sometimes bleak, but always entwined together. This is noir. Corrupt heroes and caustic criminals, sly grifters and easy marks, jilted lovers and tough-talking dames, all dreaming the hazy dream soaked in something we thirst for but can never taste. I love this stuff. I live and breathe it. And so for Noirvember, I tried to put together my top thirty film noirs, but my list grew too quickly. So I stopped at 100. And yes, some are noir-adjacent. :) I truly hope you will find one that you enjoy.
Thursday night. New Orleans. The moon’s in the last quarter. Outside Vaughan’s in the Ninth Ward, a white Mercedes rolls up, the doors open and a plume of pungent smoke billows in the air. Two skinny kids get out and head inside, soon returning with steaming bowls of butter beans. Word got out that Chris was cooking. Inside, prayer flags and tinsel flutter from the ceiling. Fat stringed lights twinkle and sag under the a/c, the lousy unit sputtering cool air, losing its battle to the rising steam. Thick varnish glazes the bar, nicotine-stained from a bygone era when smoke hung like fog over the river. The band’s mostly there, warming up, easily finding their groove, the crowd already f - e - e - l - i - n - g - i - t. They’re shaking their asses, waving their arms, spinning invisible webs. They know what’s coming. Believe me, they know. Amid the swell, a hero arrives, holding a gleaming trombone over his head--an incarnation of Jason with the golden fleece. The energy sizzles as he s