When conventional genre throwbacks just look like tired wannabes.
Is there a more adored genre amongst filmmakers than film noir? The works of John Huston, Fritz Lang, and Orson Welles sunk their claws into USC brains a long time ago. Anyone who has lost themselves to that era of cinema totally understands why. The long shadows and leggy femme fatales are nearly impossible to shake once they’ve cast their spell over you. It’s a beautiful, boozy high.
Every Noirvember, I’m ready to hashtag my month away. It’s what movie maniacs do. Film noir is intoxicating, but despite how hard we may try to revive its seductive charms, it’s a genre steeped in a time and a place. Maybe we should just leave it there.
I present the latest from David Robert Mitchell (It Follows) as evidence for this suggestion. Under the Silver Lake is a neo-noir nipping on the heels of Inherent Vice and stars Andrew Garfield, who meets Riley Keough splashing around in a motel pool. After she seemingly vanishes off the face of the Earth, Garfield goes full Sam Spade.
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