Rorschach and the Age of Noir


hemingways journal

Noir, as a literary and cinematic genre, and even just as a word, has always come with the dark and oddly cosy connotations one often associates with the work of Raymond Chandler, or films such as Double Indemnity, or Graham Greene’s The Third Man. You have your stiff, handsome and rugged protagonist, often in overcoat and/or fedora. They’re walking through the rain; Billy Holiday lazily crooning in the background, or perhaps the speakeasy, Ellington-esque tinkers of an old upright piano. They’re puffing on a thin cigarette, calmly blowing smoke out of one corner of their mouth into the cold air. Your protagonist has a clipped and so very NYC burr, talking about how the world has wronged them, and talking in a detached manner about the case they’re working, as if they have nothing to do with it. Yes, these are all cliches. But that’s the thing about certain cliches…

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Thanks so much for reblogging! It’s an honour.

    Like

    1. La La Film says:

      You’re welcome!

      Like

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