Out of all of Hitchcock’s villains, Alex Sebastian is arguably the most unfortunate: he’s a mamma’s boy, he’s a German spy and he has to compete with Cary Grant for Ingrid Bergman. Jeez!

Written by Ben Hecht, Notorious (1946, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) follows Alicia Huberman (Ingrid Bergman), an American citizen and the daughter of a convicted German spy, who is tasked with spying on a group of her father’s fellow spies hiding out in Brazil. Government agent T. R. Devlin (Cary Grant) knows she’s the right woman for the job, until they fall in love with each other. As luck would have it, émigré Alex Sebastian (Claude Rains) is also in love with her…

Grant and Bergman are the ‘stars’ of the show but good ol’ Claude Rains doesn’t seem to mind it. He never did. The ultimate character actor is always, always a thrill to watch. Even when he’s playing one of the screen’s most despicable characters. Alex Sebastian’s unrequited love for Alicia Huberman is the catalyst for what eventually happens – well, at the very least, it’s an important part of it. He has always had a crush on her and now that things seem to be looking up for him, he realises that she’s in love with Devlin.

‘He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?’ Alex Sebastian

… he says, after eyeing Devlin up and down during an awkward encounter. He could have played the fool or not even noticed it at all, but Alex Sebastian isn’t someone you mess with. Don’t let his calm demeanor and affable charm fool you. He is highly intelligent, perceptive, cunning and ruthless. In other words, he’s dangerous. Just like his mother, Madame Sebastian (Leopoldine Konstantin). Madame Sebastian is both domineering and dismissive. She dotes on him and makes fun of him at the same time. She’s like an out-of-place character in a movie that could have almost done without her: Sebastian and his fellow German spies could have been doing their business while being followed by Louis Calhern’s Captain Prescott and his Secret Service men, without much of a motherly presence, and yet, she is needed here and we can all tell that this is why he attaches himself to Alicia.

‘I’m married to an American spy’ Alex Sebastian to Madame Sebastian

Alfred Hitchcock’s camera work in Notorious is exquisite as always, especially in the infamous party scene, but this is more than just another Hitchcockian tour-de-force. Notorious is a top 5 Hitchcock masterpiece when it comes to its character work, and at the center of it all is Alex Sebastian. Claude Rains’ Oscar-nominated performance elevates the film and his demise almost makes you feel sorry for him. You know about his awful deeds, you know you shouldn’t feel sorry for him but you sort of, kind of, do… In that tense final scene, his steely eyes go from a piercing stare to sorrowful pleading when he realizes there’s nothing he can do about it.

We bid farewell to Alex Sebastian and Notorious. Our next loser is a writer with a drinking problem. The film is The Lost Weekend (1945), the actor is Ray Milland and the loser… is Don Birnam.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Joan Crawford won a Best Actress Oscar for Mildred Pierce (1945). She is the star of the show. Mildred Pierce is about Mildred Pierce. But what if we could add a character to the title? Would it be called Mildred Pierce and Veda? Mildred and Veda Pierce? Either way, Ann Blyth’s Supporting Actress-nominated performance sits comfortably and rightfully in second place behind the tour-de-force that is Joan Crawford’s performance.

Written by Ranald MacDougall and based on the James M. Cain novel of the same name, Mildred Pierce (dir. Michael Curtiz) is a noir turned melodrama turned noir again. Someone’s been murdered. There’s an interrogation and a flashback. And we meet Mildred Pierce: recently divorced, with two daughters to look after. She gets a job as a waitress, much to her eldest daughter Veda (Blyth)’s dismay. When her youngest daughter Kay (Jo Ann Marlowe) dies from pneumonia, Mildred picks herself up once again. She opens her own restaurant. And then another one. She can finally provide for Veda. But Veda is never happy…

The youngest of all the Losers featured on this publication, Veda Pierce is every bit as manipulative, conniving and self-centered as her older counterparts. While Mildred’s greatest love is Veda, Veda’s greatest love is money. And status. Like a lot of film noir characters, Veda wants to be somebody. She just doesn’t want to work for it.

‘You think just because you made a little money, you can get a new hairdo and some expensive clothes and turn yourself into a lady. But you can’t because you’ll never be anything but a common frump whose father lived above a grocery store and whose mother took in washing.’ Veda Pierce

Mildred is liked and respected by everyone in her life: her best friend Ida Corwin (Eve Arden in her only Oscar-nominated performance), her husband’s former business partner and friend Wally Fay (Jack Carson) and the man she intends to marry, Monte Beragon (Zachary Scott). She is known around town and she is successful beyond her wildest dreams. But she doesn’t have the one thing she wants the most: Veda’s approval.

A classic ungrateful brat, Veda Pierce is one of noir’s most evil characters. Completely void of any emotions or scruples, she gets exactly what she wants simply by asking for it. She knows her mother will do anything for her and she uses that to her advantage any time she wants. Her schemes are torturous to watch and her refusal to give her mother a break is downright cruel.

‘Personally, Veda’s convinced me that alligators have the right idea: they eat their young.’ Ida Corwin

And if Veda’s a loser, then Mildred is one of noir’s greatest heroines. Mildred did everything she could to have the life she always wanted, not just for herself but for her daughters and she never did anything to anyone in order to get it. Veda, on the other hand, destroyed everything in her path. Veda, like any femme fatale, loser, or spoiled child, used other people to get what she wanted. She used the person who loved her more than anything and she didn’t care. The third act of Mildred Pierce is particularly heart-wrenching as you wonder just how low she can go. It’s interesting to note, however, that she is one of the few Losers who got exactly what she deserved in the end. And we couldn’t be happier.

We bid farewell to Veda Pierce and Mildred Pierce. Our next loser is a business executive living a double life. The film is Notorious (1946), the actor is Claude Rains and the loser… is Alex Sebastian.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

This could easily be about Kitty (Joan Bennett). Or Johnny (Dan Duryea). Or Kitty and Johnny. But it’s not. This is about Chris Cross (Edward G. Robinson), film noir’s saddest character.

Written by Dudley Nichols and based on the Jean Renoir film La Chienne (1931), Scarlet Street (dir. Fritz Lang) tells the story of Chris Cross, a cashier and amateur artist, who meets a young woman, Kitty March, on a night out. They strike up a conversation, and soon enough, she and her boyfriend Johnny Prince start conning him…

You’d never guess it from how Scarlet Street looks, thanks to cinematographer Milton R. Krasner, that you’re watching the bleakest noir ever made. Every frame of Scarlet Street looks like a painting, deliberately so, no doubt. Even in its darkest moments, Kitty and Johnny look like they’ve stepped out of a picture frame, while Chris looks like he just walked into hell. Because in a way, he did.

‘I couldn’t stand my loneliness’ Chris Cross

All Chris wanted was a connection. He wanted somebody to look at him. To see him. Not like his wife, Adele (Rosalind Ivan), who’s still in love with her first husband. He wanted to be loved. Noticed. He wanted his art to be appreciated. And he saw all of that in Kitty. And Kitty and Johnny saw right through it. They saw Chris as an easy target and he fell for it. He unwillingly went along with everything, as the two of them, noir’s most evil pair since Helen and Sam from Born to Kill (1947), did the most unthinkable things.

‘Jeepers, I love you Johnny’ Kitty, repeated line

Loneliness is a curse in film noir. And so is obsession, devotion, deceit, and unrequited love. Poor Chris got it all. The ending of Scarlet Street and indeed, in a way, the ending of Chris Cross is one of the darkest, saddest things I’ve ever seen in a film. It’s so relentless, it makes you yearn for the noirs that gave you something to hold onto. At least Scarlet Street’s sister film The Woman in the Window (1944) had the right idea. If you know, you know.

We bid farewell to Chris Cross and Scarlet Street. Our next loser is an ungrateful, spoiled daughter. The film is Mildred Pierce (1945), the actress is Ann Blyth and the loser… is Veda Pierce.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Obsession is the downfall of many noir characters. Some are obsessed with money. Others are obsessed with a woman. Others are obsessed with money and a woman – pretty, isn’t it? And then there’s White Heat’s Cody Jarrett, who is obsessed with his mother.

Based on the story by Virginia Kellogg, and written by Ivan Goff and Ben Roberts, White Heat (1949, dir. Raoul Walsh) follows criminal Cody Jarrett (James Cagney) and his gang as they rob a mail train, during which several crew members die. Cody’s wife Verna (Virginia Mayo) and crucially his mother ‘Ma’ (Margaret Wycherly), supposedly based on Ma Barker, go along with it and things only get worse from here. ‘Ma’, in particular, is more than an accomplice. She’s an enabler. And in a film that includes not only one of Cagney’s greatest performances, but also Mayo, the always excellent Edmond O’Brien and the always crooked Steve Cochran, it is Margaret Wycherly and her Ma Jarrett that fascinate me the most.

Throughout film history and indeed throughout history, mothers have been portrayed and idealized as caring, nurturing and loving. But film noir is different. Film noir is more than willing to show us what can happen when a mother’s love goes too far.

‘You’re the smartest there is, Cody’ Ma Jarrett

Cody and Ma’s relationship is one of the most complex ever put on screen. They’re obsessed with each other. They can’t live without each other. He relies on her for everything, as evidenced in the scene where she nurses him through one of his migraines. She is more than happy to be the apple of his eye. She thinks the world of her son and he wants to make her proud. As a result, his horrendous deeds are met with admiration, and, on top of that, she covers for him time and again.

‘No-one does what he’s done to you, son, and gets away with it.’ Ma Jarrett

Ruthless, defiant and calculating, Ma Jarrett will stop at nothing to help and protect her son. It has been that way since he was a little boy. The noir world is made up of shady characters doing awful things for bad people, but very few of them have a ‘mother complex’ angle to them. Ordinarily, Virginia Mayo’s Verna would be that character. Cody Jarrett’s pride and joy. Instead, she has to take a backseat to his greater love: his mother. And it is Ma Jarrett, not Verna, who gets a shout-out in the film’s most iconic line. A mother’s love, huh?

We bid farewell to Ma Jarrett and White Heat. Our next loser is an amateur artist who ends up getting conned by two of the worst people in noir. The film is Scarlet Street (1945), the actor is Edward G. Robinson and the loser… is Chris Cross.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Gilda was my first love. It was the film that got me into classic cinema nearly twenty years ago when I was only a teenager. I feel in love with black and white right then and there and, of course, with Rita Hayworth and her hair. Hayworth, in fact, is so clearly the star of the show, it’s easy to overlook everybody else. Including Glenn Ford. But you shouldn’t.

Written by Marion Parsonnet, Jo Eisinger and an uncredited Ben Hecht, based on a story by E. A. Ellington, Gilda (1946, dir. Charles Vidor) is set in Buenos Aires and follows Johnny Farrell (Ford), a down-on-his-luck American who just wants to make some money. He meets the mysterious Ballin Mundson (George Macready), who tells him about this casino in town he should check out. Johnny naturally goes. Turns out Mundson owns the casino. He, of course, hires Johnny to be the manager. Soon after, Johnny meets Ballin’s wife…

The film’s opening sequence tells us who Johnny Farrell is right away. At least, on the surface. He wants to make some money. As much of it as he can get. He’s charming, he’s smart, and he knows how to get exactly what he wants. He’s no fool. At least, not yet…

‘To me, a dollar was a dollar in any language.’ Johnny Farrell

Johnny Farrell wanted what all noir anti-heroes want: anything. A way to make a living. Money. A piece of the American Dream, even if it’s in Argentina. What he didn’t want was to be roped into a wicked game of seduction, sexual tension and jealousy with his boss and his boss’ wife. Throughout the film, Johnny acts as Ballin’s right-hand man, while fighting his feelings for Gilda. The love-hate relationship between Johnny and Gilda is electrifying but so are the homoerotic undertones of Johnny and Ballin’s relationship. Johnny’s in love with Gilda and loyal to Ballin. Or maybe it’s the other way around? No, it can’t be. Johnny is not loyal to Gilda, just like Gilda was never loyal to him in the past.

‘Hate is a very exciting emotion. Haven’t you noticed?’ Ballin, then repeated by Gilda

It’s no coincidence that, according to IMDb, the name ‘Johnny’ is said 101 times in the film, perhaps more than any other Loser here. Gilda is Rita Hayworth’s vehicle, but it is Johnny who is at the centre of it all. Being torn between Gilda and Ballin is something Johnny wasn’t counting on. This is a game he did not ask to play. This is something he went along with because he wanted a few bucks. Johnny Farrell is not noir’s most self-destructive anti-hero, far from it. In fact, he is probably one of noir’s most sympathetic characters in many ways – not that there are that many to choose from. But his is no less of a cautionary tale than all of the other cautionary tales in film noir.

It is perhaps surprising that Gilda doesn’t end like most noirs. Its ending is likely some sort of reward for putting the viewers through what is both noir’s sexiest and most sexually frustrating offering of the 1940s. Johnny Farrell got lucky. Many in the noir world didn’t.

We bid farewell to Johnny Farrell and Gilda. Our next loser is a twisted woman who will stop at nothing to protect her son. The film is White Heat (1949), the actress is Margaret Wycherly and the loser… is Ma Jarrett.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

If there’s one thing 1940s noir loved, it was semi-documentary police procedurals. And Charles McGraw, who, more often than not, scared me half to death. In T-Men (1947, dir. Anthony Mann), you’ll find both.

Written by John C. Higgins and Virginia Kellogg, T-Men follows two Treasury agents, Dennis O’Brien (Dennis O’Keefe) and Tony Genaro (Alfred Ryder), who must go undercover in order to track down a counterfeit ring in Detroit and then Los Angeles. To prepare for their roles are Detroit criminals, they change their names: O’Brien becomes Harrigan, and Genaro becomes Galvani. They study the Detroit crime scene and its history, so as to not miss a step, and off they go…

After an introductory narration, we are presented with one of the greatest opening sequences in film noir, and one of my very favourites. I actually wrote a poem about it recently, if you can believe that. In a nutshell, because I don’t want to spoil the enjoyment, Charles McGraw comes out of the shadows, shoots someone and T-Men begins. In that scene and all the others, cinematographer John Alton proves that if anybody is a hero in film noir, it’s him.

The array of shady characters in T-Men puts any of its contemporary noirs to shame. You just can’t trust anybody. Between the so-called ‘Schemer’ (Wallace Ford), Moxie (Charles McGraw), Vantucci (Anton Kosta), and all the other criminals they are trying to catch, O’Brien and Genaro really only have each other.

‘Now there could be no turning back’ Narrator

We often talk about love, lust and everything in between when it comes to film noir, but friendship hardly ever gets a look in. O’Brien and Genaro are strong contenders for one of film noir’s most heart-breaking friendships. Granted, they are co-workers first and foremost. They are in this together because they have to be. They were chosen for this particular job. This is what they have to do. But throughout the film, we get a glimpse of their growing, if fleeting, friendship. And we feel for them every step of the way.

T-Men is one of the most intense films noirs of the 1940s. Every moment could be the end for them. Every scene brings with it a sense of peril. O’Brien and Genaro have infiltrated a world that is not going to be kind to them and we know it. We love watching them do their thing and getting closer and closer to the truth. But we know doom is near.

‘I’ve been around a few corners myself…’ O’Brien

O’Brien’s determination in the face of danger is admirable. So is Genaro’s commitment. He even pretends not to know his own wife Mary, played by the recently departed and already missed June Lockhart, when he gets spotted by her and her friend, while he’s out with Schemer. He’s trying to protect her and himself and it eats away at him in that moment. He may be playing the role of a Detroit gangster, but his real-life role as a devoted family man is the one he’s clearly most proud of.

O’Brien and Genaro’s brief friendship and partnership reminds us that when all else fails in film noir, you may be able to turn to a friend. It reminds us that in this world, you can almost never rely on anyone… but sometimes you can. It shows us that while film noir is made up of losers, some of them lost what they had for the greater good. In a world of villains, being a hero is hard. But somebody has to do it.

We bid farewell to O’Brien and Genaro and T-Men. Our next loser is a man who can’t run away from the past and the woman he once loved. The actor is Glenn Ford, the film is Gilda (1946), and the loser… is Johnny Farrell.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Though Lana Turner was only nominated for the Best Actress Oscar once, for Peyton Place (1957), and while I would argue that the 50s was her best period, Cora Smith is, indeed, her signature role. She agreed and so did James M. Cain.

Written by Harry Ruskin and Niven Busch and based on the James M. Cain novel of the same name, The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946, dir. Tay Garnett) starts at a roadside café, Twin Oaks, like so many noirs do. Drifter Frank Chambers (John Garfield) gets a job there, working for Nick Smith (Cecil Kellaway) and his wife Cora (Lana Turner). Soon enough, Frank and Cora develop feelings for each other… And after a series of mishaps, they plot to murder Nick…

With as iconic an entrance as any femme fatale ever had, Cora Smith seduces Frank Chambers from afar. With her lipstick between them. And her reticent caution keeping him at bay. But we all know that’s not going to last. A few stolen kisses here and there, a trip to the beach, and soon enough, they decide to run away together. Until Cora realizes she will be left with nothing. And she can’t have that.

‘I want to be somebody. If I walk out like this, I’ll lose everything and I’ll never be anybody’ Cora Smith

Cora Smith never had anything. Except for the men who wanted her. When she met Nick, she knew and he knew that it wasn’t for love, but for stability. For security. All the things Cora needed. And it worked out just fine for them. Love never got in the way. Until she met Frank.

Cora and Frank plot to kill Nick. What else are they meant to do? And for a film noir which functions mostly as a marriage melodrama if you will – another term I’m trying to coin -, the bathtub scene is one of the most intense and chilling scenes in mid-40s noir world. After this, everything changes, but not the way you think. Their fellow James M. Cain neighbours Phyllis Dietrichson and Walter Neff from Double Indemnity (1944) had their share of setbacks, but not like this. Everything seems to be thrown Cora and Frank’s way, with each twist more preposterous than the last. Contrastingly, Cora and Frank seem to be more conflicted than their Double Indemnity counterparts. Without wanting to excuse their actions, it seems as though Cora and Frank don’t really want to go down the path where they end up. It’s just that the prospect of nothing makes people do anything.

‘I want to make something out of this place, I want to turn this into an honest-to-goodness–’
’Well aren’t we ambitious…’ Cora Smith and Frank Chambers

Cora Smith is Lana Turner’s most famous incarnation, and a fashion icon for the ages at that. A true femme fatale, conniving and exquisite. Manipulative and endearing. She’s her own downfall as well as Frank’s. One could even argue that he’s the true loser of The Postman Always Rings Twice. Cora gets top billing here, though. But don’t worry, I’m saving John Garfield for another post.

We bid farewell to Cora Smith and The Postman Always Rings Twice. Our next losers are a pair of Treasury men who go undercover to infiltrate a counterfeit ring. The film is T-Men (1947), the actors are Dennis O’Keefe and Alfred Ryder and the losers… are O’Brien and Genero.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Somewhere, in the eternal fine line between film noir and horror, there’s the road thriller. That undefinable genre that could go either way. The Hitch-Hiker (1953, dir. Ida Lupino) is certainly one of those.

Written by Lupino and Collier Young and inspired by the real-life case of Billy Cook, The Hitch-Hiker, generally considered to be the first mainstream film noir directed by a woman, stars William Talman as Emmett Myers, a hitch-hiker on a killing spree. He gets picked up by Roy Collins (O’Brien) and Gilbert Bowen (Frank Lovejoy), two friends on a fishing trip. Things don’t go well…

The opening sequence of The Hitch-Hiker is about as ominous and scary as you can get, and it only gets scarier when Emmet Myers’ face comes into view. With his half-closed lid, his stone-cold expression and a reputation that precedes him, Myers is one of film noir’s most terrifying villains. He is also, along with He Walked By Night’s Roy Morgan, one of its most impenetrable characters. We know nothing about him except for what shows us. He enjoys killing people. He enjoys tormenting them. He loves the attention. He loves the thrill. But is he really any different than all the other film noir villains and, yes, losers?

‘Nobody ever gave me anything, so I don’t owe nobody’ Emmett Myers

In a rare moment of introspection, he reveals that his parents never cared about him and that he always had to fend for himself. He wanted to be somebody because he was always a nobody. That contrast is no less fascinating than the fact that we have a road thriller that takes us across several side roads, deserts and highways, that nevertheless feels claustrophobic the entire time. All of these elements are superbly put together by Lupino. Her camera doesn’t let go of that wonderful tension for one moment and we could not be more grateful.

The Hitch-Hiker isn’t cool, or glamourous, or witty. It’s dark, edgy and unsettling. And Emmett Myers is at the center of it all. As I said many years ago when I watched it for the first time, I came for Edmond O’Brien, I stayed for William Talman.

We bid farewell to Emmett Myers and The Hitch-Hiker. Our next loser is a beautiful seductress who conspires with her lover to kill her husband. The actress is Lana Turner, the film is The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) and the loser… is Cora Smith.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Rita Hayworth’s hair flip in Gilda (1946). Barbara Stanwyck on top of the stairs in Double Indemnity (1944). Charles McGraw’s half-lit face in T-Men (1947). Orson Welles’ well-lit face in The Third Man (1949). If you are going to make a film noir entrance, make a film noir entrance!

Written by Graham Greene, based on his own treatment for a novella of the same name, The Third Man (dir. Carol Reed) follows novelist Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten) as he arrives in Vienna, Austria, searching for Harry Lime, his lifelong friend who has promised him a job there. As it turns out, however, Harry Lime is dead; he was hit by a car while crossing the street. Right away, his death seems suspicions and Martins decides to investigate. What happened?

‘Is that what you say to people after death? ‘Goodness, that’s awkward’.’ Holly Martins

The people of Vienna all have things to say about Harry Lime. Things they are only too careful not to say outright. Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli) is still in love with him, Major Calloway (Trevor Howard) knows too much about him to let Martins get involved, and everybody in between is just on edge about him. More and more questions keep popping up while Martins tries to piece it all together… Until one night, when Harry Lime shows up.

One of the most famous scenes in movie history does exactly what it needs to do: it delivers. Harry Lime’s introduction delivers what it promised for about an hour. Harry is here. Harry will probably be gone before you know it. Orson Welles’ note-perfect performance gives us Harry Lime in all his questionable glory. Not once does he make a wrong move. Not with a look, expression, movement or line. This is no more apparent than in Harry and Holly’s next encounter, when Harry’s character is in full view and we understand why everybody had something to say about him. He seduces people, he can talk his way out of any situation, he’s smart, manipulative, witty and dangerous. The rumours were true.

‘But the dead are happier dead. They don’t miss much here, poor devils.’ Harry Lime

Harry Lime’s villainy both precedes him and remains long after it’s all said and done. His actions, his choices, his decisions… they all have consequences. He has destroyed the lives of many people and his deeds went unpunished for too long, because he always managed to get away with everything. The streets of film noir, or indeed the streets of Vienna in this case, are filled with bad decisions and their fallout. They linger. Harry Lime’s actions live on in the streets of The Third Man, perfectly enveloped by those cool camera angles and Anton Karas’ iconic music.

We bid farewell to Harry Lime and The Third Man. Our next loser is, well, a psychopathic hitch-hiker. The film is The Hitch-Hiker (1953), the actor is William Talman and the loser… is Emmett Myers.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Noir-ish melodramas or melodramatic noirs? And where does Pre-Code come into all of this? Because I have always believed that there’s a link somewhere, somehow, between all three. And we all know Joan Crawford is at the centre of it all, more often than not.

Written by Harold Medford and Jerome Weidman, and based on Gertrude Walker’s story ‘Case History’, The Damned Don’t Cry (dir. Vincent Sherman) tells the story of Ethel Whitehead (Joan Crawford), a down-on-her-luck housewife who is unhappy in her marriage and whose only source of happiness is her young son. When he dies in a road accident, she decides to leave her husband and look for a better life elsewhere. She leaves town and starts working low-paying jobs and attracting wealthy customers. Soon, the money starts rolling in and the connections get more and more sophisticated. Ethel Whitehead becomes Lorna Hansen Forbes and Lorna Hansen Forbes becomes a crime syndicate darling.

‘Don’t talk to me about self-respect. That’s something you tell yourself you got when you got nothing else’ Ethel Whitehead

Ethel Whitehead didn’t know what she was getting into, but she knew she wanted to get somewhere. So she tried to go somewhere, be somebody… and she never stopped. And as she went from client to client, man to man, she achieved what she… sort of wanted. She was respected, admired, desired. She was in control, it seems. She had Martin Blackford (Kent Smith), George Castleman (David Brian) and Nick Prenta (Steve Cochran) in the palm of her hand. Until Prenta ended up murdered. This jarring moment opens the film and the rest is told is flashback. Just what happened?

‘This isn’t a party you can leave when you get bored. We could have left, you and I, a long time ago. We were only guests then. But we stayed too late.’ Martin Blackford

Lorna Hansen Forbes/Ethel Whitehead is no different than most noir characters. She had nothing, she wanted the world and she had it for a little bit. Then she realised she asked for too much and got even more than that. The journey we go on with her is a familiar one; one we’ve seen in countless noirs. Joan Crawford gives one of her best performances and we get one of the best-realized characters in early 50s noir. Ethel Whitehead is, above all, a survivor. And what that ending shows us is that, unlike most noir characters, she is invincible.

We bid farewell to Ethel Whitehead and The Damned Don’t Cry. Our next loser is an elusive man, until he isn’t. The film is The Third Man (1949), the actor is Orson Welles and the loser… is Harry Lime.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

If film genres have a peak year, 1947 is surely film noir’s. So much was happening in the noir world that year, that one could be forgiven for forgetting one of the lesser noir-y though equally thrilling ones. Boomerang!’s police procedural style might make some question its inclusion in the noir canon, and wonder if it belongs solely in the courtroom drama universe, but Arthur Kennedy’s character’s plight should remove any doubt as to why it deserves a place here, and there.

Written by Richard Murphy and based on a Reader’s Digest article by Anthony Abbot, Boomerang! (dir. Elia Kazan) was based a true 1924 crime, and follows prosecutor Henry Harvey (Dana Andrews) as he tries to prove the innocence of John Waldron (Arthur Kennedy), a veteran accused of murdering Father Lambert (Wyrley Birch) late one evening, in the middle of the street.

‘But his everyday work was with the people of his parish, and especially with those who sought his advice and counsel.’ Narrator

The murder of Father Lambert in quiet, respectable Bridgeport, Connecticut, soon becomes a cause celebre. The people become restless; they want the murderer caught, and when Chief Robinson (Lee J. Cobb) is pressured into putting someone behind bars as soon as possible, along comes John Waldron. All the key eyewitnesses from that evening name him as the culprit and everyone in town turns on him. He is interrogated for hours on end, he becomes exhausted, he is coerced into signing as a confession… and he is put on trial for a crime he may not have committed.

‘What? You’re crazy, I never murdered anybody!’ John Waldron

It’s a tale as old as time. Man gets wrongly accused of something he didn’t do, the police is corrupt, man gets thrown in jail. Only in this case, the man is a veteran. That, in the noir world, is also a tale as old as time. Veteran is disenchanted with his life after returning home, he tries to make a better life for himself, but fate plays a dirty trick on him. John Waldron is not an out-and-out loser. By any means. If anything, he’s honest, hard-working, and he gave the best years of his life for his country. He is, essentially, a scapegoat. He’s a victim of the noir curse itself. Police corruption is rampant in this town, dirty politicians will stop at nothing to get what they want, and they’re all at war with each other… Poor John Waldron just got caught in the middle of it all.

And you really feel for him. Not least because five-time Oscar nominee Arthur Kennedy had one of the most honest faces on the silver screen. His expression upon hearing that he got arrested on suspicion of murder is one for the ages. As much as I love Cobb, Karl Malden, Sam Levene, Ed Begley and especially Dana Andrews, the film belongs to the heart-breaking face of Arthur Kennedy. Always a welcomed face in every noir. In every movie.

We bid farewell to John Waldron and Boomerang!. Our next loser is a down-on-her-luck housewife and mother who gets involved with the mob. The actress is Joan Crawford, the film is The Damned Don’t Cry (1950) and the loser… is Ethel Whitehead.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Not only is this Claire Trevor’s second rodeo here at The Losers of Film Noir, but this is also the first time we’ve had an Oscar-winning performance! And while she is dealt much of the same heartache as in the previously discussed Raw Deal, she takes it up a notch and earns herself that Best Supporting Actress Oscar.

Written by Richard Brooks and John Huston, and based on the Maxwell Anderson play of the same name, Key Largo (1948, dir. Huston) takes place in… well, Key Largo, more specifically a hotel. Army veteran Frank McLeod (Humphrey Bogart) arrives at the hotel to visit the family of his friend George Temple, who served with him. The Temples, James (Lionel Barrymore) and his daughter-in-law Nora (Lauren Bacall), own the hotel, though it seems to be closed now; it’s summer and there’s a hurricane coming. Still, there are a few people about. Among them, Gaye Dawn (Claire Trevor).

We meet her at the bar, as does Frank. She’s not your typical ‘femme fatale seated at the hotel bar being a gorgeous baddass’ type. Oh no. She’s loud, brash and drunk. She slurs her words as she addresses Frank, she yells at the bartender to give Frank a drink, she stumbles all over the place; she’s a right mess. She’s also the ex-girlfriend of feared gangster Johnny Rocco (Edward G. Robinson), who decides to take everybody at the hotel hostage, along with his goons.

‘Well, this is a free country. If I want a drink, I can have one. I can buy my own.’ Gaye Dawn

Her drinking problem is apparent throughout the whole film but it is only through her interactions with Johnny Rocco that we get a kind of idea about why she acts this way. Johnny took her out of the chorus, in his own words. Gaye Dawn could have been a singer. She could have been famous. She could have had it all. But something happened. We can only assume Johnny’s domineering ways got in the way. He terrorized her just like he terrorizes everyone in the film. But he’s not done with her yet. In the film’s most powerful scene, Johnny makes Gaye sing her old song, acapella, in front of everybody. He promises to give her a drink, and she reluctantly agrees. She tries her best, but her nerves get the better of her, much to everyone’s discomfort… Still, in that moment, we get a glimpse of what could have been. Not only did this scene win Claire Trevor her Oscar, it won our hearts too.

‘It’s better to be a live coward than a dead hero’ Gaye Dawn

Gaye Dawn, like many noirs characters, is the embodiment of the American Dream gone wrong. Though her character is a true supporting character, she could have even been the main character in a prequel or series spin-off. Her dreams were shattered. Her talent unnoticed. Her looks faded. And now she finds herself in a hotel in the middle of a hurricane with nothing but the bar to keep her company.

We bid farewell to Gaye Dawn and Key Largo. Our next loser is a down-on-his-luck veteran who gets wrongly convicted of murder. The movie is Boomerang! (1947), the actor is Arthur Kennedy and the loser… is John Waldron.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Sometimes one great performance is all it takes to ensure your film noir screen immortality. Jean Gillie in Decoy (1946), Jane Greer in Out of the Past (1947), Clifton Webb in Laura (1944)… and Robert Walker in Strangers on a Train (1951). Walker, like Gillie, Greer and Webb, delivered good screen performances throughout the years, but it is his turn as Bruno Antony that stands out. The one he will always be remembered for. And sadly, the last one before his untimely death.

Written by Raymond Chandler and Czenzi Ormonde, and based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel of the same name, Strangers on a Train (1951, dir. Alfred Hitchcock) starts, appropriately, on a train. Bruno Antony (Robert Walker) recognizes tennis star Guy Haines (Farley Granger) and the two strike up a conversation. Bruno may or may not know a little too much about Guy, which he uses to his advantage. Guy is looking to divorce his wife Miriam (Kasey Rogers, credited as Laura Elliott), and Bruno kindly offers to kill her for him. So long as Guy kills his father in exchange... Simple. Guy, predictably, rejects the suggestion and the two part ways. But Bruno won’t take no for an answer…

Bruno Antony knows how to work people. He knows how to use his charm to his advantage. But it’s not just about his charm. He is odd. Strange. Intriguing. He has a way with words. And the worst thing is, he makes himself known pretty quickly and he doesn’t hold back. Unfortunately he makes himself known in the worst possible ways. Miriam’s demise, for instance, is a shocking moment, and from this point on, we realize what kind of psychopath we are dealing with.

‘My theory is that everyone is a potential murderer’ Bruno Antony

Bruno Antony has always been led to believe he could get away with everything. His moment of character exposition comes with his mother. In a wonderfully bizarre scene in which Mrs Antony (Marion Lorne) is filing Bruno’s nails, we begin to understand what kind of son and person he’s always been. She is no stranger to her son’s sociopathic ways. She knows he has always had a mean streak. He would say and suggest things that she most certainly turned a blind eye to, perhaps because he always pretended he was joking, in order to protect her.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to shoot you, Mr Haines, it might disturb Mother’ Bruno Antony

Bruno Antony’s obsession with Guy Haines and its homoerotic undertones become more and more evident as the movie goes on. Soon, we find ourselves in an increasingly claustrophobic and gothic atmosphere, reminiscent of Rebecca (1940), perhaps its only rival in Hitchcock’s noir-turned-gothic canon. And it’s even better on the big screen. My mother and I saw it at the BFI in London about 10 years ago. I’d seen it before and she loved it. She passed away last month, but I’d like to think she’d get a kick out of this article, like she always did.

We bid farewell to Bruno Antony and Strangers on a Train. Our next loser is a long-suffering gangster moll. The film is Key Largo (1948), the actress is Claire Trevor and the loser… is Gaye Dawn.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Linda Darnell’s tragic and untimely death in 1965 is one of Hollywood’s darkest tragedies. It breaks my heart every time I think about it, not least because it’s always a pleasure to see her in a movie. She was one of those people who made every movie better by being in it. Especially, the otherwise (kind of) forgettable Fallen Angel (1945).

Written by Harry Kleiner, based on Marty Holland’s novel of the same name, Fallen Angel (dir. Otto Preminger) tells the story of Eric Stanton (Dana Andrews), a drifter who wanders into the small village of Walton, after being kicked off the bus for not having the right fare to go all the way to San Francisco. He pops into Pop’s Eats, a diner where the locals are speculating about what might have happened to Stella (Linda Darnell), the waitress. Then, Stella comes in… and Eric becomes infatuated. While in town, he gets a job with fortune teller Professor Madley (John Carradine) and eventually befriends the Mills sisters in order to con them out of their money.

This relatively kooky noir isn’t necessarily one of the best in the genre. In fact, I don’t think it makes my top 20. It’s actually more of a small-town melodrama than a film noir. But there is something about it I absolutely love: Stella.

‘I knew you’d be back.’ Mark Judd (Charles Bickford)

‘OK… I’m back’ Stella

Her spectacular entrance tells us everything we need to know: she’s sassy, confident and takes no prisoners. She’s been away and now she’s back. Good. She doesn’t take to Eric immediately but he wins her over after a while and the two of them seem to be going somewhere… Until Eric starts courting June Mills (Alice Faye). This not only signifies a shift in the film’s dynamics, but it also flirts with one of film noir’s most treasured motifs: good vs bad.

Stella represents the ‘good’. Fallen Angel is full of con people conning each other and tricksters playing tricks. The good side of town, when June lives with her sister Clara (Anne Revere) might not be as good as it seems, and the working-class part of town, where Stella lives and works, has a little something to say for itself, actually.

Stella represents so many things that make film noir what it is. She’s an optimist who’s been kicked to the ground countless times. She knows what she wants and has no qualms about going after it. She wants to be happy, but life keeps getting in the way.

‘And do you see me with a ring on my finger, somebody to give me a home?’ Stella

Stella is a true film noir ‘loser’ if there ever was one. She keeps getting the wrong end of the stick, no matter how hard she tries to turn her life around. She, like so many characters on the streets of noir, just wants to make a better life for herself. Problem is, she gets caught up with the one man who literally lies to people for a living and, on top of that, ends up with a woman who, compared to Stella, already has everything.

I keep coming back to Fallen Angel because of Stella. I even named one of the characters on my TV show after her. She’s a delight and you just want to protect her. And that mischievous laugh (‘hmm-hmm!’) when Eric says they’re as good as married? Gets me every single time.

We bid farewell to Stella and Fallen Angel. Our next loser concocts a plan to ‘swap murders’ with a total stranger. The film is Strangers on a Train (1951), the actor is Robert Walker and the loser… is Bruno Antony.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Of all the predicaments that ever befell the characters in noir world, knowing that you’re dying and there’s nothing you can do about it except spend your last moments trying to find out who killed you, has got to be in the top 10.

Written by Russell Rouse and Clarence Greene and directed by Rudolph Mate, D. O. A. (1949 or 1950, nobody seems to be sure) has one of the best set-ups of any film noir ever: Frank Bigelow (Edmond O’Brien) walks into the Homicide Division of a San Francisco police station to report a murder: his own. In the flashback, we learn that Bigelow is an accountant and notary public living in Banning, California. He decides to go to San Francisco for the weekend, much to the dismay of his girlfriend Paula Gibson (Pamela Britton). While there, he is poisoned. When told he only has days to live, he tries to work out who did it and why.

This utterly perfect set-up could not be any more noir. It’s immediately intriguing and it puts us right where we need to be. Who did this? Who killed Frank Bigelow? Who can we trust in this story? D. O. A. is perhaps not the most visually striking of all the films noir. The sense of urgency doesn’t leave much room for shades and street lamps, apart from the glitz of San Francisco. Nor does it have a lot of cool lines, apart from the ones spoken by Neville Brand, in one of his many tough guy roles. But it does do the one thing noir can’t do without: a doomed character.

‘Do you realize what you’re saying? You’re telling me that I’m dead.’ Frank Bigelow

Right from the beginning, we are met with a character who is literally dying in front of our eyes. All he wanted was to get away and enjoy himself in San Francisco, then come back to Paula and then perhaps the two of them could have had a future together. His womanizing ways maybe get in the way of us rooting for them, but he is mostly harmless, as far as noir characters go.

‘Because I did take that poison and nothing can save me’ Frank Bigelow

The solution to the mystery adds to the nihilist aspect of the film and of film noir in general. Frank Bigelow didn’t deserve what happened, but he couldn’t stop it. Most noir characters at least try to stay alive; that’s the bare minimum in this world. Most noir characters know that there’s a chance, somewhere, somehow. Frank Bigelow knows there isn’t. Of all the losers featured here, Frank Bigelow lost the most.

We bid farewell to Frank Bigelow and D. O. A. Our next loser is a streetwise waitress who gets caught up in something she could have done without. The film is Fallen Angel (1945), the actress is Linda Darnell and the loser… is Stella.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

I just realized something that eluded me for years. Everyone in The Maltese Falcon (1941) is being the stereotype we most associate with them. Humphrey Bogart is the smart-ass, tough guy who we’ve come to know and love, Mary Astor is the seductress, Sydney Greenstreet is the intimidating authority figure, Elisha Cook Jr is the confused crook, and Peter Lorre is the doe-eyed, soft-spoken ‘innocent villain’, to quote Arlene Francis on What’s My Line.

Based on the Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name, The Maltese Falcon was John Huston’s directorial debut, if you can believe that (wait till you hear 12 Angry Men was Sidney Lumet’s!). The story is as simple as any noir story, so not simple at all: a woman by name of Ruth Wonderly (Mary Astor) asks PI Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart) to find his missing sister, who ran off with this guy called Thursby. That night, Spade’s partner Miles Archer (Jerome Cowan) gets killed. The police inform Spade that Thursby was killed that very night, suggesting Spade had the motive to kill Thursby, who almost certainly killed Archer. Things get more and more convoluted, as it turns out there’s a black figure of a bird that everyone wants. How Hammett came up with that, I’ll never know.

Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre) first comes into contact with Sam Spade when he asks him to find the falcon. Spade says no, Cairo pulls out a gun, and starts searching for it. In this scene alone, we get that Peter Lorre magic that stays throughout the film, but more than that, we get the Lorre/Bogart chemistry that we’ve seen being played out in many films after this. Every time they’re on screen together, it’s always a hoot. And this is no exception.

‘I certainly wish you would have invented a more reasonable story. I feel distinctly like an idiot repeating it.’ Joel Cairo

‘Don’t worry about the story’s goofiness, a sensible one would have had us all in the cooler.’ Sam Spade

Cairo’s inept skills, less-than-intimidating demeanour, and, yes, doe-eyed expression, make him one of noir’s least believable villains, and I mean that in a good way. Joel Cairo’s greatness lies in how silly he is. Where Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet) functions as the mastermind, and Wilmer Cook (Elisha Cook Jr) acts as the sort of fall guy, Cairo acts as Gutman’s right-hand man who thinks he’s doing the right thing, but keeps putting his foot in it.

‘May I remind you, Mr Spade, that you may have the falcon, but we certainly have you.’ Joel Cairo

I’d say Joel Cairo is your love-to-hate character, but you genuinely can’t help but love him. His pomposity, his inability to see things through, and, of course, his iconic meltdown, are a joy to watch. He is as much of a typical Peter Lorre character as Ugarte from Casablanca (1942). He is the type of noir character that can only be described as an idiotic sideman. And we need those, actually. They bring a certain quality to the whole thing and without that, noir wouldn’t be the same. Without Peter Lorre, noir wouldn’t be the same.

We bid farewell to Joel Cairo and The Maltese Falcon. Our next loser is a man who tries to solve… his own murder. The film is D. O. A. (1950), the actor is Edmond O’Brien and the loser… is Frank Bigelow.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Why not Al Roberts, Carol? Isn't he the perfect film noir loser if there ever was one? Yes. Al Roberts is the ultimate film noir loser. Not only is he doomed from the start, but he also delivers the line that best incapsulates the world of film noir. He's perfect for this publication. So why Vera and not Al? Because without her, he may have come out of it almost unscathed.

Written by Martin Goldsmith and adapted from his novel of the same name, Detour (1945, dir. Edgar G. Ulmer) is possibly the best B-noir of them all. Al Roberts (Tom Neal) sits at a cafe in Reno, reminiscing about his past: New York City, years ago. He and his girlfriend Sue (Claudia Drake) perform in a nightclub; he plays the piano, she sings. They dream about going to Hollywood, what else? She ends up going without him, and he promises to meet her there. With no money and no way of getting to California, he hitch-hikes. Charles Haskell (Edmund MacDonald) picks him up. Then dies. Al decides to get rid of his body, assume his identity and then sell the car. Except... somewhere along the way, he picks up a hitchhiker. Vera (Ann Savage) knows what he did: she was herself picked up by Haskell a while back, and Al Roberts is no Charles Haskell...

At just one hour and seven minutes, Detour is the shortest film in this publication, and the one I wish was longer. Its immense sense of doom is almost unreal. There is nothing in Detour to comfort you. It is utterly void of hope. And Al Roberts is a brilliant noir protagonist if there ever was one. All he wanted was to go to California and be with the love of his life. Instead, he finds himself in Reno, with a dead body. This is perhaps the most significant moment in his life. He needs to make a decision. And his decision leads him down the path of destruction. But the thing is, if you can suspend disbelief and concede that is he indeed a reliable narrator, which is up for debate, then you could argue that he really had no choice. He's not a bad person, he just had to make a choice. He didn't bring this on himself, not entirely anyway.

'Fate, or some mysterious force, can put the finger on you on me, for no good reason at all.’ Al Roberts

And then there was Vera. If Haskell's death could have given Al a way out, then meeting Vera sealed his fate. Vera had as rough a childhood as Margot Shelby, and is as selfish as Kathie Moffatt. Only she's not as glamourous as either one of them. She's more like Bette Davis in Of Human Bondage, which I'm convinced is the inspiration for Savage's performance. She's crass, brash and utterly vicious. She wants money, obviously, and she won't be coy about it either. You know what she wants, Al knows what she wants, and that's that. And when she realizes that Al stole Haskell's identity, she's out for blood.

'Shut up! You're a cheap crook and you killed him.' Vera

Vera is a metaphor for Detour itself. Famously one of Poverty Row's biggest hits, Detour had a low budget, and it looked like it. But its stark cinematography and editing style ended up working in its favor. That's just what Detour needed. A rugged, rough look and feel to it, to match its content. And while Al Roberts is the soul of Detour, Vera is the face of it. She's as raw and real as can be. She won't suffer fools, and she won't waste any time getting what she wants. Her confidence is almost intimidating. Except for a few scenes where she seems to realize the potential of her alluring sensuality and clumsily tries to use it to her advantage, she is no seductress, unlike most femmes fatale. She's only interested in herself and her needs. And she needs money and a way out of the hellhole that is her life as soon as possible. So she tries to throw Al under the bus. She actively tries to ruin his life, while trying to make a better life for herself. She is the final nail in Al Roberts' coffin. Perhaps he had it coming, if you don't believe his tale, but if you do, then you're probably rooting for him a little bit. Sue was waiting; Hollywood was waiting. And Vera was waiting by the side of the road.

We bid farewell to Vera and Detour. Our next loser is a weasel who wants what everybody wants. The film is The Maltese Falcon (1941), the actor is Peter Lorre and the loser... is Joel Cairo.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Some of the most brutal noirs of the 1940s came from the man who would go on to win Best Director Oscars for West Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1965), a fact that amazes me every time I think about it. Much like Anthony Mann, who went from noirs to Westerns, Robert Wise went from noirs to dramas and musicals, and is undoubtedly more celebrated for the latter two, but there is something to be said for his noirs. Born to Kill (1947) is one of the few I can barely sit through, due to its immensely evil nature, I Want To Live! (1958) is equally devastating, and The Set-Up (1949) breaks your heart.

Written by Art Cohn, based on a poem (yes) by Joseph Moncure March, The Set-Up follows Bill 'Stoker' Thompson, played by Robert Ryan, an aging boxer who is set to take on an up-and-coming boxer by the name of Tiger Nelson (Hal Fieberling). Stoker's manager Tiny (George Tobias) thinks he's going to lose so he takes a bribe from a mobster who wants Tiger to win. Meanwhile, Stoker's wife Julie (Audrey Totter) thinks he should forfeit, as she fears for his life.

Boxing is a recurring motif in film noir. Its physical brutality serves as a metaphor for what's going on underneath, usually showing the character at their lowest. In The Set-Up, this is no exception. Stoker and Julie want a better life for themselves. They just want to live their lives and be happy. Stoker reminds her of what they could do what the money; he suggests that cigar stand in Union City they've always talked about. But Julie just wants her Bill alive and well.

‘Oh Bill... maybe you can go on taking the beatings, I can't.’ Julie Thompson

Julie has been supportive of him throughout his career. She has always put him first, and she stands by him no matter what, even when she can't physically watch the fight. And Stoker knows this. He's fighting for both of them. He wants to win for both of them. The odds are against him, but he is still going for it. He is a 'loser' in everyone's eyes, but not hers, and certainly not ours.

Throughout the film, you feel for both Stoker and Julie. He really should have listened to her. He's 35, he is way past his prime, and virtually everybody wants him to lose. But the fighter in him gets the better of him. So, when the time comes, we watch, horrified, as one of the most meticulously detailed fight scenes in cinema happens right in front of our eyes.

‘Well that's the way it is, you're a fighter, you gotta fight.’ Bill ‘Stoker’ Thompson

The outcome of the fight is surprising, but the ending is even more surpising. One of the few happy endings of film noir, The Set-Up reminds us of the power of love. It reminds us that there are people in our lives will always be by our side, no matter what. Julie's love for Stoker is one of the most remarkable displays of love in film noir and Stoker's inclusion in the Losers of Film Noir is, if anything, ironic.

We bid farewell to Bill 'Stoker' Thompson and The Set-Up (1949). Our next loser is a loud-mouthed know-it-all from the wrong side of the tracks. The film is Detour (1945), the actress is Ann Savage and the loser is... simply, Vera.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Who killed the chauffeur? Why isn't Kansas City Confidential (1952) called Tijuana Confidential? How come Dan Duryea always managed to open every door despite the fact that he couldn't possibly have had the keys to any of them? These are questions we have all asked ourselves at some point in our lives... at least, I have. And maybe three other people. Well, you can add 'why didn't the Swede fight back?'. The answer may or may not lie with Kitty Collins.

Based on the Ernest Hemingway short story of the same name, which I've actually read, The Killers (1946, dir. Robert Siodmak) is one of the great noirs from that great year in cinema. It was nominated for four Oscars: Best Director, Best Editing, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Original Score, which makes it one of the best performing noirs at the Oscars, with Miklos Rozsa's score being a stand-out. It appears to have been the inspiration for the theme from Dragnet, and you can hear it right from the get-go as, in one of the most terrifying opening sequences in film noir history, a pair of killers, chillingly played by William Conrad and Charles McGraw, arrive in Brentwood, New Jersey, looking for Pete 'the Swede' Lund (Burt Lancaster). After an intense back-and-forth with the owner of Henry's Cafe, a scene I'm sure Tarantino has watched countless times, they head for their target. They kill him mercilessly and as Detective Jim Reardon (Edmond O'Brien) tries to piece the puzzle back together, we go back in time in classic noir flashback. There's a robbery, a mastermind, two idiots and a femme fatale.

‘You touch me and you won't live til morning' Kitty Collins

Kitty Collins (Ava Gardner) is simply of the greatest femmes fatale. She is every femme fatale stereotype and then some. Beautiful, unassuming, cold and deadly. In that order. She is a mystery. And you somehow know it. As soon as the Swede lays eyes on her, you know what's going to happen. She sings about love, but she can't possibly know what that is. And the Swede is about to find that out. As it turns out, she's involved with a crime boss by the name of 'Big Jim' Colfax (Albert Dekker) and there is going to be some sort of robbery. The Swede is, of course, going to be involved.

'If there's one thing in this world I hate, it's a double-crossing dame' Jim Colfax

Bad luck, Kitty Collins is one of the most prolific double-crossing dames. And why? Well, the usual reasons. She had a terrible life, a past she would rather forget and she swore she would try and make a better life for herself. What else? This seems to be the go-to motivation for all femmes fatale and that's fair enough. Unfortunately, this is film noir which means she went about it entirely the wrong way. She chose a life of crime, she chose the bad guys, and she chose Colfax. And she played everyone. Brilliantly so, I might add. In fact, I'm still not sure just who she double crossed, and how many times. There's another question for you.

We bid farewell to Kitty Collins and The Killers. Our next loser is a boxer down on his luck, with nothing but a loving wife by his side. The film is The Set-Up (1949), the actor is Robert Ryan and the loser... is Bill 'Stoker' Thompson.

See you on the sunny side of the street.

Much like Dix and Laurel from In A Lonely Place (1950), Keechie and Bowie from They Live by Night (1948) belong somewhere other than the dirty streets of film noir. Nicholas Ray evidently liked his couples desperately in love and essentially doomed. Come to think of it, that's perfect for film noir.

Based on the Edward Anderson novel ‘Thieves Like Us’, They Live By Night starts off noir-ish enough: Arthur 'Bowie' Bowers (Farley Granger) has just escaped from prison with the help of two bank robbers, Chicamaw, played by the always great to watch Howard da Silva, and T-Dub, played by Jay C. Flippen. They stop at Chicamaw's brother's service station, where Bowie meets Chicamaw's niece Catherine 'Keechie' Mobley (Cathy O'Donnell). She and Bowie flirt a little, before the guys start talking about robbing a bank. After the robbery, Keechie is left in charge of looking after an injured Bowie and with the press and the police's attention on Bowie, the two of them decide to go on the run...

Film noir is filled with people who really should have left things alone. People who didn't know what they were getting into but wanted to believe they did. And boy, do Keechie and Bowie take the cake. They were just kids. One of them allegedly killed someone at just 16 years old, the other was privy to her family's crime antics and ended getting thrown in the mix. Their desire to get away from everything and get married, was their way of rebelling. They knew they were not cut out for this and they didn't try to fight it. Not for long anyway. Bowie tried to right his wrongs, Keechie tried to save them both.

'You trying to say I should have a fella? And that ought to be you? Is that it?'
'I guess maybe it is.' Keechie and Bowie

They fell in love in a world that wouldn't let them be in love. And even though there is indeed something to be said about the complicit nature of their involvement in this whole mess, at the very least they tried to leave it all behind and not harm anybody else. All they wanted was to be together.

And so, the two sweetest people ever in a film noir ran off. And on they went... for miles and miles... Until they couldn't go on any longer, because *checks the how-to guide of film noir* ah yes, the past always catches up to you.

'You having a good time?'
'Such a good time, Bowie' Bowie and Keechie

The foreshadowing in the last 20 minutes of the film is clear and you wish you could do something to stop what's going to happen. But you can't. And so the original noir couple on the run face their fate as their hopes and dreams are shattered in a matter of seconds, in one of the most heartbreaking endings in the genre. Good grief...

We bid farewell to Bowie and Keechie and They Live By Night. Our next loser double-crossed so many people, so many times, I've actually lost count. The film is The Killers (1946), the actress is Ava Gardner and the loser... is Kitty Collins.

See you on the sunny side of the street.