There are those who maintain that America lost its innocence when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Others point to Watergate, and the shocking disclosure that the President of the United States endorsed domestic spying on his opponents. Our now-chronic mistrust and malaise might well be traced, however, to the revelation that Milli Vanilli lip-synched. (A younger generation is welcome to choose Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” on that holiest of occasions, Super Bowl Sunday, as its instant of recognition that the world is comprised of fake surfaces.)
Whatever public or personal moment resonates with you, the experience of swapping childish idealism for adult realities is pretty painful and pretty universal. It occurs to me that our enduring love of film noir, that swath of black-and-white crime-and-corruption movies made between 1941 and 1958 and first codified as a genre by French critics (and would-be filmmakers) like Francois Truffaut, has to do with the vicarious and vaguely masochistic pleasure of watching some naive or ill-equipped guy discover just how cold and unforgiving the world is. As dark as these movies are, they nonetheless provide an escape, paradoxically, from the betrayals and cowardice we encounter on a daily basis.
Did I just put a damper on your day? Well, I’ve got good news: Longtime Bay Area programmer Elliot Lavine returns to the scene of his many wonderful series at the Roxie with Not Necessarily Noir, a kinky collection of noirs and post-noirs beginning today. To my mind, World War II was America’s crash course in harsh reality, hence the cynicism and world-weariness that pervaded so many movies in the late ’40s and ’50s. Sure, there are those who imagine the postwar boom period as one long Leave It to Beaver episode, but America was not quite as happy a place as they’d like to pretend. (Does Jim Crow ring a bell?)
Something Wild