Bouchercon Countdown!

In about three weeks I'll be on the way to Indianapolis and my third Bouchercon. I can't wait!

CITY OF DRAGONS got the push off from goal to paper after my first Bouchercon in Anchorage, in 2007. I now have the thrill of going to my third Bouchercon, knowing the book will be coming out February 2nd from Thomas Dunne/Minotaur Books, and that it is dedicated to my family and the friends I met in Anchorage.

It's been quite a journey. :)

In the meantime, I've been busy. I'm involved in several events at the PPWebCon (first ever virtual crime fiction convention!), and have a lot of work to do before leaving for Indianapolis. I just concluded a two part interview with Jen Forbus on the fabulous Jen's Book Thoughts. I also enjoyed an interview with thriller writer Kathy-Diane Reveille on her wonderful Behind the Books blog. I've got a post for the always interesting WordNerd coming up, and I just wrote a Noir Bar review on one of my favorite film noirs--In a Lonely Place--for Pop Syndicate.

I've also released the trailer for CITY OF DRAGONS ... and am proud to say that the footage is genuine 1940 San Francisco film, in color.



I hope you like it ... and hope to see you at one or more of my stops along the way to Bouchercon ... and maybe even at the conference itself. Thanks for reading Writing in the Dark!

Cover Love

It's been an eventful few days! Ever feel like the days pass too quickly for you to grab--that they blend and weave, and before you know it a week has gone ahead of you? Yup. Just happened to me. Here's why:

Last week, I finished revisions to MALEDICTUS, and the manuscript is now with my wonderful agent. First step on the road to seeing my first series picked up and moving ahead--complete!

I posted my first Noir Bar column for Pop Syndicate ... on Gilda, naturally. Who wouldn't want to launch a project with Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford? I'll be writing these columns once a month, and liberally sprinkling Writing in the Dark with a few noir reviews, too.

Thursday was my birthday. According to astrologers, this is a "Solar Return" year--the sun was in the same spot in the sky as it was when I was born (lo, those many years ago!). My mom visited; we took a trip in pilgrimage down to San Juan Bautista and its mission, where Hitchcock filmed Vertigo. I'll post pictures from the trip in a later post on why Jimmy Stewart's character is so creepy.

What else? Ate garlic ice cream in Gilroy, the Garlic Capital of the World. Yeah, I know it's weird, but what else are you going to do on a warm June day in Gilroy? We ate fresh farm cherries, too, Ranier and Bing, and bought a pack of the largest, freshest and most delicious strawberries I've ever tasted ... organic and locally grown in Watsonville.

These are a few of the reasons I live in California ... the produce can be worth the insanity. ;)

Took a trip to Chinatown, shot some photos for the new website, which is coming very soon. I can't wait!

We launched a grog--that's a group blog, but you already knew that--on Monday. Criminal Minds is a brainchild (actually a dreamchild) of mine, and it's really special to see it come to fruition and so successfully. But with a lineup that includes CJ Lyons, Rebecca Cantrell, Sophie Littlefield, Shane Gericke, Tim Maleeny and Gabriella Herkert, you know it will be fun, fascinating and never a dull moment. :) Check us out--I post on Thursdays (it's the Thursday Child thing).

Today, Becky Cantrell and I were visiting authors over on the fabulous Barnes and Noble Mystery Book Club. You can check out the conversation and see how we harass one another. ;)

Last--but not certainly not least--I received my CITY OF DRAGONS cover yesterday ...

Wow.

It's sublime--haunting--beautiful. Thrilling!! All the things I want my book to be.

David Rotstein is a Senior Art Director at St. Martin's and a design genius. He's nominated three times over for an Anthony this year, and the breadth and depth of his work is amazing. I feel like I've won the Lotto, or beat James Bond at baccarat! Like I made a movie, and got Saul Bass to do the titles. I'm just humbled by this gorgeous, gorgeous work, and dancing the happy dance of cover love. :)

What's next? Preparation for Thrillerfest in NYC, where I'll be a Panel Master with a great team and a great topic: Now What? Keeping Readers Turning the Pages. The panelists are James Scott Bell, Robert Ellis, Heywood Gould, Steven James and Charlie Newton.

Much work ahead on the website. New postcards, new bookmarks. Preparation for a Litquake Fundraiser in San Francisco later in July that's going to be a lot of fun!

And always back to the cover. I stare ... and I smile. Louise Ure, one of the wisest women I know (and a supreme talent in crime fiction), is so right--a cover like this makes you want to get everything color coordinated. Figure on seeing me in some gorgeous browns and warm tones next year, with a splash of red!

Meanwhile ... have a wonderful week, and as always ... thanks for reading! :)

Marathon!

This is late and will be briefer than normal ... especially for me ... but for all good reasons!

I'm on several deadlines at the moment, leading up to Thrillerfest in New York. I've been running so hard, I'm getting flashbacks of Marathon Man and Logan's Run! (Reminds me ... I've got to make a dentist appointment).

So not much time left over for anything interesting, and I didn't think zzzz made for a good blog post. ;)

I'm also not writing much in the Dark this week because I've been working hard over a grog dream come true! No, silly, not the grog you drink, the grog you band together to save the world with! No, wait, that's the Justice League. Well, a group blog, anyway ... and I literally dreamed of it about a year ago. 

It's a very special grog ... more like a virtual conference panel! Seven crime fiction authors in a variety of subgenres will be answering questions every week about all kinds of things--the writing process, crime, life, etc. We hope YOU will send us in questions you would like to read ruminations about! 

We call it Criminal Minds, and we're launching on June 15th. Next week, you'll be able to read about us and find out just how criminal our minds are. Then the 15th starts the panel rolling, with a new question to follow every week.

We're also giving away prizes for the first month--signed books, gift certificates. So if you're a fan of Writing in the Dark, please stop by!

I'll also be appearing soon at Pop Syndicate, a terrific website about everything pop culture. Pony up to the Noir Bar, my monthly column ... we'll be dishing about--what else? film noir. Gilda, my personal favorite, is what we start with. Over virtual cocktails, too! I'll still post noir reviews at Writing in the Dark when the mood strikes, and Pop Syndicate will give me the chance to wax eloquent in a comfortable speakeasy setting. No such thing as too much noir!

So I'll see you next week ... gotta go finish that marathon! And thanks for reading! :) 

Climbing the Noir Walls

"Murder! Infidelity! Brain damage!"

That could've been the tagline for the MGM (yes, they made dark stuff too, not just glossy musicals) noir High Wall (1947).

Y'see, High Wall is a terrific example one of a fascinating film subgenre ... the damaged vet/re-establish life and family noir, sometimes with amnesia thrown in as a sideline (others include The Crooked Way (1949), The Blue Dahlia (1946), Somewhere in the Night (1946), and last week's Cornered (1945)).

Amnesia was a staple of films, particularly with war veteran heroes -- check out Random Harvest (1942) for a quintessential example--but in the hands of the noir masters, these films weren't about amnesia as much as they were about wiping the slate clean.

Think about it: after the cataclysm and upheaval of the world's biggest and bloodiest conflict--one that forever reshaped this country, overthrew Empires and remade the Superpowers--redefining one's place in the New World Order was imperative ... and frightening. Dramas like William Wyler's The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)--which certainly possessed a few noirish touches--helped reestablish normalcy in a forever changed and abnormal world. But noir ... well, it tackled the anxiety head on.

Wartime marriage? Afraid you married a slut? Get in line, bub. Having trouble sleeping? Nightmares? Head injury? We know just how you feel. And thanks to the era's fascination with and confidence in psychiatry, we've got a cure, too, and she sometimes looks like Ingrid Bergman (Spellbound, 1945) or Audrey Totter (High Wall).

These films said it was OK if you got hurt and you can't remember and nothing is what it seemed like in 1942. They said it was OK if you married in haste and she's been cheating on you with a black market 4-F. Don't murder the bimbo--just divorce her and move on to Veronica Lake. The films typically offered cures, either through therapy or a dame or both, and ended with the vet establishing a new family, location in a dislocated environment.

And that brings us to High Wall. Directed by the under-appreciated Curtis Bernhardt (Conflict (1945) Juke Girl (1942) and Possessed (1947)), it stars Robert Taylor as a brain damaged flier who suffers black-outs ... and who has apparently strangled his greedy, adulterous wife (Dorothy Patrick). Enter Audrey Totter, in a rare non-femme fatale role, as devoted and caring psychiatrist Dr. Ann Lorrison, who treats Taylor while he's locked up in the looney bin. The once sleek and sophisticated Herbert Marshall plays the bimbo's boss (he's a publisher of a religious books) with a certain degree of both debauchery and pathos, and even H.B. Warner (It's A Wonderful Life, 1946) shows up in a small role.

Taylor turns in an able performance, proving he was more than just a pretty face. Like John Payne and Dick Powell, who made successful second careers playing tough guys in noirs, his film roles had been light comedies or romantic melodramas like Camille (1937), and High Wall gives him something sturdier.

Totter, however, steals the show--as she usually did. And this time without being the bad girl! Paul Vogel's stunning cinematography (he filmed the Chandler adaptation Lady in the Lake (1947), also with Totter, and a little gem with Marsha Hunt and Van Heflin called Kid Glove Killer, 1942) makes me wish he shot more noir and less films like Jupiter's Darling (1955).

Sydney Boehm worked on the script, which is crisp and fast-paced, if not at the deliriously baroque levels of his masterpiece, The Big Heat (1953). He later wrote Rogue Cop (1954), another noir vehicle for Taylor.

All in all, High Wall is a terrific film, and a magnifying glass on the very real anxieties and social issues of the immediate post-war era. Unfortunately, you can't find it on DVD, but watch for it on TCM or try The Danger and Despair Knitting Circle, the best source for noir on the planet. So ... what have you been watching lately? ;)

A Forgotten Corner

Before I talk about Cornered, a little-known Dick Powell noir, I need to confess. I'm not in a very noirish mood.

NOX DORMIENDA was just nominated for a Macavity Award--the Sue Feder Memorial Historical Mystery Award--and, well, I'm happy. Joyful. Surprised and shocked and ecstatic and humbled! More like a Busby Berkeley musical than the mean black and white streets.

It's a wonderful honor to be in company with fellow nominees Rhys Bowen, David Liss, Jeri Westerson, Karen Maitland and Ward Larsen. Thank you, Mystery Readers International!! So I'll do my hardboiled best, but if I suddenly start sounding like Mickey Rooney about to put on a show in a barn, you'll know why!

Now, then (clearing throat). Cornered. 1945. Directed by Edward Dmytryk, the man who helmed Dick Powell's arguably greatest noir role (as Philip Marlowe) in Murder, My Sweet. Produced by Adrian Scott, producer of that earlier film. Unlike MMS, though, Powell is not a professional gumshoe--actually, THE professional gumshoe--but rather a luckless Canadian airman, just demobbed from the War ... out to discover who ordered the murder of his young wife, a member of the French resistance. Along the way, the film reminds the world that fascism didn't end with the War.

If you think Powell is too glib, too shiny, too pat, try this movie. He's got some glib moments--that's the script, and he is still Dick Powell--but the emotional darkness of the film will surprise you.

There is a host of films--and a subset of noirs--that deal with post-War issues, particularly lost relationships. From amnesiac war veteran noir (The Crooked Way, 1949) to the "I married a dame who turned out to be a slut" variety (Chandler's own The Blue Dahlia, 1946), to the excellent High Wall (1947), which is a combination of the two, noir was a cultural lens through which society could face the downside of hasty wartime unions ... and help redefine family for the burgeoning conservatism of the Ike years.

Cornered is unusual in showing a tragic loss--from the GI's perspective. And Powell is quite convincing with the pain he displays in Dmytryk's raw, fast-paced opening scenes.

The setting quickly switches to Argentina--even before the war, a hot bed of fascism. Powell is in Buenos Aires to track down a mysterious German agent whose rumored death was just that ... and who also gave the order to murder Powell's wife. That, as they say, makes it personal.

Walter Slezak lives up to his delightful name in a scene-stealing turn as a sleazy, sneaky peddlar of information. Morris Carnovsky (Dead Reckoning (1947), Thieves' Highway (1949)) is a fascist-fighting lawyer ... before the end of the movie, Powell will need him. Nina Vale is fetching in an Audrey Totter role, and even Jack LaRue (The Story of Temple Drake, 1933) has a memorable part to play. French actress Micheline Cheirel plays a semi-romantic interest--Powell is too broken up over his wife to really pursue her--and carries it off well-enough to make me wish she'd made more films. Even Luther Adler, John Garfield's former theater partner, (D.O.A., 1950) glowers and glimmers in powerful turn.

The script is juicy (uncredited Ben Hecht, credited John Paxton, who penned Murder, My Sweet (1944)), the direction taut, and the cinematography essential, moody noir (cinematographer Harry J. Wild filmed MMS, Pitfall (1948) and other classics.) Unfortunately, Cornered isn't available on DVD, so you'll have to look for it on TCM ... but rest assured, if you liked Murder, My Sweet you should like Cornered. It's worth the wait.

BTW ... Scott, Dmytryk, Carnovsky and Adler were all blacklisted. Dmytryk famously caved in to pressure after spending a few months in jail, and wound up naming names. Anti-fascism in the McCarthy era was synonymous with Communism ... a sad and ironic commentary that makes Cornered more of a noir than it intended.

I'll be blogging over on the Thrillerfest blog on Friday, guesting on Working Stiffs on the 22nd, and starting a regular film noir column at Pop Syndicate in June ... so stop in and pour yourself a drink. :)

Next time: I can't decide between Vertigo or High Wall. I may flip a coin ... but not from the tower at San Juan Bautista!

Agricultural Noir

Today is Cesar Chavez day, a state holiday in California, where our Golden State bounty still depends on migrant farm workers, willing to do the back-breaking work of gathering lettuce and hand-picking tomatoes for urban and suburban dining tables.

Now, film noir has always tackled serious issues ... from antisemitism (Crossfire) to rampant materialism (The Prowler), it's embraced themes bigger budgets wouldn't touch (and thereby earned some of the genre's best writers and directors a spot on the McCarthy-era blacklist).

So if you've already seen The Grapes of Wrath--surely one of the most elegiac films ever made--and you're not close enough to drive to Salinas and the John Steinbeck Center--you might want to consider watching an actual agricultural noir in honor of farm workers.

First choice is 1949's Thieves' Highway, which I've blogged about before. Richard Conte, Valentina Cortese, Lee J. Cobb ... and magnifcently directed by the brilliant Jules Dassin, whom we lost just last year. This film is one of my favorite twenty-five noirs of all time ... and written by the equally brilliant A.I. "Buzz" Bezzerides, who also penned Kiss Me Deadly and They Drive By Night, among other classics. Renowned for its realistic depiction of the produce market in San Francisco, this film will never let you look at apples the same way again.

I'd also recommend Border Incident (also 1949) with George Murphy, Howard da Silva and Ricardo Montalban, also previously discussed and readily available on DVD ... it will never let you look at threshers the same way again, either.

But for those of you who look for the truly esoteric ... which would probably include everyone reading this ... try to find Juke Girl (1942), the noir I mentioned last week. It's the oddest, most bizarre little film I've seen in years, and not the least so because it stars Ronald Reagan as a rabble-rousing farm/unionist/cooperative worker fighting a corrupt business monopoly.

Yeah. I know. I remember the '80s, too. But this was Reagan's flirtation with leftist politics, pre agro-business. The script, not coincidentally, was also written by Bezzerides (his first film credit), and reads like a poor man's (make that a very poor man's) version of Thieves' Highway.

Ann Sheridan, George Tobias, Gene Lockhart and Howard da Silva round out the noir cred cast ... though its cred was never in question with me because it came recommended by Eddie Muller. I finally caught it on TCM when it aired a few weeks ago. Ably directed by Curtis Bernhardt (an under-appreciated stylist of noirs Conflict, Possessed and The High Wall), the relentlessly swing-filled score--which continues to jump, jive and wail even in dramatic moments--will make you scratch your head in wonder, when you're not wondering at Reagan as a leftist farmer.

So tonight--when you're digging into some organic greens or slicing a cherry tomato--think about the people who helped get it there, and kick back and watch a noir.

With fresh produce and lines like this: "Look bud, every time a freight train shakes itself fleas like you come hopping out" ... you won't go hungry.

The Unconventional Convention!

I'm on my way to Hawaii tomorrow--first time there. This year's Left Coast Crime is the "unconventional convention" and it promises to be a slap-bang load of fun and frolic and originality ... and with events like movie nights and a theatrical production and a dessert spectacular, it truly is unconventional.

While I'm flying tomorrow--in between writing deadlines--I'll be thinking about the journey that brought me to Kona. NOX was nominated for the Bruce Alexander Memorial Historical Mystery Award, and what an amazing, incredible honor to be listed with fabulous writers I admire so much: Rhys Bowen, Laurie R. King and Tasha Alexander. And I'll be thinking about my family and friends, and how they teamed up to figure out the economics of getting me to the Big Island. And I'll be thinking about the writing community, and what a wonderful, generous and supportive group it is, and how privileged I am to be a part of it.

I'll be thinking about noir, too--I'll be giving a talk about film noir for one of the "Talk Stories" at LCC, fifteen minutes of author freedom. And I'll be researching and writing, too.

Above all, I'll be giving thanks. No, it's not November ... and yes, I'm a noir writer. But writing about noir also means being able to appreciate what we have and how lucky we are to have it.

I'm also thankful that I wasn't a writer when Dorothy Parker was a reviewer ... I came across this quote the other day: "This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force." I don't know the book she was describing--and that's exactly the point. ;)

Noir City Wrap Up

Those who know me know I take film noir very seriously. I was honored to find our friends at The Rap Sheet give a nod to WID and my Noir City reporting in late January. And then ... and then ...

What happened? Did I drop off a log? Did my fedora fall over my eyes? Did I (gasp) not go to the festival?

None of the above. What happened was ... well ... there's no other way to explain it. GOOD NEWS. And--as any noirhead knows--good news--particularly the kind of toe-squirming, technicolor, Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland and Busby Berkeley musical dream-come-true good news--is not conducive to the dark and usually wet streets of Noirville.

Here's what happened. Right before the last weekend of the festival, I accepted a two-book deal with Thomas Dunne/St Martin's Minotaur for my 1940 San Francisco PI noir, RICE BOWL. And, to tell you the truth, I've been feeling a little, well, musical-ish ever since. More like Maria in The Sound of Music than Mildred in Mildred Pierce. More like the first book's Harry Potter than the fifth's. I am thrilled beyond belief, and wake up telling myself that it's real and it's fabulous, and that it's not all a flashback from an unreliable narrator.

So naturally, I had to let some time pass before I could stop seeing rainbows and properly tackle my normal habitat. I write noir, after all. And RICE BOWL is both of the noir world and upends it. But more on it--lots more on it--later. We've got time, and this post is for the smash-bang closeout of the greatest film festival in the world.

Now keep in mind that I'm still a working girl, and I unfortunately can't see everything. I squeezed in Thursday to see The Big Clock (1948) on the big screen, and a treat it was. Based on the terrific novel by Kenneth Fearing (I bought a tattered first edition last year)--the movie was shot beautifully by the underrated John Farrow (Mia's dad--he married Maureen O'Sullivan, a co-star in the film, during the shooting).

Ray Milland was charming, debonair and reassuringly confident in the midst of tension (the script sported several light-hearted touches), Charles Laughton was delightfully controlling and villanous, femme fatale Rita Johnson (They Won't Believe Me) more appealing than the rather pallid Maureen, George Macready (the creepy Nazi Ballin in Gilda) appropriately smarmy, and Elsa Lanchester stole every scene she was in with a comic role as an artiste. Rounding out the cast was Henry Morgan as a murderous masseur/thug (and if you've only thought of him as Sherman Potter, prepare yourself) and Louis van Rooten as a radio actor (which he was in real life).

For me, the real star of the movie was the set design by Hans Dreier, which was truly a marvel to behold. Sort of prefigures the Bond sets in terms of size equalling threat, yet with a Deco panache that was quite beautiful. All in all, a classic, and not to be missed.

Perhaps even more enjoyable (and like The Big Clock, this was not my first viewing of the film) was the Claude Rains' vehicle The Unsuspected (1947), which aired the next evening.

Why Michael Curtiz has never been accorded auteur status is due to the fact that he was brilliant in every genre. Here, his Expressionist background in light and dark gradually draw us into a gothically forbidding world of dread and suspense. Rains has never been better or more charming. The plot concerns a radio show host (think of "Suspense" or "Escape" or "The Whistler" if you know classic radio) whose secretary is found hanging above his desk. But we know it's not suicide from a brilliant opening sequence that makes full use of the audio and visual to create a panoply of noir beauty and thrills.

Audrey Totter steals every scene she's in ... sashaying around and calling everyone "lover" but her husband. Constance Bennett proves wonderful and an equal scene-stealer in an Eve Arden like role. The movie is so well-directed and acted by these three--and the always enjoyable noir heavy Jack Lambert--that you overlook the woodenness of Michael North, who apparently retired from acting after making it. Hurd Hatfield (title role in The Picture of Dorian Gray) chews the bar in half as the debauched painter husband of Audrey. And Joan Caulfield is charming, if not particularly memorable, as Rain's niece. But it really works ... and it's not on DVD but occasionally is shown on TCM, so watch for it!

Second billing that night was Desperate (1947), which I've also seen (this is what comes of watching noir all the time), albeit not on a big screen. An early Anthony Mann effort, the cinematography and shot set ups prefigure his greatest work, and the film is worth seeing if only for one spectacular "interrogation" scene by gangster Raymond Burr. Steve Brodie plays a truck driver gulled into participating in a heist. After a threat to his wife (the appealing Audrey Long), he's determined to get her somewhere safe before going to the cops (even if it means stealing cars along the way). His character makes the words "trust me" a bit comical, but the film is great entertainment, with a lot of interesting touches (a Czech wedding!).

Finally, my last foray into Noir City was the Fritz Lang thriller Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (1956). Again, this was the second time I'd watched the film, and on the big screen--and with a second viewing--my appreciation and admiration for it grew enormously ... just as Foster Hirsh, who introduced the film along with Noir Czar Eddie Muller, said it would. Joan Fontaine is the independent love interest of a writer (and I've got to say, I really enjoyed the lines about deadlines and writing and publishing) played by the always noirish Dana Andrews. Her father--his soon-to-be father-in-law--is a newspaper man vehemently opposed to capital punishment (Sidney Blackmer). Dad's got a great idea--how about if someone innocent frames himself for murder, gets convicted, is sentenced to death, and then produces evidence of innocence ... wouldn't that prove the folly of relying on circumstantial evidence and make people hesitate before sending convicts to the chair? Sure it would, Dad-in-law ... sure it would.

The film has been remade for release later this year, with Michael Douglas and the young Amber Tamblyn, who has the excellent taste to name The Asphalt Jungle as one of her favorite movies. Director/writer Peter Hyams also helmed the Gene Hackman/Anne Archer remake of The Narrow Margin. So see the original before you see the remake.

And watch it more than once ... it's really terrific, though filmed on an incredibly cheap budget. As a bonus, the delightful Barbara Nichols--real life former model and burlesque queen, always memorable and a scene-stealer in The Sweet Smell of Success--plays the role of (you guessed it) a stripper. She steals these scenes, too.

The festival closed with The latter film--maybe Burt Lancaster's greatest performance--and a new print of The Killers ... but alas, it was a Sunday, and I was wrapped up in work and good news.

I'll be back with more films noir--and more of everything--later. In the meatime, keep your cigarettes dry and your bourbon wet, and if someone asks you to frame yourself ... think twice!

That's the Press, Baby! - Noir City Opening Night

Last night it rained in San Francisco. It always rains in San Francisco for two weeks in January--when she opens the Golden Gate to murder, lust, corruption and cheap cigarettes.

Yes, it was Noir City night at the Castro Theater, and Bay Area residents let the rain drops drip from their fedoras, and sauntered over to a sold-out movie palace to pay tribute to urban poetry. Noir Czar and Czarina Eddie Muller and Anita Monga have programmed a punchy, timely and provocative theme this year--Newspaper Noir, from the days when the press didn't mean smarmy, politicized gossip from ill-educated and attention-seeking hacks.

... or did it?

One thing a steady dose of noir will teach you--and I've been dipping into it for a long, long time--is that the more things change, the more they stay the same. So last night we were treated to two films that dealt with the distintegration of news to sensationalism and the tawdry manipulation of fear and wish-fulfilment ala "reality tv" ... only the year was 1952.

Just as the internet threatens -- and some would say, has sealed the fate -- of the printed "wuxtry!" that was the most popular and affordable media of its time, back in the early '50s the threat was TV. And then--as now--the owners of said news outlets wrestled with what to do.

The first film, Richard Brook's DEADLINE--USA, is an obit for the ethical newspaper man ... the current editor and now-deceased owner who believed in the power of the press and in the dignity of the human being. In newspapers that function as social outlets, the voice in the wilderness crying for reform, the byline that isn't afraid to speak the truth to the masses, not just cater to their taste for sensationalism.

And what a movie ... no film about the press captures its allure and its power and the Sophie's Choice of its purpose--to report or to exploit?--better than DEADLINE. Only the sardonic comedy of The Front Page and its remake, His Girl Friday, comes close at all.

Richard Brooks (Brute Force) wrote a snap-crackle screenplay, sharp with wit and observation, and matched it with flawless direction. Humphrey Bogart is perfect casting as the epitome-of-decency editor, Ethel Barrymore also perfect as the owner's widow who regains her self-respect and fighting spirit in battling to save the paper her husband founded. No one--and I mean no one--ever played those parts as well as Ethel, my favorite of the Barrymores.

The always believable Kim Hunter rounds out the stars of the cast as Bogie's ex-wife, but the film really sang with stellar performances by some terrific character actors. Fleshing out the roles of reporters were Paul Stewart (Citizen Kane, The Window, Kiss Me Deadly) perfect as the tough sports writer, Jim Backus in an understated and convincing performance as the gossip man, Warren Stevens as a cub reporter determined to get the story, Broadway actress Audrey Christie as the hardboiled press dame, and Ed Begley as Bogie's right-hand man. Martin Gable owned the part of Rienzi, the untouchable city crime boss, and never overplayed a moment (it's the kind of role Rod Steiger would have chewed to bits).

Uncredited and virtually unknown actress Kasia Orzazewski portrayed the immigrant mother of a crime victim and dominated a moving scene late in the film. This was a character actress made for noir. Though her filmography is unfortunately tiny, she played small but memorable bits in three other top-notch noirs: Call Northside 777, Thieves' Highway (one of the very best) and I Was a Communist for the FBI.

Watch DEADLINE-USA if you can catch it on TCM, and advocate for its release on DVD. It's a truly great film, and a loving ode to the power of the press ... baby.

SCANDAL SHEET rounded out the opening night double-feature, and Broderick Crawford--always a superb actor--makes a dynamic and convincing editor, one who can recognize the merit of a story to emotionally manipulate the "slobs" that increase his tabloid's circulation. Yes, ladies and gentlemen--this was tabloid "journalism", and the year was 1952.

"Yellow" journalism is something you might remember hearing about in your high school history class, often linked with the name "Hearst". While Bogart and his paper recognized the power of the press and lived up to the moral responsibilities that came with it, Crawford and his Board of Directors -- despite hypocritical complaints about "immorality"--recognized the power and exploited the hell out of it.

Give the public what it wants ... a sucker is born every minute ... you get the idea. The more lurid the content, the more cheap and tawdry and trashy the stories, the more exploitative of people's victimization or misfortune, the more the circulation numbers shoot up--up--and up. It's Noir City, baby ... and it's also tomorrow's headline.

Ironically, Crawford's downfall begins with his reality-show-type creation of a Lonelyhearts Club, purely a publicity stunt designed to prey on the saps. It all seems so (unfortunately) modern--but Queen for a Day had been around for years (radio and then television), and no other show before--and possibly, since--so shamelessly milked false sentiment from dried up mammary ducts.

SCANDAL SHEET'S twists are many, and they all start to tighten around Crawford's thick neck. Y'see, he kills his ex-wife, covers it up, and then his star cub reporter--the dreadful John Derek--decides to solve the crime ... all in the name of circulation.

Donna Reed is terrific as the moral yet sexy good girl, Rosemary de Camp gives the performance of her life as Crawford's ex-wife, Harry Morgan is acid and biting as the cynical photographer, and character actors Henry O'Neill and Griff Barnett give excellent performances as two men who pull Crawford's noose ever tighter. And there are some amazing shots of amazing character faces playing rummies in the Bowery. As Morgan acerbically observes, "That does it--I'm not taking another drink."

SCANDAL SHEET, ably directed by Phil Karlson (Kansas City Confidential) and based on a Sam Fuller novel, only fell short with its second lead John Derek. Though he offered a brash sort of energy reminiscent of Tom Cruise, Derek was completely unconvincing in every role I've ever seen, and this, sadly, was no exception. Possibly cast to capitalize on his earlier portrayal of Crawford's son in All the King's Men, an actual actor would have been a much better choice. Still, the film's treasures outweigh Derek's feather-light performance.

Noir City continues tonight with a tribute to leading lady Arlene Dahl, and yours truly will be back with more ... for now, pay honor to the power of the press ... quit reading this blog and buy a newspaper, baby!

Unsuspected Noir

So here it is, Monday night. My book just came out (if I repeat it enough it may sink in) ... I spent a wonderful Saturday afternoon at the Hayward Public Library on a Sisters in Crime panel with the lovely and talented Camille Minichino, Michelle Gagnon and Peggy Lucke ... great company, great audience, great library, and terrific hospitality. I'm getting ready for a signing trip to the Seattle Mystery Bookshop and Portland's Murder by the Book. And now, as I type this, I'm waiting for the repairman to tell me what is wrong with our nearly-new dryer.

Yup. It's appliance noir.

Noir strikes you unexpectedly, from the failure of computerized mechanisms we rely on, as well as the rain-streaked and shadowed streets of Los Angeles. Yeah, we've got a graphite colored (you expected white?) top-of-the-line eco-dryer, but appliance noir hits you between the eyes, baby, and kiss your evening (and laundry) goodbye.

At least I've got my blog.

Though situations like this beg for depressing poetry and a bottle of Scotch, I'll refrain. And instead, tell you about The Unsuspected (1947), a deliciously nasty little Warner noir TCM aired the other day.

Directed by Michael Curtiz (Casablanca) and starring the most sympathetic and urbane villain to grace the screen -- Claude Rains -- along with noir stalwarts Audrey Totter (how do you define noir? Audrey Totter) and Jack (The Killers) Lambert, it's a highly charged and extremely suspenseful tale about a radio host of crime dramas who is implicated in some shenanigans of his own.

The opening scene--the first murder--is powerful and chilling film-making, even on a small screen. A bit later, Curtiz makes full use of the power of voice-over, shadows and light, in a tour-de-force sequence showing the effect of Rain's broadcast on a number of characters we've yet to be introduced to. The director does shamelessly purloin Hitchcock's famous teacup shot from Notorious toward the climax of the film, but since Claude Rains is in both movies, I guess he's entitled.

Joan Caulfield is the good girl here (Audrey, of course, plays the slut) and Constance Bennett takes on an Eve Arden-type role, and does it with panache. Ted North's stiffness as a mysterious young man who claims to have married heiress Caulfield is well-suited to the part ... is he Dudley-Do Right or Bar Sinister? Hurd Hatfield (Dorian Gray) ably rounds out the cast as Audrey's debauched and drunken husband.

The script, from a novel by Charlotte Amstrong, snaps and sparkles with lines like these:

Someone comments on the painting of Joan Caulfield above the mantle piece, asking whether it was a particular artist's Blue Period (not Picasso).

Audrey replies: "My husband. His drunk period. Began right after our marriage."

Or Ted North as Steven Howard: "I like matches. You never have to refill them. And when you're through with them, you simply throw them away... like people."

The Unsuspected is another gem thus far unavailable on DVD or video. Look for it on TCM, and don't forget to set your Tivo.

And my own unexpected unsuspected appliance noir? The part won't be in for ten days. Yup, you got it. *Bleeped* on page one.

Countdown ...

I've got fond memories of Casey Kasem. (And no, your eyes don't deceive you--that's not a picture of Casey.)

Gilda is my favorite film noir, so for book-launch good luck I'm adding photos of Rita as Gilda. Gotta sneak a little film noir in, and it did get your attention ... ;) And thank you, Rita. You can still make an audience hold its breath.

Those Casey memories were not only with the Top 40 Countdown, of course, but as the voice of Shaggy Rogers (yes, Shaggy had a last name ... I'm not sure if "Doo" is Scooby's last name or not) and Robin in various incarnations, most notably the Super Friends.

God, those toys were cool. That Super Friends' Hall of Justice ... the only thing I didn't like about the SFs were those annoying twins. Worse than Snapper Carr in the Silver Age Justice League. Jimmy Olsen clones just never cut it for me ... though I will now officially confess a fondness for the old red-headed photographer himself. Shhh ... don't spread it around, it ruins the noir cred.

Speaking of noir, I've got a long-delayed blog on a film noir coming up after August 1st, when things get back to the new normal. Right now, I'm all-consumed with the launch of my book, and just didn't want to write about a man who frames himself for his own murder. Call me superstitious.

Anyway, I'm thinking of Casey because I've been running through my own series of countdowns. Last Friday, the 18th, my book was officially released into the world, alive and kicking. More stock is coming into Amazon by August 31st, and I'm grateful to them for posting a notice to that effect. Barnes and Noble had it in stock for a couple of days last week, and have run out already.

This bodes well for demand, but I very much wish the supply chain was easier ... distribution can be a challenge for a small press. I am eternally grateful to those readers who have already ordered it from various sources, and those who are waiting patiently. In all sincerity, I can't thank you enough. It's a scary world out there when you're a debut author ... and my biggest goal is to simply be read (and hopefully liked, of course). :)

So back to the countdown ... this week, I'm counting down to my official launch date, August 1st. This is the date of my launch party, hosted by the phenomenal San Francisco speakeasy Bourbon and Branch. Think a gorgeous '20s bar, custom cocktails (the Nox Dormienda and the Roman Noir), Roman soldiers in costume, prizes and a lot of fun. The San Francisco Mystery Bookstore very kindly agreed to be my bookseller for the event. My goal is really to send Nox off to boarding school with the best karma possible, and I'm lucky to have so many friends in town for the RWA conference and attending the party. My other goal is to try to avoid incriminating photos.

And Saturday, August 2nd, the party continues at M is for Mystery in San Mateo, California ... at my first reading/signing/Q&A.

Fortunately, many of my friends have been through this already, so I learned a few tips:

Check your teeth for spinach.
Make sure your fly is zipped.
Bring kleenix.
Musical instruments help (I'm bringing my harmonica).

Yeah, I'm nervous ... what if no one shows up? I can talk to myself (hey, I'm a Gemini!) but I run out of questions pretty quickly. So if you're around at 2 PM, stop in and say hello!

August is going to be busy ... I've got a number of events and a signing tour jog up to my home state, Washington, at the Seattle Mystery Bookshop and in Portland at Murder by the Book. Plus, I'm finishing up a new novel.

But as soon as I can peel myself off the ceiling, where I've been floating, I'll be back on the noir track.

And in the meantime, watch Gilda. It's as good as you remember.

No Sudden Fear of Joan

My top ten noir countdown list changes with my mood, but last time I made it, Sudden Fear (1952) held the #9 spot like Joan Crawford clutching at Norma Shearer's off-screen husband in The Women (1939) ... which is not a noir, exactly, but kind of.

To me, Joan Crawford is one of the most underrated actresses from the classic era. This wasn't the case until Christina's nasty little book (and while I know Joan (aka Billie Cassin, aka Lucille LaSeur) was an abusive parent, that still doesn't excuse Christina from being an abusive--and profiteering--child). Unfortunately, people now relegate her to the caricature bin, thanks to Mommie Dearest and Faye Dunaway and wire-hangers and 80s excess.

This is patently unfair to Crawford's legacy as an actress. One of the most naturally gifted performers in Hollywood, she transcended the silent era, transitioning from a minor flapper in "youth" films of the twenties to plucky working girls in early talkies like the MGM classic Grand Hotel (1932) --where she not only held her own against stagy actors like two out of the three Barrymores (John and Lionel, for the record) -- but stole the spotlight.

Crawford, like the saucy Jean Harlow and the pert Ginger Rogers, epitomized the working class woman. Unlike Jean and Ginger, though, she often tapped into a dark side, portraying victims and sometimes villains (as in The Women ... in which, I would argue, she again dominated. By the end of the movie, she makes the gold-digging Crystal seem sympathetic, particularly with her delivery of the exit line: "There's a word for you ladies, but they don't use it in polite society ... outside of a kennel.")

By the '40s, Crawford had been written off by the studio with "more stars than there were in heaven" and found her true calling at the studio more akin to the real Lucille LaSeur--down and dirty Warner Brothers. Joan's reemergence as a genuine noir icon was prefigured by fare such as 1941's A Woman's Face, in which she plays a criminal and victim of disfigurement, transformed externally--but perhaps not internally--by plastic surgery. If you don't think Crawford was a great actress, seek out this film and see what she can do with just her voice and posture.

Joan was able to laugh in Louis B. Mayer's face when she won the Oscar for Warner's adaptation of Cain's Mildred Pierce in 1945. For the rest of the '40s and '50s she was able to rely on a steady stream of noir, some great, some not so great, but all worth seeing because of Crawford's abilities.

My favorite among her spate of noir films is Sudden Fear. Co-starring Jack Palance and the delectable and haunting Gloria Grahame--as well as Joan's co-star from Mildred Pierce, Bruce Bennett, and a young Mike Conners (billed as "Touch" Conners)--the movie is suspenseful and extraordinary.

Crawford plays another working woman, this time a well-to-do playwright, Myra Hudson. Myra lives in San Francisco, but while auditioning actors for a production in New York, she rejects Lester Blaine (Palance) because, well, he looks like Palance.

On her way back home on the train, Myra encounters Blaine again, and his virile personality and dominating, take-charge attitude soon convince her that she'd made a mistake ... professionally and personally. Myra marries the younger man, and soon discovers that Lester is not all that he seems.

Without giving anything away, check out the scene where Joan is listening to a record. Watch her performance, note the transitions, the hesitancy, the realization her character comes to. That's acting.

Sudden Fear is particularly noteworthy for the ending, which for 1952, is remarkably feminist. I almost expected to see Jill Clayburgh pop out of a San Francisco alleyway.

Crawford is credited as an uncredited executive producer for this film, which was released by RKO. It's available on DVD, so add it to your Netflix queue.

Joan Crawford was much more than the sum of Mommie Dearest and the schlock horror films she cranked out in the late '60s ... she was a consummate film actress, and a complete professional, giving every film--no matter how dreadful--her very best. Some were able to measure up to her ... and #9 on my top ten list, Sudden Fear, is one of them.

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No history this week (except film history) ... but if you've got any questions or interest in ancient historical tidbits and trivia, leave a comment or question and I'll fit it in next week. My default topic is usually noir ... the stuff that dreams are made of. :)

Minor League Noir

The minors have their moments. If not for the fabled Pacific Coast League (and Lefty O'Doul's San Francisco Seals), the Yankees would never have had DiMaggio, one of the classiest men in baseball.

Now, Chicago Syndicate (1955) is not the B-movie equivalent to Joltin' Joe -- unlike the Yankee Clipper, it clearly belongs in the minor leagues, not in the same class as Out of the Past or Double Indemnity. It's a sometimes cheesy little noir, a police procedural enlivened by some terrific on-location cinematography in Chicago, good performances by Dennis O'Keefe and Paul Stewart, and some maraca shaking moments with Xavier Cugat and his then-wife, sultry singer Abbe Lane. But, like any good minor league game, you can glean some gold among the dropped balls and wild pitching.

The Windy City makes a grittily glamorous backdrop for any crime drama ... Al Capone cut his teeth here, after all, and Chicago Syndicate--while hardly a minor classic of Chicagoland setting like City That Never Sleeps (1953)--nevertheless manages some location shots that rank with the best.

The story revolves around the city's effort to stamp out "The Syndicate" -- a mob controlled to cool villainous perfection by character actor Paul Stewart. As Arnie Valent, one of the legions of gangsters who love good ol' Ma (Jimmy Cagney took this part to the next level in White Heat), he rubs out his accountant--a man named Kern--because Kern was about to turn over his books to the authorities ... reasonable procedure when you're a gangster.

Since it's 1955, and law and order, emphasis on order, was in vogue, the police department and IRS get together with Chicago's millionaire hotel-owners and hit them up for financing. Who knows? Maybe that scene was a coded protest against the military-industrial complex, but I kinda doubt it. Anyway, the boys with the dough come through, and the boys with the plan decide to find Dennis O'Keefe, because by this time they need some noir street cred to keep the movie going.

O'Keefe supplies it, with his two-fisted portrayal of an accountant and war hero who wants to make a lot of money -- another virtue in the '50s that strangely enough is still around today. So the authorities promise O'Keefe--as Barry Amsterdam (don't confuse him with Morey)--$60,000 smackers if he infiltrates Valent's gang, becomes his accountant, and gets the goods on him.

I guess $60,000 used to go a lot further.

Along the way, Barry gets involved with Kern's daughter (Allison Hayes), who is calling herself Sue Morton and apparently trying to sleep her way to the top of the gangster chain (in order to get revenge for her murdered father ... you figure it out). We also get treated to some sensationally fun Cugat material, particularly "One at a Time," the number sung by bad girl (and Valent's girlfriend) Connie Peters, played by Cugat's fourth wife (the one before Charo), Abbe Lane.

The best cinematography and direction is saved for the end: Valent chasing Barry through one of those gorgeously industrial noir landscapes of machinery and equipment, this time underground in Chicago. Director Fred Sears normally handled B-westerns, as did his cinematographer, Henry Freulich [though Freulich was Director of Photography of the gorgeously filmed Lost Horizon (1937)], and they reached a highpoint with this sequence. Reminiscent of similar locations in He Walked By Night (1948) and D.O.A. (1950)--the film is well-worth watching, if only for the climax.

But other pleasures abound, too ... lines like Allison Hayes snarling "All right. Let's stop playing footsie" to Dennis O'Keefe; Abbe Lane's drunken, histrionic bad girl (Valent: "You're drunk." Connie: "What have I got to be sober about?"); Paul Stewart's elegant bad guy/girlfriend-beater with the mama complex . Early on, he delivers a line with chilling misogyny: "Everything improves with age. Except women."

Stewart outclasses O'Keefe here; Dennis seemed to phone in the role, though he's able to tap some of that dual charisma that enabled him to play both heroes and villains so effectively, and makes him effective as a spy. But Stewart was a member of Welles' Mercury Theater--he's featured in the infamous "War of the Worlds" broadcast, and Welles' magnum opus, Citizen Kane (1941). He also sports great noir credentials: one of the murderers in the now-restored (thanks to the Film Noir Foundation) The Window (1949) and one of the villains in Kiss Me Deadly (1955).

And let's not forget Cugat. He entertainingly mopes around as Benny Chico while carrying a torch for Connie (played by Mrs. Cugat).

So this is a sample of minor league noir ... despite some errors and fumbled plays, a solid game of entertainment. You won't find it in books on the best -- you won't even find it on DVD! But if you can catch it on TCM or at a film festival, look out for Chicago Syndicate ... an honest little noir with not a steroid in sight.

And Happy Birthday to Orson Welles! Today is the Great Man's birthday ... celebrate and eat a ham. :)


Next week ... more Top Ten Noir, and some history thrown in ...