In my post, Deceitful Dames,
I talked about bad women, and now I’m going to talk about bad men. I’m not sure why there has been so much written and spoken about femme fatales, but almost nothing has been mentioned about bad men, so called homme fatale.
Whatever the reason, I hope this post might redress the balance, just a little bit.
Continue reading “The Very Bad Men Of Noir”
Never Die Alone
She wasn’t really sure how long she’d stood motionless, with the derringer still in her hand. A trail of smoke floated freely out the tip of the barrel, like a cigarette. She noted it without seeing it – just a small piece of the scene of horror in front of her, Jimmy’s eyes in a long stare, as if he’d found something interesting on the ceiling. A hole in his chest, though it was only the blood she could see, pooling and spreading, a stain she was responsible for.
Continue reading “The Chanteuse & The Derringer – Conclusion”
Which Was The Baddest of Them All?
After finishing my blog about Bad Girls of Film Noir, I asked myself if there was a competition between the various ladies who might vie for that honor, who would win?
(Just a note here to show that I’m no misogynist: I’ll be writing about Bad Men in future blogs. I promise.)
Continue reading “Deceitful Dames”
This Is The End – The Epilog
Mr Flores, as we saw in the previous chapter, was making his way down the stairs. He was lucky. Somehow – and nobody knew how – he had managed to evade the police. For some reason, he felt guilty about the massacre at the hotel and – this was known on the street – had tried to kill himself, but the electric current in the wall outlet only fried his brain for a little while. After that, nobody knows what happened to him. Some said he’d gone to Canada, and others that he was in Mexico.
Not much is know about Gilda, except that after bludgeoning the Peeper with a handy lamp in the sixth floor lobby, whose stand weighed a ton, she was arrested and for a long time afterwards she mourned for her Lesbian lover, in prison.