Seriously.
Of all the ideas developed and propagated by America the film genre known as film noir is absolutely the best. Although some film critics argue that film noir is not in fact its own genre but rather a "style" or a "mood", I find that its specific qualities and texture earn it a disambiguated place next to the likes of the immutable genres of screwball comedy, gangster film, western, musical, and melodrama. When film noir appeared in the 1940s, in a most notable and auspicious debut in The Maltese Falcon (1941) starring the king of noir, Mr. Humphrey Bogart, it established for itself a visual identity that features low-key lighting, shady settings, cigarette smoke, and the now unavoidably cliché Venetian blinds. Though the main character of a film noir story is frequently a private detective, he has also appeared under the title of police officer, harmless crook, or a once-innocent bystander. No matter his profession, the protagonist in noir is always rendered relatively helpless by the occurrence of a crime and the seedy, pervasive corruption of society. The conflict between the formerly isolated hero and the rest of the morally ambiguous world creates an irresolvable tension founded on alienation, cynicism, and the inability to trust anyone.
Let's just say that though noir may thrill, fill, and top-bill for audiences, it also never fails to kill them too. There's no optimism to be found in this no-good-man's land of narrative film.
That film noir must express some form of isolation has remained a reliable characteristic of the genre throughout its development. Many critics think that the emotional baggage of noir is inextricably tied to the trauma Americans underwent during WWII. In fact, film noir was not noticed as a particular genre until the Golden Age of Hollywood in the 1970s, a time during which directors and artists of all kinds felt the anti-patriotism that ran rampant during the Vietnam War. The 1940s produced films like The Maltese Falcon (1941), Double Indemnity (1944), and The Big Sleep (1946); the 1970s produced The Long Goodbye (1973) and Chinatown (1974).
Assuming this theory of genre relevance as a psychological reaction to political/international forces holds true (Geez, that was a mouth full.), it should come as no shock that Rian Johnson's sharp neo-noir Brick appeared in 2005 amidst the conflicts in the Middle East and North Korea. The plot limits itself to the melodramatic woes of high school though the influence of classic noir elevates traditional teen pressures to matters of life or death. Social misfit Brendan (the always beloved Joseph Gordon-Levitt) finds himself pulled into the dangerous underground world of drug trafficking, a world that transgresses the lines of cliques and eventually leads to the death of his ex-girlfriend Emily (Emilie de Ravin). In order to discover Emily's murderer and reveal the truth, Brendan must make dangerous alliances and gain the trust of pubescent wheelers, dealers, and thugs. With a cutting, sardonic screenplay, complete with noir's traditional witty repartée, and themes of sexuality, betrayal, and getting in over your head, Brick earns a solid A. With extra credit for being so damn clever.
Brick's Brendan seems to be the direct inheritor of all characteristics associated with the private eye of all private eyes--Phillip Marlowe. But the dear ol' Marlowe of yore, well, let's just say you'd never see him shed a tear for a love lost.
Hold on. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a sec. My college requires that every incoming freshman take a writing-intensive seminar to prepare them for all college-level writing assignments to come. The seminars range widely in subject matter so there's something appealing for the biology major and the English major. Two years ago, Bryn Mawr added a freshman seminar entitled "Anxious Masculinity"--the only gender and sexuality course at Bryn Mawr to discuss the social and societal pressures endured by men in American society. The course examines, among other texts, Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club and Annie Proulx's Brokeback Mountain.
I can't even articulate how jealous I am that I was unable to take this course.
As interested as I am in having discussions about feminism (uh, see previous post for details...), I think it's just as relevant and occasionally more relevant to discuss the difficulties surrounding masculinity in this country. Since men hold the dominant position in the gender binary, it's critical to understand which traits "belong" to men so that women can analyze which oppositional traits they are "meant" to possess. Moreover, it's dismissive to believe that women are the only gender to get the short end of the stick in terms of uncomfortable gender roles. Frankly, it seems to me that both genders received short sticks and both could use a refreshing re-articulation of gender norms.
So back to my point about Brendan versus the Marlowe of yore: In sticking to the traditional elements of film noir dialogue, writer/director Johnson ensures that his audience hear quip after clever quip from our misfit protagonist. And yet--oh and yet!--there is an undeniable softness to the young teenage sleuth. Though he has an intense determination to uncover the truth and condemn the sketchy underworld that stole away his Emily, it seems that it is his desire to redeem himself in her eyes--to make up for past mistakes and the things unsaid--that really propels him forward throughout the narrative. One particular scene of compromised normative masculinity stands out to me: Toward the end of the film, once Brendan believes he has finally solved the mystery, he seeks a teary solace in the arms of Laura (Nora Zehetner) his "trusty" sidekick in a handful of scenes. Never before have I experienced a noir man so willing to embrace grief in such a real and vulnerable way. It's a shocking and fresh re-imagining of such a stock character in cinema and is perhaps my favorite element out of the entirety of Brick.
***SPOILERS BELOW***
Nevertheless, one of the most frustrating elements of film noir remained. The lead male, the dear and well-intentioned Brendan, was privileged enough to earn a bit of three-dimensionality. The females in the cast, however, were not so lucky. First let's revisit the ladies of film noir gone by: Lauren Bacall (a perfect woman as far as I'm concerned), Marlene Dietrich, Mary Astor, Lana Turner, Rita Hayworth, Barbara Stanwyck, etc. All of them are beautiful, deceitful, opportunistic traitors. They captivate and seduce the morally superior hero and lure him away from righteousness (Bacall and her singing; Dietrich and her you-can't-miss-them-even-miles-away legs) until they secure enough power to bring about his downfall. These are the femme fatales of film noir and their legacy lives on. The women of Brick--the aforementioned Laura (Zehetner), catty drama queen Kara (Meagan Good) and even sweet Emily (de Ravin)--are each degraded in turn.
There's nothing exceptionally lovable about Kara right from the get go. She's obviously manipulative, domineering, and chock full of ulterior motives. Film noir critics would have a field day over her ethnic status and film noir's questionable history with rooting female villainy in racial Otherness; noir has never seen anything non-white as a favorable addition to a plot. Regardless, it easy to see that she's up to no good so maybe we'll let it slide. But what about helpful young Laura? Well, if you've seen 1940s film noir, you probably saw this one coming a mile away: she won Most Likely to be the Femme Fatale way back at the start of the movie and she sees the role through in fine style. Need a another hint about her questionable associations? Well, her Japanese geisha costume at her Halloween in January party is likely to raise more than one critical eyebrow. But Emily! Innocent, murdered Emily! Surely she's in the clear! I mean, at least she's safely white, right? No can do. Looks like we've got to take her down a couple pegs as well. Not only is Emily a junkie with no credibility, it's more than heavily insinuated that she's been around the sexual block more than once. Indeed, she's made out to be quite the one-woman red-light district. And pregnant with a bastard child of mysterious parentage to boot! Sigh.
Now don't get me wrong: I truly enjoyed the film and I absolutely love that Joseph Gordon-Levitt got to show the world Mr. Marlowe's softer side. But, tell me, are the women of film noir ever going to catch a break? And when are the suspicious ethnic/racial undertones going to disappear from canon? Hopefully, the appearance of a new masculinity in film noir heralds a time in which femininity and non-white ethnicities can also develop and exist without implicit ties to deception and low morals. Here's to hoping!
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