"it is impossible to locate either in the films themselves or in the critical discourse surrounding them a set of consistent features usually attributed to the "classical" phase of noir: the hapless private investigator, femme fatale, gritty urban setting, convoluted story structures." (Arthur, 2001).

It seems that it is much more a 'sense' of noir that one feels when watching that is requisite to recognising the conventions of the genre. The Big Sleep transcends to an even higher level of intricacy through the way it plays with and denies many of the established film noir visual, narrative and representational conventions.

Film noir is visually one of the most complex and identifiable film genres. It lurks in the absence of light, the dark of night, and the shadows of society. The Big Sleep utilises a number of the conventions that embedded themselves under the title of film noir during the 40s and 50s. However, it is important to note that the majority of the visual techniques used in film noirs are borrowed and are not enough on their own to categorise a film as a noir. Firstly, on the absolute surface, is the fact that The Big Sleep was filmed in black and white. Though shooting in black and white would have been an obvious choice at the time, it was still a key element in the films construction and there are clear indicators that it was used to deliberate effect. Filming in black and white by itself is a very stylistic exercise. It forces contrast where normal colour photography would have none. It emphasises objects in the light and buries everything else in the shadows. On a metaphorical level, low-key lighting works to show how the truth is being kept shrouded in darkness, as this is parallel to the narrative mystery in The Big Sleep and also the recurring theme in film noirs of moral ambiguity. Obviously the power to manipulate light in this manner is vital when trying to tell the type of dark stylized stories that film noirs frequently revolve around.

Black and white costuming can even be used symbolically to represent the traits or allegiances of a character. In The Big Sleep Lauren Bacall's character Vivian is initially dressed in white colours. This represents her purity, her innocence; it tells the audience that she is to be viewed as being on the side of good. In contrast to this is Geiger's bookstore assistant, Agnes. She is visibly portrayed as being on the side of evil as she is adorned entirely in black. This is also done after Vivian double-crosses Marlowe and she now also appears dressed entirely in black. At times the colours of black and white are put side-by-side. In The Big Sleep this is presented through the use of venetian blinds. The slatted nature of venetian blinds creates an even share between light and dark as it spills across a room. This is done to suggest that despite how clear some aspects of the mystery may seem to Marlowe there is still much he has yet to find out that remains cloaked in darkness and victim to ambiguity.

Much of the camera work in film noirs is not particularly distinctive, at least not across a range of directors. The Big Sleep "creates its night-world of rain, mist, and smoke entirely within a studio, with the camera always at eye level" (Naremore, 1998). This approach to studio filming may seem unadventurous, but it does have a few merits, the main benefit being the viable creation of artistic sets. The Big Sleep has a distinct flavour from set to set, and each work in a way that maximizes on the contrast between light and dark.

"Film noir is a genre identified by a variety of stylistic conventions: unsettling or otherwise odd camera angles, the dramatic use of shadow and light, hard-boiled dialogue, settings that emphasize isolation and loneliness" (Conard, 2006: 41).

As Marlowe chases Carol Lundgren (Tommy Rafferty) down a flight of stairs there are exaggerated shadows of both Marlowe and the banister that creep up against a wall. This effect was engineered to give the setting an ominous feeling of paranoia and movement. The use of overbearing shadows is one of film noirs greatest conventions for creating the 'isolation and loneliness' mentioned above. At the final location of The Big Sleep the mist is low and thick in the outdoor scenes. This creates a dreadfully eerie feeling during a gunfight and it alludes to the difficulty of not being able to see objects in the distance when they are veiled under fog.

On a narrative level, The Big Sleep is a hard film to follow. It's convoluted and filled to the brim with extraneous dialogue and unexplained occurrences. There are a number of double and even triple crosses throughout the film. Halfway in the film suddenly changes directions and switches to the mystery surrounding Sean Regan, leaving the previous 'gambling debts' storyline in the dust. Even more baffling is the death of the Sternwood's chauffeur Owen Taylor which is left entirely unexplained. These kinds of inconsistencies and blank areas are common place in film noir narrative. "Hollywood movies are frequently accused of being formulaic. A marginally less hostile way of making the same point is to say that they are conventional." (Maltby, 2003). The Big Sleep is in many ways exceedingly formulaic. The narrative has a number of standard twists and turns, double crosses and dramatic confrontations. The final outcome with Marlowe and Vivian together, although not entirely conventional for a film noir, is a tested and proven audience pleaser. The Big Sleep's approach to violence is characteristic of the hardboiled crime drama films of which it is a part. We repeatedly see people shot and wounded and women dragged around and slapped. Marlowe is put in the centre of this violence and can change in an instant from handing out punches to being on the receiving end of a beating.

Metaphors and symbolism factor heavily into film noirs. Females are not simply female because of their anatomy; they are representations of different personas inside a patriarchal society. The world is a cynical and pessimistic place in The Big Sleep. Marlowe traverses this rocky moral plane without a care for the lives or fates of others. The private eye lifestyle is represented with a degree of glamour, but also gangsterism. Marlowe dresses well, he wears a typical detective trench coat and hat and he smokes constantly. He's free to threaten and exploit people to his every whim. However, The Big Sleep does deny a common narrative convention of the film noir genre by allowing the film to end with the flourishing relationship between Marlowe and Vivian. "Marlowe's misogynistic streak is replaced by a cynicism which erodes as the developing romance with Vivian consolidates. In a typical film noir, male/female relationships are doomed" (Tomlinson, 2000). This romance also brings about character development in Marlowe that is generally absent in the protagonist of many film noirs.

After the private detective, the most prominent archetype of film noir is the femme fatale. A femme fatale is a woman who "refuses to play the role of devoted wife and loving mother that mainstream society prescribes for women. She finds marriage to be confining, loveless, sexless, and dull, and she uses all of her cunning and sexual attractiveness to gain her independence" (Blaser, 1996). The Big Sleep starts out with the introduction of two potential femme fatales, the sisters Carmen (Martha Vickers) and Vivian Sternwood. Vivian's character is interesting in that she denies many stereotypical conventions of the femme fatale. "Her costuming is a subtle denial of another stylistic convention of the film noir genre: the sinister allure of the femme fatale - Vivian wears not passive and seductive whites, but active and assertive jackets and collars" (Slattery, 2001). Dressing her in such a way evokes power in her character which allows her to go toe to toe with Marlowe in their conversations. She does not rely on her physical attributes to seduce him and as such their relationship feels more genuine than that formed with a typical film noir female. Carmen however is a far less pure character. She uses sex profusely as a means to getting what she desires, although Marlowe is able to resist her flirting.

It is not surprising, considering the nature of film noir, that the institution of the family is represented in such a negative light. "In the film noir thrillers the family often operates as a metaphor for social discontent" (Krutnik, 1990). The Big Sleep centres on the Sternwood family and their various ties and relations to outsiders. The family has no mother present, and the two daughters are both wild and free from their father. Gen. Sternwood (Charles Waldron) is both literally and figuratively crippled. He is limited to his wheelchair and this is representative of his detachment from and lack of understanding of his daughters. The only thing that indicates that the Sternwood's are even a family at all is that they all live inside the same house. That house, however, is a giant, cold, clinical and empty mausoleum. It reflects on both the daughters and their father. For Gen. Sternwood it is the embodiment of his entrapment. He cannot move either physically or emotionally and this is shown by how he keeps himself tucked away in a separate wing of the house from his daughters. In contrast to this we have Carmen. Her character is in stern opposition to the residence and she wishes to break free from its confines. Her behaviour and attitude are reckless and irresponsible, not ordered or tidy like the interior of the Sternwood home.

When one looks at each location throughout The Big Sleep a trend emerges. On the interior the walls are high and angular and houses look overly decorated and flashy. This crowded sense of space feels duplicitous and authoritative. Staircases are often seen leading to places the audience has no knowledge of, heightening the already ever-present sense of mystery. Certain locations are given visual tagging, such as a street sign appearing on screen, or Geiger's letterbox which is visible each time an establishing shot of his house is shown. This is common in film noir and allows easy identification when a location is revisited multiple times. It creates a spatial understanding of the scope of the mystery and also reminds the audience how close by danger can lurk. In a way it harks back to the intricate use of sets in the German expressionist films of the 1920s, where the locations were used to calculated effect and to manipulate audience emotions and understanding.

In The Big Sleep Howard Hawks challenges multiple film noir conventions while still managing to stay true to the genre as a whole. The film draws much of its power from the screen chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. The superfluous dialogue held between these two characters moulds perfectly into the intricate and inexplicable plot line of The Big Sleep. Key visual features create metaphor and meaning while the studio made sets encroach with claustrophobia and paranoia around the characters. Shadows creep out from every possible angle and mist and rain echoes across the urban jungle-like streets. Marlowe is a traditional representation of a private detective that lives in violence and falls in love; he dresses sharp and talks sharper. The women are beautiful and idolised as sex objects by men; they use their charms to get things done but succumb to the male dominance in the end.

For fem år siden kom jeg til å huske på noe jeg hadde glemt, eller lagt bort eller trodd jeg ikke kom til å få bruk for mer. Mitt fokus hadde ganske ensidig vært på min nye familie. Men den kunnskapen jeg hadde slukt rått i min ungdom kom til sin rett, da jeg som nybakt alenemor igjen hadde verden for mine føtter.

Yey. Jeg kastet ikke bort tiden. Ut med det innadvendte, inn med det utadvendte. Det var til og med sommer. Mitt årlige cocktailparty sørget for å feie tre femme fatales over min dørstokk. Den femte i flokken kom flytende på årets sommerfest. Det var ikke Tupac, Star Trek eller Marc Jacobs vesker som førte oss sammen. Det var snarere et felles hat til ukas verste dag: Mandager. Løsningen var like genial som enkel: Hver mandag møttes alle fem til middag, et par glass vin, dessert og de ungene som ikke var hos sine fedre den spesifikke dagen. Det var mandager fulle av røverhistorier, skandaler, fadeser, suksesser, triumfer, karriere, graviditeter, ja alt, sa jeg skandaler? Ja. Men jeg glemte noe viktig igjen: Feminisme.

Igjen ble feminismen diskutert, snudd på hodet, ristet på, luktet på, spurt til råds, pyntet på, plukket fra hverandre og forsøkt satt sammen igjen. Noen av oss var flinke til å eksponere dette budskapet til utenforstående. Min heltinne Siv er den flinkeste! Her er mine favoritter:

Monomor

"(...) Begrepet «alenemor» er en selvmotsigelse som burde nappes ut av det norske språket umiddelbart. Ordet er ukorrekt fordi den dagen du blir mor så er du ikke lenger alene. Her spankulerer jeg på trygg grunn, vi er til alle tider minst to. Jeg vil bruke et nytt ord som er frigjort for feiltolkninger og moralsk etterslep. Monomor er mitt forslag.Tenk deg at du ser på lysbilder av samfunnet. Jeg er det bildet som er satt feil inn i apparatet og flyr over lerretet speilvendt eller opp ned. Det stemmer ikke med gjengs virkelighetsoppfatning, noe skurrer. Du blar fort videre for å finne et beroligende eksempel, kanskje en flott kjernefamilie på fire. Problemet er bare at vi som befinner oss i statistikkenes skyggedal er så innmari mange. Vi skaper moralsk panikk, er levende beviser på døende samfunnsinstitusjoner. I et siste desperat forsøk på å unngå å normalisere utskuddene, livredde for at bildet av meg i dag er bildet av dem selv i morgen, settes vi i bås og får noen merkelapper klistra på oss. Ikke alle er like flatterende. Prekener om bastarder og løsunger er likevel ikke lenger gangbar retorikk. Ungene våre får gå i vanlige barnehager og skoler, på dette området er integreringspolitikken overraskende liberal, hvis man sammenligner med behandlingen av andre minoritetsgrupper. Så var det fordommene. Promiskuøs og uansvarlig? Det blir for enkelt, noen blir gravide etter en one-night stand, andre er fraskilte, noen er kanskje forlatt. Atter andre har valgt å forlate, det er en mosaikk av livshistorier vi snakker om og den eneste sikre fellesnevneren er at disse mødrene ikke er sammen med sitt eller sine barns far. Denne kammen er altfor taggete til at alle monomødre kan skjæres over den. Barn blir som regel til på samme måte men settingen, tør jeg påstå, er alltid forskjellig. Velferdsparasitt? Å få barn for overgangsstøtta er som å pisse i buksa for å holde varmen! For min del er fordommene likevel fånyttes; jeg er stolt og lykkelig som monomor.Mange som har eneansvar anstrenger seg for at barna skal vokse opp med flere og gode omsorgspersoner, for å kompensere for situasjonen de befinner seg i. Vi er frittstående mødre, ikke frittgående høner. Å være mono krever som regel mer, ikke mindre. Familien som institusjon ligger kanskje på sotteseng og en del føler seg sikkert skuffet og truet. Det er ok, men ikke prosjekter skuffelsen over døende familiestrukturer over på dem som bærer konsekvensene av dem. Seriemonogamiet er for lengst oppfunnet, men moralske føringer fra tiden før, da måneskinnsprinsippet rådet, sitter i det norske husets vegger og tak. Tankene om og utrykkene for hvordan den private sfære bør se ut henger igjen som møll i gamle klær. Monomor er min møllkule, bruk det om du tør, catch me if you can!"

Rundkjøring

"(...)Vi suser av gårde, men vuups - hva er nå dette? Fartshumper og enveiskjøring? Ustanselig må det bremses ned for høye humper midt i motorveien. For dårlig lønn, for lite makt, for mye omsorgsansvar. Hump, hump, hump. Istedenfor å brenne gummi på livets landevei, ligger vi i tretti i åttisonen. Kvinner skal helst kjøre i anvist retning, kvinner som konjunkturbuffere.Samtidig har vi en del hjelpemidler som skal få fart på sakene. Trimmer motoren med likestillingsloven og girer til tredje. «Denne lov skal fremme likestilling mellom kjønnene og tar særlig sikte på å bedre kvinnens stilling» (§ 1). Hu hei hvor det går! Vind i håret, sus i serken. Men, foten på bremsen, hva er det denne gangen? Det kommer en bil inn fra høyre, det står «indre forhold i trossamfunn» på sidedøra. Og da må hun sannelig bare stanse, for likestillinga har vikeplikt. Så kommer høytlønna arbeid kjørende og hu har vikeplikt igjen. Retten til likelønn, i retten til rettferdig deling av husarbeid, omsorg for barn. Vik, vik, vik. På livsveiene i patriarkatet Norge, har kvinners rett til likestilling vikeplikt et bankandes kjør.(...)"

Feministisk ordbok

"Alenemor Uheldig ord med negative konnotasjoner og uriktig betydning. Forslag: Monomor.Alle mann Brukes litt for ofte når man mener alle kvinner og menn. Forslag: Alle folk.Allmenn Om det som gjelder alle, men «alle» er faktisk ikke menn. Forslag: Allfolk (eks: allfolkgyldig).Altmuligmann Om en som fikser det meste, og det er det en fin del kvinner som også gjør. Forslag: Altmuligmadam.Avholdsmann Både kvinner og menn er avholdne. Forslag: Avholdskvinne.Baller Av en underlig grunn har testiklene blitt et symbol på styrke. Brukes om mot. Eks: «å ha baller til...» Forslag: Eggstokker Som: Har du eggstokker til det? Evt.; har du egg til det? Fattigmanns trøst Kvinner er i gjennomsnitt fattigere enn menn (grunnet pinlige lønnsforskjeller!), og trenger også trøst. Forslag: Fattigkvinnes trøst. Forfedre Ingen fedre uten mødre. Forslag: Formødre.Formann Som om menn er selvskrevne ledere, det er jo hakkanes gale! Forslag: Forkvinne.Fylkesmann Ingen grunn til å kline på `mann` på slutten her, det gir inntrykk av at kjønn kvalifiserer til jobben (og slikt tøv kan vi vel ikke være kjent med?). Forslag: RegionskvinneFørstemann Gir et uriktig inntrykk av at det alltid er en mann som kommer først. Forslag: Førstemadam. Gud og hvermann Hvorfor er det sånn at kvinner som regel ekskluderes med en gang Gud kommer inn i bildet? Forslag: Gud og røkk (evt. resten). Hanekamp Brukes om heftig disputt mellom menn. Forslag: Kattekamp.Herre for sin hatt Mannen som er herre for sin hatt er noe til kar. Men hvordan forklare at hun er noe til kvinnfolk? Forslag: Dame for sin drakt.(...)"

¿Recuerdas la primera vez que nos vimos? Un abrazo selló nuestro saludo, un beso en la mejilla marcó una posibilidad un tanto descabellada… pero por la fe que le conferí a tus manos, pensé que era oportuno soñar otra vez… ese calor se me escapa ahora que escribo, y es que tu ausencia imprime en mi alma vivísimas cicatrices que iluminan mi obscuridad…

En la incertidumbre estuve sumido durante mucho tiempo, en esos días de soledad descubrí la verdad de muchas cosas… esos días marcaron mi futuro, me hicieron ser lo que ahora soy… y es que de verdad no guardo rencor alguno contra tu persona, es más, me hallo grandemente agradecido, porque gracias a ti cambié ciertas actitudes nocivas.

Antes evocaba tu imagen a cada instante, tal vez hasta jugábamos a Romeo y Julieta en algún sueño… pero te confieso que poco a poco, desde la última vez que nos vimos, las únicas veces que logro encontrarte, es al tomar café. Tu silueta se dibuja en la superficie vaporosa de esa bebida deliciosa, ese aroma a misterio lo llevo impreso en mi memoria, todo un universo se halla contenido en una simple taza de café…

A los días perdidos aún trato de encontrarlos, no sé la razón de su abandono, ¿dónde estarán? En los estáticos textos de mis prosas, escritos pretextos a mis actitudes, creí poseer miles de cosas, pero sólo eran polvo en ataúdes… y pedí perdón por errores que nunca cometí, todo fuera a salud de tu persona… quise hacer el mundo a tu medida, eso no se consigue en media vida…

Un poco de llanto adornará este triste documento, que sea testigo de un breve tormento. Siete pares de iris presenciaron el desempeño de dos individuos en una obra titulada “Amor”, resultó ser una tragicomedia con largas horas de sopor… ¿qué hacer si se juntan una femme fatale y un casanova?

Me está doliendo un corazón que no precisamente poseo, estoy sintiendo todos sus vuelcos y acelerones… ¿dónde quedó el mío? Meditabundo vago por unas calles viejísimas, tomando el café que te comentaba, en mi taza flotas dibujada, como tímida alma en madrugada…

Esos días de amor están ausentes de las páginas de la vida, las que siempre fueron un cúmulo de posibilidades, sabrá Dios si serán realidades… los caminos que tomamos son muy distintos, pero recordemos que siempre existen las encrucijadas… ¿nos volveremos a encontrar?

Mientras el hilo de ese futuro se teje en el manto del presente y aunque mis manos se congelen de frío por soltar las tuyas… te mando el abrazo que nos quedó de la primera vez que nos vimos, y el sentimiento del beso que nunca nos dimos... y valientemente y de todo corazón te digo: “Adiós amor mío”…

Namie Amuro from Japan and  Joey Yung from Hong Kong both released the music videos of their singles this month and they are hot. Amuro's "Black Diamond" herself and Double as femme fatales who stole the precious black diamond right in front of the crowd while performing. On the other hand Yung's "On the Treadmill" took a rather colorful approach and have her stick to the beat. They're definitely spicing it up for Asia!

Namie Amuro's Black Diamond:

Joey Yung's On the Treadmill:

[audio http://www.rapida.typepad.com/filosofia/files/09_death_and_all_his_friends.mp3]

Minha banda (dupla) preferida e duas das minhas músicas preferidas juntas, Each and everyone (do primeiro álbum, Eden, que é uma delícia, cheio de baladinhas, músicas meio aboleradas, meio bossa nova) e Rollercaster (do álbum antes da fase eletrônica-total, Amplified Heart, que já exibia uma vontade de batidas com Missing e que ao mesmo tempo, de certa forma, foi um álbum que retomou o Eden também na musicalidade e qualidade).

Deu para reparar também que Eden e Amplified Heart são os meus dois discos preferidos?

Na minha opinião, Sra. Thorn é uma das pessoas mais feias da música mundial e, ao mesmo tempo, uma das vozes mais incríveis. Para você ter uma noção de como sou fã, tenho o CD solo dela de ANTES do Everything But The Girl! Ela canta Femme Fatale, do Velvet, é bem bom! Mas a voz dela ainda não era tão linda.

Gente, e a calça que ela tá usando no vídeo? Qüende!
"I want to spend huge amounts of time in my room"
Acho essa frase linda.

Al rojo de la tarde
se eleva una silueta
murmura una tonada
la llave está en la puerta
sentada y casi a oscuras
tocando el piano
hasta el final...

De notas desgarradas
su sangre lleva ríos
el llanto se le escurre
sus manos son de vidrio
sentada y casi a oscuras
tocando el piano
hasta el final...

El moño azul
de un gato viejo oh, oh, oh
le prende al pecho algún recuerdo
rueda profundo, tocando un solo
le pinta el pelo un muerto sol.

La noche se amortigua
al tibio de su cuerpo
se hiela su cintura
la música huye lejos
sentada y casi a oscuras
tocando el piano
hasta el final...

I will follow

…poarta matase si casmir, panza de bumbac foarte fina, catifea, blanuri, piele de antilopa, alb, gri fumuriu, negru, violet stins, orange & fucsia, pantofi cu tocul inalt, cei mai multi de lac.

Cand se pregateste sa iasa in oras e ca o vijelie, niciodata multumita, se schimba, arunca, mototoleste, se fataie de colo pana colo.

Parfumurile ei grele, orientale, umplu camera.

Ii suna telefonul.

Rade, se alinta, are vocea grava, foarte tandra. 

El e martorul tacut.

Serile il ametesc.

Sta intr-un colt, cu ochii inchisi.

Poate  recunoaste dupa fosnet orice scoate din dulap sau pune pe ea.

Aude pana si micile descarcari electrice atunci cand imbraca o bluza sau isi ridica ciorapii…

INFINITY

GOLD INFINITY

 Depth of a woman’s mind could be infinite and gold

MISS BROWN INFINITY

I have been dipping into the inky reservoirs of film noir these days, and enjoying myself immensely.  This genre has been so well critiqued and appreciated by cineastes, scholars, and pseudo-intellectuals, that I won't pretend to have anything new to say.  Besides that, I am a relative newcomer to this pasture of pop culture.   Instead, I will just talk here about a few films that are among my favorites right now, and that share the theme of l'amour fou and the femme fatale.

I'll start with Gilda, which stars Rita Hayworth, shown above in one of the sexiest vamp scenes in film history.  Hayworth was a fabulous dancer (Fred Astaire said she was his favorite partner - did Ginger know that?) and she had great comic talent.  The dancing is in evidence in this film, but the comediene is suppressed, although it gives some zing to the repartee between Glen Ford and her.  Personally, I can't really see her as a femme fatale in this movie, although she is certainly a fatal woman for a few characters.  She has a heart of gold, she's not really gone bad - just searching for a way out.  She still loves Glen Ford's character...and there is a happy ending for them.  Is that noir?  Picky, picky, it's a wonderful film.

Gilda does her famous one-glove strip tease to excite the jealousy and anger of her one-time boyfriend, Ford, who just can't get her out of his system.  He watches the routine form the casino office, but when she calls for help getting out of her dress after the number - "I'm not very good with zippers...but maybe if I had some help!" Several gentlemen rush to oblige - Ford looses his cool and yanks her offstage.  Watch the entire clip here.

And speaking of Fred and Ginger, here they are in a sexy dance clutch in an otherwise absurd film, Flying Down to Rio. Ginger is definitely naughty in this one, unlike her image in the contemporary imagination.

Then there's Criss Cross, a real noir!  You thought Yvonne DeCarlo looked like Lily Munster?  Guess again!

She is a classic femme fatale in this one, Anna, Steve's former wife whom he cannot...of course...get out of his system.  She's with a hood now, Slim Dundee, but when Steve get's back town, there's no keeping them apart, after they hash out old grudges, especially after she shows him how her new boyfriend treats her.

Things go from bad to worse, as they are wont to do in the noir universe, and everything is predetermined, or "in the cards," as Steve says in the voice-over narration.  (Interesting that he can narrate his own story since he is dead...)  In the end, cornered, Anna makes clear to Steve that her first priority is her survival, and she tries to wise up Steve, the incurable romatic, to reality as she packs her bags.  Too late, they both come to a bad end.  The final tableau, shown here in what I think is a studio still, slightly different from the image in the film, is obviously influenced by renaissance depictions of the deposition and pieta.  A reverse pieta, befitting noir:  the male cradles the female, the good sinner supporting the sinner at heart.

Gun Crazy is the story of Bart and Laurie, two crazy kids, real crazy, who meet cute and go on a spree.  Watching these films, with their intense sexual energy, you wonder what they would have been like if they had been made ten or fifteen years later.  Well, with Gun Crazy, you need only watch Bonnie & Clyde to know.  It owes "Crazy" a big debt for its linking of ecstatic sexuality with deadly gunplay, although not its explicitness.

Here's the sequence where Bart and Laurie meet.  At the carnival shooting demonstration, she walks onstage after the build up, with guns blazing.

Bart is mesmerized, and positively bewitched when she points her gun at him and pulls the trigger...just a blank!

Bart accepts the barker's challenge to a shooting contest with Laurie, and of course, he wins.  That doesn't usually happen, so Laurie and her manager don't have the promised $300 prize on hand to give Bart.  He accepts her diamond ring as payment, their future union assured.

One of the most fascinating passages in Gun Crazy is during one of their many bank heists.  They hijack a large Cadillac from a passing motorist, and use it for the pickup and getaway car.  The entire scene - it goes on for minutes - is filmed from the back seat of the car, no cuts!  Here are some stills:

Driving to the crime scene...

They pull up to the bank, but a cop appears and lingers.  Laurie has to take care of him.  She engages him in conversation and lets him handle her gun.  She tries to get him to hand her his gun, but no dice.  Note - it is all framed by the car window.

The bank alarm goes off, and she knocks him out.  Bart can be seen on the left rushing out the door to get to the car.

Home free!  Look at that smile on her face.

I am indebted to my friend and noir mentor for pointing me to this snippet of an interview with the director regarding his instructions to the young actors:

I told John, "Your cock's never been so hard," and I told Peggy, "You're a female dog in heat, and you want him. But don't let him have it in a hurry. Keep him waiting." That's exactly how I talked to them and I turned them loose. I didn't have to give them more directions

Below is a still from the ecstatic death scene in Bonnie & Clyde:  click on it to see a video clip.  I don't think noir ever demonstrates this sort of pure sensuality in crime and death.

In The Big Combo, we have another classic noir, a hard boiled detective story with some torture, homosexual thugs, and sexual obsession thrown in.  Diamond is a police detective obsessed with Susan, a good girl gone bad, and now the moll of the head of the big crime syndicate, Mr. Brown.  Brown dresses nattily, and never talks directly to the scum he has to deal with, the police that is.  "Tell the man that if he tries to arrest me...Tell this man that if..." Yes, Susan is the femme fatale for Diamond, but for her, the fatal attraction is to Mr. Brown.  She is in thrall to him because of his ability to bring her to unspeakable (and unshowable) sexual excitement.  This is abundantly evident in the sequence shown below, as Mr. Brown sinks out of the frame, covering her with kisses all the way down.

Finally, Nightmare Alley, the old story of a con man's swift rise and precipitous fall, fleecing the credulous with his bogus spiritual revelations.  I was familiar with the story by way of Spain's comic book (graphic novel, for you sophisticates) version of the story, and I think that carried me through the too slow build up in the film.  But it was worth it to see Helen Walker as Lilith Ritter, the praying mantis style of femme fatale, send the con on a dizzy downward trajectory with a nasty double cross.

This is where I'll record my adventures.

One of the most inspiring (and helpful) entries is a part of the "Heartbreaker" series. This one in particular is handy for whatever nice guys still read my blog.

The kind of man most likely to find himself involved with a Neurotic femme fatale is often a conscientious and good-hearted fellow (nice guy), masculine but not necessarily "macho" in demeanour. He will want to help her solve her problems. Indeed, one of the hallmarks of any relationship with a heartbreaker, male or female, is that they work on one's vanity to some degree or other. The Neurotic knows how to work his protective instincts. That's often why he isn't sufficiently wary of this type of woman: she seems so despairing that he doesn't see her wayward side. He may not have had many sisters or female friends growing up, so he won't necessarily recognise the danger signals.

I know from experience that she's right. I've had a lot of experience with girls who fit into the "neurotic" category, and it doesn't end well. She usually ends up leaving when she gets bored, or when I refuse to bend over backwards and destroy my life. I recommend taking a look at the blog of our female friend here, as it's filled with information which may help in your romantic pursuits.

I'll have more later.

J.A.W.

¿Eres curios@? Más sobre el tema, aquí mismito

Phyllis: Sometimes we sit here all evening and never say a word to each other.
Walter: Sounds pretty dull.
Phyllis: So I just sit and knit.
Walter: Is that what you married him for?
Phyllis: Maybe I like the way his thumbs hold up the wool.
Walter: Anytime his thumbs get tired . . . Only with me around, you wouldn't have to knit.
Phyllis: Wouldn't I?
Walter: You bet your life you wouldn't.

I think I probably used to read that exchange from Neff’s normative and masculine point of view: that is, there’s no way that Barbara Stanwyck (who plays Phyllis with tremendous, bristling, icy allure) should ever be knitting. Knitting? With that anklet? For Neff, knitting points to her domestic entrapment and her lack of sexual fulfilment. His thumbs would hold her wool up so much better. But what he, and the audience fail to get at this point in the film, is just how perfect and appropriate an activity knitting is for Phyllis Dietrichson. In fact, far from suggesting her stifling confinement, it hints at what we later discover—her terrifying sexual autonomy. In this context--that of the powerful, sexually controlling femme fatale--knitting is about plotting, scheming, planning—and it is also about a certain creative (albeit malignant) independence. So, in fact, Phyllis doesn’t need any bloke’s thumbs to hold up her wool. She’s more interested in how she can wind them round her fingers.

Just look at Stanwyck’s restless and incredibly sexy fingers in this still. She's quite obviously a knitter!

Hmm. Does anyone know of any good articles on the knitting femme fatale?

THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI

(1947)

Orson Welles - Michael O'Hara / Rita Hayworth - Elsa Bannister / Everett Sloan - Arthur Banniser / Glenn Anders - George Grisby / From the Novel 'If I Die Before I Wake' Sherwood King / Screenplay Orson Welles / Produced & Directed Orson Welles

Till all about, the sea was made of sharks..

Lured by the sensuous Lady from Shanghai (Rita Hayworth), Michael O'Hara (Orson Welles) is drawn into a web of malicious back-stabbing & a heady combination of Raymond Chandler film noir and dizzying German expressionism. Welles convinced the Studio bosses to let him make this 'simple little murder movie' , but the poor fellows must have screamed blue murder when they saw the finished product. It's not a film that runs all that smoothly, but the quality and sheer oddness of the piece elevates it high above it's formulaic contemporaries. Welles & Hayworth only had one more year of their marriage to go in 1947, but the lingering intensity of Hayworth's close-ups betray nothing short of giddy adoration. The gorgeously inventive opening scene has Welles & Hayworth seemlessly rolling from literary narration to bantering dialogue, in a fashion reminiscent of Richard III. Sergio Leone made a whole career out of imitating Welles sweaty close-ups on Glenn Anders, and other influences on modern filmmaking are too numerous to list. Orson's decision to give his lead character an Irish brogue is a little jarring at first, but before long it makes perfect sense, especially when we come to his mesmerizing 'shark monologue', which more than finds echoes in Quint's chilling Indianapolis tale in Jaws.

BANNISTER - Well, Michael!

MICHAEL - Well, Mr. Bannister?

BANNISTER - My wife´s lost her sense of humour, and you´ve lost your sense of adventure. Sit down and have a drink. Give him a drink, George. And don´t look so shocked. Michael may not be in the Social Register, but then neither are you...anymore.

MICHAEL - Is this what you folks do for amusement? Sit around toasting marshmallows and call each other names? If you´re so anxious for me to join the game, l´d be glad to. I have a few names l´d like to be calling you myself.

BANNISTER - Oh, but, Michael, that isn´t fair. You´re bound to lose the contest. We´ll have to give you a handicap, Michael. You should know what George knows about me...if you really want to call me names...

BANNISTER - And, Michael...if you think George´s story is interesting... you ought to hear the one about how Elsa got to be my wife..

ELSA - Do you want me to tell him what you´ve got on me, Arthur?

MICHAEL - Do you know...once, off the hump of Brazil... I saw the ocean so darkened with blood it was black... and the sun fainting away over the lip of the sky. We´d put in at Fortaleza... and a few of us had lines out for a bit of idle fishing. It was me had the first strike. A shark it was. Then there was another. And another shark again. Till all about, the sea was made of sharks... and more sharks still. And no water at all. My shark had torn himself from the hook .. and the scent or maybe the stain it was, and him bleeding his life away... drove the rest of them mad..

MICHAEL - Then the beasts took to eating each other. In their frenzy.. they ate at themselves. You could feel the lust of murder like a wind stinging your eyes. And you could smell the death reeking up out of the sea. I never saw anything worse.. until this little picnic tonight.

MICHAEL - And you know there wasn´t one of them sharks in the whole crazy pack that survived. l´ll be leaving you now.

BANNISTER - George, that´s the first time anyone ever thought enough of you to call you a shark. If you were a good lawyer, you´d be flattered.

_____________________

PRODUCTION

_____________________________

 QUINT's INDIANAPOLIS FISH TALE

'Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte... just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in 12 minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about a half an hour. Tiger. 13-footer. You know how you know that when you're in the water, Chief? You tell by looking from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know, was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin', so we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know, it was kinda like old squares in the battle like you see in the calendar named "The Battle of Waterloo" and the idea was: shark comes to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark go away... but sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. And, you know, the thing about a shark... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be living... until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin', they all come in and they... rip you to pieces. You know by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I don't know how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I know how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday morning, Chief, I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Boatswain's mate. I thought he was asleep. I reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up, down in the water just like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist. Noon, the fifth day, Mr. Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us. He swung in low and he saw us... he was a young pilot, a lot younger than Mr. Hooper. Anyway, he saw us and he come in low and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and starts to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened... waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went in the water; 316 men come out and the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.'

______________________________

Top! do Leitor:

Caio Lucas

Algumas dessas são tão "fatales", que em sua primeira aparição no cinema já causaram impacto. É o caso de Anita Ekberg, Sissy Spacek, Natalie Portman e por aí vai... e quanto a essas duas últimas citadas, não pensem que sou pedófilo, hehe.

01. Sylvia (Anita Ekberg – A Doce Vida, de Federico Fellini)
02. Camille (Brigitte Bardot – O Desprezo, de Jean-Luc Godard)
03. Holly (Sissy Spacek – Terra de Ninguém, de Terrence Malick)
04. Holly (Audrey Hepburn – Bonequinha de Luxo, de Blake Edwards)
05. Gilda (Rita Hayworth – Gilda, de Charles Vidor)
06. Mathilda (Natalie Portman – O Profissional, de Luc Besson)
07. Bonnie (Faye Dunaway – Bonnie e Clyde, de Arthur Penn)
08. Lolita (Sue Lyon – Lolita, de Stanley Kubrick)
09. Angela Hayes (Mena Suvari – Beleza Americana, de Sam Mendes)
10. Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone – Instinto Selvagem, de Paul Verhoeven)

Tops! da Equipe:

Daniel Dalpizzolo

Meus critérios para a seleção destas 10 pervertidas foram muito simples. O que eu fiz foi apenas escolher as mulheres mais sem vergonhas do cinema, não apenas por aquilo que fizeram aos seus parceiros de cena, mas pelas probabilidades de elas me foderem também, seja por sua beleza, gostosura, ou pelo calor da situação que protagonizam.

01. Sandii (Asia Argento - New Rose Hotel, de Abel Ferrara)
02. Marianne (Anna Karina – O Demônio das Onze Horas, de Jean-Luc Godard)
03. Carole Ledoux (Catherine Deneuve - Repulsa ao Sexo, de Roman Polanski)
04. Jane Greer (Kathie Moffat - Fuga do Passado, de Jacques Tourneur)
05. Conchita (Carole Bouquet/Ángela Molina - Esse Obscuro Objeto do Desejo, de Luis Buñuel)
06. Vera (Sarah Miles - O Criado, de Joseph Losey)
07. Nola Rice (Scarlett Johanson - Match Point, de Woody Allen)
08. Lily/Laure (Rebecca Romijn Simon - Femme Fatale, de Brian De Palma)
09. Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito - À Prova de Morte, de Quentin Tarantino)
10. Amy Summer (Susan George - Sob o Domínio do Medo, de Sam Peckinpah)

Adney Silva

Femme fatales. Aquelas mulheres que deixam qualquer um louco. Aliás, elas não são mulheres, são seres misteriosos e extremamente atraentes, capazes de seduzir e corromper o mais incorruptível dos homens, de fazê-lo com que simplesmente caiam aos seus pés, para em seguida empurrá-los diretamente para o precipício. E, por mais que resistamos, por mais que saibamos de toda a desgraça que causarão a todos os seres do sexo masculino, nos deixamos nos seduzir. Por mais que esse primeiro top pareça um pouco sexista e machista a primeira vista, na verdade ele não é nada mais do que uma homenagem feita para essa atrizes que, no fundo, são/foram sinônimo de talento e beleza.

01. Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck - Pacto de Sangue, de Billy Wilder)
02. Laura (Gene Tierney – Laura, de Otto Preminger)
03. Matty Walker (Kathleen Turner - Corpos Ardentes, de Lawrence Kasdan)
04. Amy Summer (Susan George - Sob o Domínio do Medo, de Sam Peckinpah)
05. Holly Body (Melanie Griffith, Dublê de Corpo, de Brian de Palma)
06. Elsa Bannister (Rita Hayworth - A Dama de Shanghai, de Orson Welles)
07. Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito - À Prova de Morte, de Quentin Tarantino)
08. Madeleine/Judy (Kim Novak - Um Corpo Que Cai, de Alfred Hitchcock)
09. Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone - Instinto Selvagem, de Paul Verhoeven)
10. Marie "Slim" Browning (Lauren Bacall - Uma Aventura na Martinica, de Howard Hawks)

Sílvio Tavares

Elas nos chocam, nos hipnotizam, nos envolvem nos véus de delicadas teias tecidas com fios provindos do caos. Creio que a pessoa que introduziu essas belas mulheres no cinema possui requintes de crueldade, não é possível. Que armas poderosas utilizadas para abater o pobre coitado do espectador. Envolto por mãos que jamais imaginaria ultrapassar a inocente tela da tv ou do cinema, ele não tem chance, seja contra a beleza traiçoeira, seja com os encantos gestuais, ou com o doce clamor das damas. Aqui vão elas, a desfilar na imortalidade da sétima arte e a continuar vitimando homens despreparados por todo o mundo em uma cruzada eterna. Meu top:

01. Gilda (Rita Hayworth - Gilda, de Charles Vidor)
02. Lola-Lola (Marlene Dietrich - O Anjo Azul, de Josef von Sternberg)
03. Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwick - Pacto de Sangue, de Billy Wilder)
04. Suzie-Marie Toller (Neve Campbell - Garotas Selvagens, de John McNaughton)
05. Laura Ash (Roberta Romijn Stamos - Femme Fatale, de Brian de Palma)
06. Madeleine/Judy (Kim Novac - Vertigo, de Alfred Hitchcock)
07. Jessica Rabbit ( Uma Cilada para Roger Rabbit, de Robert Zemeckis)
08. Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone - Instinto Selvagem, de Paul Verhoeven)
09. Brigid O' Shaughnessy (Mary Astor - O Falcão Maltês, de John Huston)
10. Laura (Gene Tierney - Laura, de Otto Preminger)

Luis Henrique Boaventura

Então caras, não montei meu top exatamente pelo grau de sensualidade ou prostitutice de cada uma delas (apesar da possibilidade ser extremamente sedutora, hehe), mas mais pelo efeito que estas damas me causam. As duas primeiras, especialmente. A eloqüência no silêncio de Ana e da mulher sem nome de Marienbad é um feitiço. Me hipnotizam, as filhas da mãe, sendo Ana o lado denso de André (duas metades de um ser que já nasceu amputado), sendo Delphine Seyrig peça viva na imensa paisagem de mármore de Marienbad. Ademais, as três mulheres mais lindas já tocadas pelas lentes de uma câmera (Anita Ekberg, Grace Kelly e Claudia Cardinale), dois belos e corrosivos demônios (Ilsa Lund e Betty/Diane), e outras três energéticas e imprevisíveis femme fatales, talvez as que melhor definam o termo (Norma Desmond, Brigid O'Shaughnessy e Marianne Renoir).

01. Ana (Simone Spoladore – Lavoura Arcaica, de Luiz Fernando Carvalho)
02. A (Delphine Seyrig – O Ano Passado em Marienbad, de Alain Resnais)
03. Sylvia (Anita Ekberg – A Doce Vida, de Federico Fellini)
04. Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson – Crepúsculo dos Deuses, Billy Wilder)
05. Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman – Casablanca, de Michael Curtiz)
06. Frances Stevens (Grace Kelly – Ladrão de Casaca, de Alfred Hitchcock)
07. Angelica Sedara (Claudia Cardinale – O Leopardo, de Luchino Visconti)
08. Betty/Diane (Naomi Watts – Cidade dos Sonhos, e David Lynch)
09. Brigid O'Shaughnessy (Mary Astor – O Falcão Maltês, de John Huston)
10. Marianne Renoir (Anna Karina – O Demônio das Onze Horas, de Jean-Luc Godard)

Il titolo italiano del primo romanzo importante di Maugham fa pensare ad una torrida storia di amore fatale, ambientata in una località decadente come la Venezia fin de siècle in un ipotetico romanzo di Gabriele d’Annunzio. Il titolo originale (Of Human Bondage), molto bello nella sua semplicità, lascia immaginare un pacato trattato di uno stoico che si è liberato delle passioni terrene per la contemplazione delle verità celesti.

Schiavo d’amore non è nulla di tutto questo. È la storia di un uomo mediocre, Philip Carey, i cui interessi nella vita sono, per parafrasare un passo dei Fiumi della guerra di George RR Martin, rimuginare sui presunti torti subiti e prendersela con le donne che hanno la sventura di incontrarlo. I torti subiti sono l’essere affetto da un piede equino (che continuo ad ignorare cosa sia), l’essere orfano ed essere stato allevato dallo zio prete, un uomo gretto e del tutto privo di immaginazione. Il nostro Philip non è che di immaginazione ne abbia granché di più, ma soprattutto gli manca una qualsiasi forma di risolutezza. Da adolescente, in conseguenza dell’educazione ricevuta, sviluppa una qualche parvenza di sentimento religioso, ma poi rifiuta di entrare in seminario e va invece in Germania a studiare il tedesco. Non si capisce a cosa gli serva l’esperienza. Tornato in Inghilterra, entra come contabile in una ditta. Manco questa cosa gli va molto a genio, quindi, ricordandosi che da bambino aveva fatto degli acquerelli come l’80% della popolazione occidentale, si convince di essere dotato di un grande talento artistico e va a Parigi per imparare il mestiere del pittore. Dopo due anni capisce che non sarà mai Michelangelo e, con uno spirito eroico pari a Costantino V che fece il gran rifiuto, torna a Londra e si mette a studiare medicina. Logico e lineare, no? Dopo un paio d’anni di università va in bancarotta e gli tocca, somma sventura, lavorare in un grande magazzino. Ma poi, ricevuta l’eredità alla morte dello zio (gretto e meschino, così differente da Philip), si laurea e, per la sventura dei suoi pazienti, inizia ad esercitare il nobile mestiere di Ippocrate.

L’incostanza che Philip dimostra nelle sue esperienze lavorative e verso la propria filosofia di vita (da fervente cristiano Philip si fa prima miscredente, poi ateo, infine capisce la grande verità che nella vita non c’è significato), non intacca invece i suoi rapporti con le donne, dominati da un’unica, costante nota di sottofondo: il profondo disprezzo che Philip prova per esse e il suo bieco maschilismo. Schiavo d’amore è il libro più maschilista che io abbia mai letto. Nonostante tutte le sue proteste, Philip continua a sentirsi parte della classe sociale dei gentleman, eppure mai cerca una donna della sua stessa classe, mai cerca una compagna da trattare da pari a pari, una che consideri al suo stesso livello intellettuale (Philip crede di essere dotato di profonda cultura ed intelligenza). Le sue esperienze invece sono prima con un’istitutrice, poi con una pittrice innamorata di lui che si suicida per povertà, poi con una vedova scrittrice di romanzetti da quattro soldi, quindi con una cameriera (Mildred, la presunta femme fatale del romanzo) e infine con una ragazzotta del borgo che gli ha dato la sua verginità (l’unica) e che lui sposa. Di fronte a questo, Philip cerca invece sempre di stare al centro di un contesto omosociale al suo stesso livello: Philip cerca l’approvazione degli altri uomini, e ha sempre infinitamente più rispetto dei suoi amici maschi di quanto ne abbia per le sue donne. Non che, naturalmente, il romanzo proponga quello che Philip fa come la regola generale di comportamento: anzi, ho il sospetto che spinga il lettore proprio a trovare tutte le crepe nel comportamento di Philip, e soprattutto a riconoscere a quale assurdo livello fosse arrivato il maschilismo ottocentesco, che fa sì che Philip consideri naturale ricercare l’amicizia di uomini al suo stesso livello e l’amore di donne inferiori. Schiavo d’amore credo in realtà che smascheri proprio come, adattandosi all’amore di donne inferiori, Philip sia diventato inferiore anche lui.

Il concetto di donne inferiori e uomini superiori lo troviamo anche nel Velo dipinto, però da una prospettiva inversa. Mentre in Schiavo d’amore il punto di vista è sempre quello di Philip (tranne alcune frasi che il narratore presenta dal pdv di altri personaggi e che suonano strane per questo), il pdv nel Velo dipinto è quello della donna inferiore (Kitty) che ha sposato un cosiddetto uomo superiore, Walter Fane. Ovviamente il lettore ci metterà poco a scoprire che il cosiddetto uomo superiore è in realtà uno schifo ambulante e che Kitty la vince su tutti i piani.

Ma il Velo dipinto è un romanzo che supera in tutti i sensi Schiavo d’amore: è scritto meglio, è più stringato, più chiaro, si impantana meno in pagine inutili. Schiavo d’amore risente troppo del fatto di essere per metà un libro autobiografico, è appesantito da quella che doveva essere la difficoltà dell’autore a distaccarsi dagli avvenimenti della sua stessa giovinezza mettendoli in forma romanzesca. Come il suo protagonista, è un romanzo goffo, che si legge senza difficoltà, ma senza neanche troppo interesse. Non è uno di quei romanzi che ti tengono inchiodato, pagina dopo pagina, perché devi sapere cosa succede dopo.   

Il finale dell’opera, poi, è una collezione di stereotipi del romanzo ottocentesco: trascinato dall’incontrollabile sua sensualità (perché secondo il double standard la sensualità dell’uomo è naturale e naturalmente incontrollabile, quella della donna è innaturale e va controllata) Philip svergina la figlia maggiore del suo mentore Athelny (una delle tante figure finto-paterne di cui il protagonista si circonda), Sally, e poi le offre un matrimonio riparatore, dato che ormai è diventato un medico e, con la conquista della riconoscibilità sul piano delle relazioni sociali maschili, può anche concedersi un matrimonio che gli doni rispettabilità. La cosa più disgustosa sono i commenti di cui è circonfusa la promessa sposa: tutte similitudini vegetali, per lo più, che tramutano Sally in una sorta di dea pagana (altra tipica idea ottocentesca, quella della dea pagana che si trasforma in donna e accalappia un uomo mortale) della fertilità e della natura. Quanto alla relazione con Mildred, è quasi inimmaginabile il grado di abiezione cui scende Philip, che si rifiuta di avere rapporti sessuali con questa donna perduta che è stata già di altri, mentre cerca disperatamente di salvarla da se stessa, di fare papà Germont con la Traviata. Maschilismo 100% doc. Alec d’Urberville acquista sempre più in altezza morale al confronto di questi grand’uomini da quattro soldi.  

I was flipping through cable TV the other night, and I hit on a Spanish language crime show. It features some lean, handsome young guy with spiky hair who rides a Harley chopper and hangs out with an old, hatted, portly detective. The show, The Panther, I have since learned is based on a comic strip, and it always takes place in Mexico City. I was intrigued because it had unusual editing, used split images, and the atmospherics were highly unusual for a TV crime series - very noir.

The video sequence above is a series of stills from the first crime in the show. Apologies for the quality - I couldn't find a clean way to get this posted.

The woman enters a large, ancient church to steal antiquities. She is surprised by a priest, and she shoots him! She delivers the loot to her boss outside, and then makes her way...where? Is that a dance show? That 60s style decor?! Who are those women watching her as she strips her nun's habit and does her sexy dance? Why is she there? 

The feel of this sequence struck me as if Bunuel had been employed doing TV serials. And the theme of the sexy, murderous nun - such imagery is lacking to us denizens of protestant countries.  And she is murderous - later on in the episode she hacks a woman to death, and uses a paper cutter to decapitate a scholarly gentleman.

The episode is called "The Nun", but it  makes me think of another bloodthirsty, gothic celibate, Matthew Gregory Lewis's creation, The Monk!)

If there are any Spanish speaking viewers out there who are familiar with this episode (no.5) please explain!

Eye-let trim sliding halter top from Beach Sexy®, Victoria's Secret.

Embroidered banded halter top from Becca® by Rebecca Virtue.

Bastia by Panos Emporio.

Shimmer push-up balconet top from Hope®, Victoria's Secret.

Bow-tie triangle top from Beach Sexy®, Victoria's Secret. 

Femme Fatale by Betsey Johnson.

Miss Marronglace by Pompei Beach.

Cast & Credits