From: Andy
Message:
dick of steel, apologies, dixon steele, humphrey bogart, is a
self-destructive screen-writer. surly, beligerent, paranoid, aggressive.
face-of-nails that women as short as him fall for at the drop of a hat,
move in and fall in love with within two weeks of him being suspected of
murder of a hatcheck girl he's asked back to his place to cover a book
she's read and he's got to screenwrite. as the hatcheck girl recites,
she screams Help me, Bogart tries to shut her up. she cried again,
forgetting its just a film. we know the windows are open; anyone could
be listening. after a short drink she leaves.
the police say he's the last to see her alive. dixon disagrees, arguing
the murderer did it, dropping the girl outta the car while its moving,
going to show his policefriend and wife how, if he pulled off the murder
exactly how he'd do it, the tilt around the heard, stretching the arm
out round her, cupping the elbow, squeeezing tightly, breaking her neck
then throwing her out of the vehicle. the policefriend's wife, as part
of this roleplay, is understandably frightened, and the cop has a new
lead, but you know he doesnt want to believe it.
but the paranoia spreads like wildfire. dixon's new beau starts to freak...
as an aside, tom churchill's mix is making my frame funk.
going by google definition this aint a film noir. the locations are
bright, the actors lit. gloria grahame looks and act phenomenomly.
bogart just gets more and more tightly wound as the film unravels.
next ill probably be checking out fritz lang's M, with my fucking idol
peter lorre.
as another quick aside: the manga version of Lang's metropolis is awesome.
