The Friday Noir column has been tugging along at a steady pace for well over a year at this point. After being privy to so many double-crosses, back stabbings, bleak outlooks and cynical one-liners, it feels like the right time to shine some proverbial light on the sinister world of film noir. What follows is …
When I was a kid in Newark, I could walk to the movies. On weekends, a bunch of us from the block would group up and caravan the three blocks or so to the Elwood Theater. By my teens, we were living in the suburbs, but I could still hoof it to a flick. At …
I looked for him, but he was gone. I checked the boozy dives and the greasy spoons and the street corners where the not-nice girls hang out. Nothing. He was gone. Tall guy, fedora, trench coat. You must’ve seen him. Usually smoking. He was always hanging around, poking his nose where it didn’t belong and …