Noir and the 'American Dream', and How it Turned into a 'Nightmare'
- Aaron Nell Millado
- May 11, 2017
- 20 min read
People have been trying to define "The American Dream" since the term was first coined. Ever since colonial times, Americans have been trying to shape up what would be a template of the Dream. Jim Cullen, author of The American Dream: A Short History of an Idea that Shaped a Nation, lists four dreams that make up the sum total of the ultimate American Dream: "upward mobility, equality, home ownership, and the West as a symbol of undying hope" (Cullen in Osteen, 2). This optimism lasted until the Great Depression and towards the years leading up to the Second World War, while the American way found itself changing; and in its place, a new age of American pessimism would shape a new generation and reshape--as well as redefine--the older one. During this lucid time, Hollywood found itself at the forefront of the American consciousness and has become a reflection of the nation; and it, too, changed with the darker times by giving birth to a new breed of dark cinema: film noir. While Westerns, musicals, and other classical films embraced the optimism of a bygone America, film noir sought to challenge and question these notions of the American way, and became central to understanding the reformation of American identity and its effects on the nation. Noir examined a number of ways of delving into that new age of enlightenment, and eventually transformed post-war subjectivity, awareness, and, in a twisted turn of fate, thrust the ephemeral 'American Dream' into a sudden shift of paranoia, uncertainty, reluctant terraformation that gave rise to the neon skylines of an 'American Nightmare.'
"I want a lot of things... big things." --Gun Crazy, 1950
Though some would say that the American Dream took its shape just before the Second World War, while others say after, I propose that it all truly solidified during the Prohibition Era. It's the roaring 20s, people are thirsty, and Al Capone was the celebrity everyone wanted to be. It was a time where gangsters of the United States became the prominent figures of the era. Gangster films became very popular in the 1930s--with films like Little Caesar (1931) and The Public Enemy (1931)--while the Depression was slowly creeping in. People were looking to the news for the latest stories about moonshine gangsters having shootouts with the law, or reading about the latest armed robberies of a deranged couple named, "Bonnie and Clyde." These stories were romanticize and became spectacles that the American people were very eager to consume. These outlaws were putting in place a new approach to obtaining the American Dream: you go out there and you take it.
In Brendan O'Connor and Martin Griffith's book, Anti-Americanism: Historical Perspectives, Capone tried to justify his illegal moonshine rackets to the 'American Way', as such:
"This American system of ours, call it Americanism, call it capitalism, call it what you will, gives each and every one of us a great opportunity only if we seize it with both hands and make the most of it" (Capone in O'Connor and Griffith, 94).
When the new rule of the land was "seize what you want, and make the most of it," it was only a matter of time before everyone would try to grab their own piece of the American Dream--even if it means taking it by force. The film noir cinema of the 1940s throughout the late 1950s (also known as the classic noir period) reflected and embraced this new concept by practically turning the American Dream into a tangible object. I briefly mentioned Bonnie and Clyde--two star-crossed lovers (or bullet-ridden lovers) who ran rampant across the States on a series of armed robberies. They were considered armed and very dangerous, and also garnered celebrity-like status. These stories of the era, where outlaws were the celebrities Hollywood made movies about, were a big influence on the American people and even more so a big influence on the American psyche. The narrative of dangerous criminals madly in love--the amour fou, or "mad love" motif in noir--was attractive to American moviegoers, to say the least. Take for example, Gun Crazy; a 1950 film directed by Joseph H. Lewis--starring John Dall and Peggy Cummins. It is the story of Bart Tare, an awkwardly man with a fascination of guns (that almost crosses over to fetishism) who falls in love with a traveling carnival gunslinger, Annie Laurel Starr, who seduces Bart to use their gunslinging skills in a life of crime; seemingly an effort to survive the Great Depression. One of the most famous lines in the film is when Annie tries to convince Bart to a life of "adventure" and challenges him, through her seductive prowess, which undermines Bart's manhood, instilling him with the question of whether she married a man with a back bone or a man without one. Nevertheless, her motives are blunt: "I want a lot of things," she says. "Big things." What makes Gun Crazy an important film noir, aside from the film being a reflection of the vintage era of the 1930s Depression, and a near-elegiac homage to the now archetypical "Bonnie and Clyde," is that serves as a reminder to the American people about the "Pursuit of Happiness", promised to them by the Constitution of the United States; that the American people ought to pursue their ambitions, and pursue what ought to be theirs. Mark Osteen suggests that such pursuits were "increasingly linked to the material aspects of the American Dream--wealth and prosperity" (Osteen, 5). Though Gun Crazy was made in the 1950s, long after the Great Depression, aftershocks of the Depression and World War II played a heavy role in shaping post-Depression and post-War identity. By the end of the film, an overambitious heist became the downfall of both Laurel and Bart, as they are chased across the country, eventually leading them to hide out in a murky swamp, where Laurel's fatal ambition--and desire to escape--gets both our protagonists killed. Laurel is but one example.
In Robert Aldrich's adaptation of Mickey Spillane's pulp novel, Kiss Me Deadly (1955), Private Investigator Mike Hammer (Ralph Meeker) reluctantly embarks on a case to uncover the truth behind the murder of a hitchhiker he picked up--and nearly died for--by the name of "Christina" (Cloris Leachman). In his quest for the truth, Hammer violently acquires a key from the crooked mortician who performed the autopsy on Christina's dead body, which leads him to a mysterious box, hidden away in a private storage locker by Christina before meeting Hammer and before her unfortunate murder. The case culminates in an explosive finale where one of Hammer's captors, "Gabrielle" (Gaby Rodgers), unleashes the contents of this "Pandora's box", or in this case, "Christina's Box": dangerous amounts of grade A uranium. Arguably the most iconic shot of this sequence is when Gabrielle opens the box and becomes engulfed by the nuclear flames within--obliterating her in a fiery and gruesome fashion. The finale takes form as an explosive metaphor that gives a foreboding vision of the future of America: one of nuclear proliferation. "Such films," Osteen remarks, "are often disguised as parables of social mobility as a punishable deviation from one's assigned place" (Osteen, 4). A desire to do big things and to have big dreams and ambitions became traits that are almost guaranteed to be found in any noir protagonist and/or femme fatale: Laura in Gun Crazy; Joe Morse in Force of Evil; Cora in The Postman Always Rings Twice; Vera in Detour; and Chuck Tatum in Ace in the Hole--all noir protagonists (or antagonists) in search of bigger lives and great ambition. But at the end of the day, everything is about the material--money and 'big things'. Thus, through this materialistic endeavor, the noir protagonist become victims of their own greed and ambition; and such idealistic dreams become fuel for the vehicle that our noir protagonist will use to drive towards a much larger desire.
"Kiss me, Mike. I want you to kiss me." --Kiss Me Deadly, 1955
Such desires, and the pursuit of the American Dream, can be summed up into a familiar American ideal: Manifest Destiny. First coined by John L. O'Sullivan in 1845, in an article that argued for, and justified, the annexation of Texas. Manifest Destiny is defined as the prominent 19th-century American attitude that testifies that the United States could, and is "destined to", obtain a coast-to-coast presence; which consequently fueled western expansion, advocated for the removal of Native Americans, and garnered support for the territorial war with Mexico ("Manifest Destiny", 2010). Many were convinced that they would find what they are looking for by heading out West. For many, the Western frontier was symbol of hope and infinite possibilities, but noir only saw this "Oregon Trail" as a desolate tomb for anyone who attempted to pioneer their own expectations of the good old American Dream, a road fraught with unexpected danger. Noir films like The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) serve as an excellent example. In The Postman Always Rings Twice, directed by Tay Garnett, starring John Garfield as Frank Chambers, a wandering hobo who stops at a diner/gas station called Twin Oaks for a quick meal. Frank finds himself accepting a job offer (the infamous "Man Wanted" sign) as an extra helping hand to the owner, Nick (Cecil Kellaway), the elderly man with an attractive young wife, Cora (Lana Turner), who doesn't really love him. It is no surprise that Frank and Cora begin a secret affair, and eventually conspire to murder Nick to start a new life together without losing Twin Oaks; which is Nick and Cora's primary source of income. Cora's ambitions of renovating the diner--by also including alcoholic beverages to their menu, which Nick adamantly refuses to do--proves to be the hidden motivating factor that drives Cora to seduce Frank to be her co-conspirator. However, there is more to it than that, Cora doesn't really love Frank all that much either. It becomes increasingly clear as the movie progresses, that she is more interested in owning Twin Oaks for herself than she is with starting a life with Frank. While Frank represents the American optimism of heading west to find a future (Frank was headed to San Diego before he stopped at Twin Oaks and also remarked that his feet keep "itching for him to go places), Cora represents that American subconscious desire for a suburban life (owning a house, a steady flow of income, and a quiet life). What's interesting is how the Twin Oaks station plays a part in shaping an argument against the Manifest Destiny outlook. Eric Dussere writes in his book, America is Elsewhere: The Noir Tradition in the Age of Consumer Culture:
"The gas station is a crucial location in film noir, a place where the conflicts at the heart of the noir cycle are displayed and played out. As an in-between space... the gas station is particularly significant because it signifies the post-war commercialization of the American landscape... The gas station is a commercial space therefore suspect" (Dussere, 53-54).
What is happening here is a commentary on American commercialization through the means of gender politics by allowing the femme fatale (in this case, Cora) to act as a figurehead of American anxieties about the new consumer culture that has befallen America, while having the male noir protagonist (in this case, Frank) represent the authentic American identity outside of commercialized consumption. Such notions are shunned in noir. Film Noir mocks idealists by showing them that such desires to return to an era before the commercialization of American identity is illogical--that that era has come and gone, that such ideals are obsolete in a post-War America. Perhaps, the American Dream never even existed at all.
In John Huston's 1941 adaptation of Dashiell Hammett's 1929 pulp fiction novel, The Maltese Falcon, starring Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade, a hardboiled private eye who ends up being tasked--practically blackmailed--by Joel Cairo, played by the notoriously enigmatic Peter Lorre, to find and retrieve a rare statue of a "black bird." Throughout the film, Spade realizes that this 'Maltese Falcon' is worth a lot of money, as many have been killed in an effort to obtain it. The value of the bird even gets appraised for $25,000--which, when adjusted for inflation, is equal to about $428,000. A few bullets and dead bodies later, we learn that the statue is nothing but a cheap "knock off." Funny enough, Spade gets paid $10,000 dollars for it; adjust that for inflation and Spade is a rich man. The movie ends with Lieutenant Dundy (Barton MacLane) asking Spade what this statue that everyone is killing each other for really is. Spade replies with the now immortal line: "The stuff dreams are made of." He suggests that whatever people are fighting for, whatever they are seeking--this American Dream--is nothing but a cheap bird statue someone bought from a local flea market; a worthless trinket.
"The stuff dreams are made of"
--The Maltese Falcon, 1941
The American Dream, in film noir, becomes tangible yet intangible--providing a hollow and worthless trinket to represent a large yet vague ideal. Spade is aware of it; as all noir protagonists are. Hillis writes:
"[Noir] protagonists, understood as placeholders for American citizen-spectators, also enact an ambivalent, imperfect Hollywood realization that someone confounds this ideal of consumption: while the enlightenment idea of a universal unitary subject taking his or her place in the sun achieved cultural influence through daily rituals and belief systems, for many Americans, the idea's promise would never come to pass" (Hillis, 3).
The promise of the American Dream may never come to pass, but it may have already happened. The American Dream may have just changed its notion of what it should be. I'm reminded of a scene from Alan Moore's Watchmen (1986), a Cold War Era graphic novel--and later adapted into a motion picture in 2009, directed by Zack Snyder--that explores Nixon's America with a superhero motif; showcasing the fears, anxieties, and epidemics that reflected the grimy state of America in the 1980s. The scene is a flashback of Nite Owl II and The Comedian trying to pacify a riot as diplomatically as possible. When diplomacy proved pointless, much to Nite Owl's chagrin, The Comedian open fires on the rioters with tear gas canisters and rubber bullets, forcing Nite Owl to intervene:
"Nite Owl II: The country's disintegrating. What happened to America? What happened to the American Dream?
The Comedian: It came true... You're lookin' at it"
(Moore, Chapter 2, 16-19).
What makes Watchmen interesting is that, in its purest form, it is noir; or at the least employs its conventions. Moore perfectly utilizes the graphic novel medium, and pulp fiction-esque storytelling, akin to the Black Mask pulp magazine writers of the 40s and 50s. Even more impressive, is how Moore creates, in The Comedian, a character that acts as a placeholder for the state of unhinged identity of post-War 1980s America. Moore suggests, through The Comedian, that the American Dream has come true; the only problem is that it actually is, as the deranged vigilante puts it, 'one big joke'. This pessimistic view of the American Dream takes shape as a riot in the streets and Moore employs an intricate postmodernist approach to the American consciousness of the 1980s. The philosophy of nihilism, skepticism, fear, and paranoia--all present in the Cold War Era, during Nixon's term as President of the United States--would come together in a melting pot of a category that would become known as 'postmodernism'. What exactly is 'postmodernism'? Roger Donway defines it as an attempt to get beyond the "realist versus idealist, primacy of existence versus primary of consciousness" dichotomies of the modernist world, and that this language, formed by social behavior and other characteristics of the language--such as absolute truths--are largely determined by the worldview of the speaker's group, (determined by sex, race, nationality, age, political and social statue, etc.) while retaining much of the Modern outlook in various degrees, in an effort to further understand abstract concepts--like 'objectivity' and 'universitality'--then rejecting them as a form of harsh cynical criticism of the Modern outlook (The Atlas Society, 2014).
After World War II such existential crises and anxieties fed American consciousness and troubled it with questions of authenticity. America's fragile identity became a fascination of film noir and has since been one of the major themes addressed in many films that may fall into the noir category. Noir's obsession with identity in the postmodern world created a schizophrenic America which created for itself two halves that must fight for control. Noir protagonists were a reflection of that; and the constant use of mirrors and reflections as common motifs and aesthetics of film noir created an obsession of the Freudan self--the doppelgänger. J.J. Abrams notes that in neo-noir, and film noir in general: "The character is divided against himself... divided into time as two selves, and one is looking for the other" (Abrams in Conrad, 7). That essentially what became the problem with America after the War: after suffering a depressing economic collapse and scattered sense of stability, the American psyche has divided its consciousness into a bleak black and white portrait; silhouettes whose identity remains concealed by dark shadows and whose motives are as unclear as the figures among the shadows. Noir heroes would come to resemble the American psyche and to say what the people were thinking: whatever happened to the American Dream? This age of pessimism and postmodernism would critique the very ideals the nation was built upon. The American Dream wasn't just fading, but it was, for all intents and purposes, being attacked.
The fact that the United States became an influential superpower in the late 1940s, it was no surprise that it would draw attention from many nations who wanted a piece of that American Dream--especially the Soviet Union. It is important to note that during the golden age of film noir, the Second Red Scare--or 'McCarthyism'--was intercutting with this cinematic movement. Giving way to a witch-hunt not only within the nation, but also within the cinematic industry that shaped so much of the nation's state of mind , for nearly two decades. The clash between 'Capitalism' and 'Communism' became a centerpiece of this era and was fair game to many Hollywood filmmakers of the time; many who were devout communists and Marxists themselves--or branded as one, for their progressive and liberal films--felt the need to voice their opinions through the only means they knew how: cinema. Red filmmakers include: Dalton Trumbo, Abraham Polonsky, John Huston, Nicholas Ray, Edward Dmytryk, and others that became known as the 'Hollywood Ten'--Trumbo and Dmytryk among them. These filmmakers tried to utilize noir's conventions and, according to Thom Anderson, "tried to achieve 'a greater psychological and social realism'" (Anderson qtd. in Naremore, 124). These films became known as film gris, or as Osteen likes to call it: red noir (Osteen, 225). Through these films, thematic elements of communism can be found implicitly, but almost always explicitly, available for audiences to absorb, in an effort to change America to what they perceived as a better alternative. The red noirs pushed into light such dark notions of what the American consciousness has done to the American Dream: the people, the government, and the corporations that run them, have turned it into a material endeavor. Noir love to address the subject of a materialistic world, and what sort of dangers arise or become synonymous with 'Capitalism.' Many of the Left-wing filmmakers criticized the current state of the American Dream, by crafting enjoyable narratives that favored the working man, the proletariat, and how the bourgeoisie high-class culture have neglected the very backbone of the country. What red filmmakers tried to accomplish was to replace the American Dream with "an alternative Americanism that empathized equality, sympathy for the oppressed, and collectivity over capitalism... criticized materialism and condemned the hypocrisies of the upper class while exposing the media's complicity with oppression" (Osteen, 221).
"Leo Minosa is dead."
--Ace in the Hole, 1951
Films such as Ace in the Hole (1951) and Odds Against Tomorrow (1959) are great examples of such an America where capitalism is law. The idea of getting ahead at the expense of others becomes a topic of discussion among many of these red films. In Billy Wilder's Ace in the Hole, Tatum (Kirk Douglas) plays with and jeopardizes a man's life and safety--without his knowing--in hopes of reclaiming his former status, fame (reclaim his 'adoring fans'), and fortune by manipulating the media and prolonging a rescue effort while turning it into a good old-fashioned American spectacle--complete with a Ferris wheel, catchy tunes, cotton candy, and tons of memorabilia made available to all who would come to visit...for a price. It is important to note that the film itself was originally titled, The Big Carnival--as if the picture wan't being obvious enough. In Odds Against Tomorrow, ideas of hypocrisy and loss of one's authenticity in an effort to gain some form of conformity and validity become distasteful options to an already socially limited family--attributed very much to race and ethnicity; Harry Belafonte himself who played Johnny Ingram in the film was blacklisted in the 1960s for his political activism. However, the strongest evidence for red noir's blatant scrutiny of capitalist America is in Abraham Polonsky's Force of Evil (1948), which starred John Garfield as Joe Morse, a criminal lawyer--criminal in every sense of the word--who works for a powerful gangster named, Tucker (Roy Roberts), who wants to consolidate his business and power by holding a monopoly over the "numbers racket" (an illegal lottery common in poor neighborhoods). Morse tries to convince his brother, Leo (Thomas Gomez), to sell his business to Tucker. His brother initially refuses, but reluctantly gives in--and tries to make it a point that it was something that he did not want to do. Leo becomes collateral damage in a war between Tucker and a rival gang, and Joe is punished with his brother's death; Morse having an indirect and unintentional hand in.
"[The] film uses the numbers racket to represent the entire American system of business... a system that oppresses its workers, corrupts its leaders, and hides its depredations behind patriotic platitudes and 'everbody's doing it' excuses. The evil in Force of Evil is capitalism itself" (Osteen, 234).
These films were effective as they served as excellent reflections of capitalist America--when art imitates life, America becomes a bleak and disturbing world inhabited by shadowy gangsters, hardboiled detectives, black widow women, and uncertain futures. Capitalism won in the end, despite Left-wing efforts. In fact, in the aftermath, to ensure capitalism's hold over Hollywood, any and all communist sympathizer filmmakers, actors, singers, celebrities--anyone that America, or dare I say, Capitalist America, deemed a threat--were blacklisted. Force of Evil is a prime example of the dangers of capitalism, using Marxist evidence to show how money relations can decay a familial or any other form of social relationship. These red noirs suggest that capitalism is the root of America's problem and that it is not the appropriate "Dream". This disconnection and obsessive materialistic attitude drove noir to near extinction by the late 1950s, relying on television and small budget productions to keep the genre alive. Thus allowing the red noir mindset to fade. Though neo-noir films arrived to attempt to reconnect with classical noir, it never really had the same impact, as many of themes explored remained the same. It wasn't until noir gave birth to a scum-ridden, decadent, and near apocalyptic dystopian subgenre in the form of tech noir, or what has become popularly known as cyberpunk--which is an extreme criticism of postmodernist 1980s America. Dussere writes:
"[Cyberpunk] is tied to a vision of America that contains both rejection of the nation as defined by consumer culture and a desire for an alternative nation that is envisioned as the original and lost America... America has become so thoroughly inhabited by the functioning of global economic networks and transnational corporate entities that it no longer exists as America at all " (Dussere, 190).
"'More human than human' that's our motto" --Blade Runner, 1982
One of the prevalent visual motifs of cyberpunk are the neon signs, advertisements, and flashy billboard screens that outline the cityscapes; even more so, are the big powerful corporations that rule this new futuristic landscape. Films of this subgenre include: Blade Runner (1982); The Matrix (1999); The Terminator (1984); RoboCop (1987); I, Robot (2004); and most recently Ghost in the Shell (2017), an adaptation of the highly praised Japanese manga and anime. The colors and high-tech aesthetics do nothing to conceal the decay of what consumerist America can--or, now more than ever, has--become. Overconsumption, pollution, advanced warfare, medical and scientific breakthroughs, and other ungodly technological advancements that may be considered as violations of natural, moral, and ethical codes are now new textiles which the new American Dream consists of. What tech-noir illustrates perfectly, and what makes the noir such an immortal period/genre, is not only attributed to its timelessness, but how it achieves thematic consistency throughout the ages by illustrating that regardless of advances in technology, and the accessibility of vast social networks that allow human connection across great distances to be possible--though not necessarily always in a positive light--isolation, decadence, paranoia, and overall pessimism still exist and thrive. If you take a look at the films I've mentioned that fit this subgenre, you'll notice that they all, for the most part, share a common factor: non-human protagonists--usually in the form of cyborgs, androids, or 'replicants'--that become perfect representations and stand-ins for human characters to serve as an apt vessel for discovering themes of human isolationism, human identity, human emotions, or human purpose. Thus, most prevalent narratives found in this neo-noir subgenre are answers to the phrase: "I am only human" (Roy and Deckard, Blade Runner; Sonny, I, Robot; Mira Killian, Ghost in the Shell); or, to put simply: identity narratives.
"You're just a machine, an imitation of life..."
--I, Robot, 2004
In addition, almost all narratives use a force of antagonism to represent corporate and consumerist America. In RoboCop, Detroit serves as the headquarters of the mega-corporation Omni Consumer Products (OCP) which has, at its disposal, the use of the Detroit Police Department as its own personal army--a sharp criticism of corporate corruption in the justice system, in which the OCP develops a classified ''fourth prime directive' in Murphy's programming that ensures "any attempt to arrest a senior OCP employee results in shutdown"; in The Terminator, Cyberdyne Systems becomes responsible for developing, "Skynet", a robotic software that gave machines with artificial intelligence complete autonomy, which brought about the near extinction of the human race--also an observation on mankind's newfound over reliance on technology; The Matrix had a different approach by having the machines brainwash the human population by connecting their brains into a virtual reality simulator, known as the Matrix, to control the populace and ensure that humans remain unaware of their true states and imposed purposes as human batteries for the machines to utilize to remain operational--it is important to also note how the machines masquerade as men in black suits within the Matrix, implying a very dark reflection of the FBI during 'McCarthyism' and J. Edgar Hover's own contribution to hunting communists in the 1950s.
The collective American psyche is what truly shaped the American Dream, and it wouldn't be fully realized if America's own identity weren't itself realized. To better understand the Dream, America must, as a collective, understand what it wants. "[Film noir] touches an audience most intimately because it assures them that their suppressed impulses and fears are shared responses" (Appel qtd. in Erickson, 326). In the face of neo-capitalism and obscene excess, the American Dream falters. Noir has changed too much since its original movement and even tough the concerns remain the same, classic noir anxieties are not as sharp today as they were in the 40s and 50s. It may be because of the technological factors in play in post-modern society, and/or due to the extent of human isolationism that has a death grip over America today. Noir and the American Dream may, as Hillis pointed out earlier, never come to pass, but I believe that it has already come and gone without our noticing, like a vivid dream that becomes an incoherent blur when we open our eyes in the middle of the night; something that we wished we still had. I am again reminded of another scene in Alan Moore's Watchmen--which, in true noir fashion, fascinates itself with consumerist products and advertisements scattered almost subtly throughout the story's setting. One of the symbolic commentaries Moore makes is through the fictional perfume product, aptly named, Nostalgia; which is representative of the characters' memories, regrets, and other reminisces that are made obvious by Moore by utilizing the symbolic nature of Nostalgia perfume as a direct commentary on how people long about an 'idyllic past' and be completely uncertain about a dark, nuclear future.
Perhaps this is the American Dream, the Noir Dream? Perhaps, the Dream isn't something we want from the future, but perhaps something that we want from the past? The American Dream is like a bottle of Nostalgia, thrown in slow motion; and once in makes contact, it shatters into tiny shards of glass--spilling a temporary puddle of what once was the American Dream--now dissipated into a new found American Nightmare.
--
REFERENCES “Defining Postmodernism.” The Atlas Society. 26 February 2011. Web. 28 March 2017.
Dussere, Erik. America is Elsewhere: The Noir Tradition in the Age of Consumer Culture. Oxford University Press. 1st Edition. 1 November 2013. Print.
Erickson, Todd. “Kill Me Again: Movement becomes Genre” Film Noir Reader. Ed. Alain Silver and James Ursini. pp. 307-326. Vol. 1. New York: Limelight Editions, 1996. Print.
Hillis, Ken. “Film Noir and the American Dream: The Dark Side of Enlightenment”. Velvet Light Trap 55.1. (2005): 3-18. Print.
O’Connor, Brendon and Martin Griffiths. Anti-Americanism: Historical Perspectives. Ed. Brendon O’Connor and Martin Griffiths Vol. 2. Oxford: Greenwood World Publishing, 2007. Print.
“Manifest Destiny.”History.com. A&E Television Networks, 2010. Web. 09 May 2017.
Moore, Alan. Watchmen. DC Comics. 1986-1987. Print.
Naremore, James. More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts. University of California Press, Ltd. Updated and Revised Ed. 1998, 2008. Print
Osteen, Mark. Nightmare Alley: Film Noir and the American Dream. John Hopkins University Press, 2013. Print.
--
FILMOGRAPHY Ace in the Hole. Dir. Billy Wilder. Scr. Walter Newman, Lesser Samuels, and Billy Wilder. Perf. Kirk Douglas, Jan Sterling, Robert Arthur, Porter Hall. Paramount Pictures, 1951.
Blade Runner. Dir. Ridley Scott. Scr. Hampton Fancher and David Peoples. Perf. Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer, Sean Young, Edward James Olmos. Warner Bros., 1982.
Detour. Dir. Edgar G. Ulmer. Scr. Martin Goldsmith. Perf. Tom Neal, Ann Savage, Claudia Drake, Edmund MacDonald. PRC Pictures, 1945.
Force of Evil. Dir. Abraham Polonsky. Scr. Abraham Polonsky and Ira Wolfert. Perf. John Garfield and Thomas Gomez. Enterprise/MGM, 1948.
Ghost in the Shell. Dir. Rupert Sanders. Scr. Jamie Moss, William Wheeler, Ehren Kruger. Perf. Scarlett Johansson. Paramount Pictures, 2017.
Gun Crazy. Dir. Joseph H. Lewis. Scr. Mackinlay Kantor, Millard Kaufman, and Dalton Trumbo. United Artists, 1949.
I, Robot. Dir. Alex Proyas. Scr. Jeff Vintar, Akiva Goldsman. Perf. Will Smith, Bridget Moynahan, Bruce Greenwood, Alan Tudyk. 20th Century Fox, 2004.
Kiss Me Deadly. Dir. Roberth Aldrich. Scr. A. I. Bezzerides. Perf. Ralph Meeker. Parklane Pictures, 1955.
The Maltese Falcon. Dir. John Huston. Scr.John Huston. Perf. Humphrey Bogart. Warner Bros., 1941.
The Matrix. Dir. The Wachowski Brothers. Scr. The Wachowski Borthers. Perf. Keanu Reeves, Laurence Fishburne, Carrie-Anne Moss, Hugo Weaving. Warner Bros., 1999.
Odds Against Tomorrow. Dir. Robert Wise. Scr. Abraham Polonsky (uncredited), Nelson Gidding. Perf. Harry Belafonte, Robert Ryan, Ed Begley, Gloria Grahame, Shelley Winters. United Artists, 1959.
The Postman Always Rings Twice. Tay Garnett. Scr. Harry Ruskin and Niven Busch. Perf. John Garfield and Lana Turner. MGM, 1946.
The Terminator. Dir. James Cameron. Scr. James Cameron and Gale Anne Hurd. Perf. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Orion Pictures, 1984.
RoboCop. Dir. Paul Verhoven. Scr. Edward Neumeier and Michael Miner. Perf. Peter Weller, Nancy Allen, Daniel O’Herlihy, Ronny Cox, Kurtwood Smith, Miguel Ferrer. Orion Pictures, 1987.
