Murder: The Ultimate Crime In Film Noir

by Paul Batters

‘How could I know that murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle?’  Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) Double Indemnity (1944)

In any society, murder is the most horrendous crime. It is a betrayal of trust, goes against the concept of a safe and secure society and steals the greatest gift that any human has – life itself. As a result, society demands justice when murder is perpetrated and indeed, even vengeance for such a transgression. In a modern, ordered and civilised world, that justice is processed through a legal system. In film noir, murder is a normal part of its dark and twisted world. In film noir, business partnerships aren’t dissolved by being bought out or through a legal process. Lovers or spouses don’t break up or get sent a ‘Dear John’ letter. People cheated out of money don’t get a visit from the police or face a civil suit. Those who have transgressed in any way are not dealt with in the usual ways. In the world of film noir, all are dealt with using a .38.

In the pantheon of film noir, murder is an ever-present trope because it is the ultimate crime. The characters who walk the streets of the film noir universe know it is present and even expect it to come their way. Having written previously on Death As Redemption In Film Noir, there are those who even welcome murder as a reprieve from the pains and sufferings of the world, or in particular as justice for their own indiscretions and crimes. The aptly named The Killers (1946) is a perfect example of the ever-presence of murder as a trope in film noir. Murder is the key tool used by professional hitmen, with their initial target Ole Anderson (Burt Lancaster), the key target. Interestingly, Anderson, after becoming aware that two professional hitmen are seeking him out, makes no attempt to escape or dodge his fate. He accepts what is going to come and acknowledges that his death is a form of redemption, and that murder is par for the course of a life of crime.

To describe murder in film noir as an occupational hazard, sounds like an understatement as well as a cliché. Yet it is not only an occupational hazard but a tool of the trade for the gangsters, hoodlums and killers that stalk the streets, occupy the cheap bars and hide in shadowy alleys in the world of film noir. The quintessential heist film and a sterling film which exemplifies this is John Huston’s The Asphalt Jungle (1950). Focused on a diamond robbery put together by ‘Doc’ Riedenschneider (Sam Jaffe), violence is an integral part of the preparation for the heist. Doc recognises that the need for a hoodlum willing to commit violence is as integral as a reliable wheelman and a top-notch safe cracker. Dix Handley (Sterling Hayden) is the man they need and whilst not a killer, he is a man that will use violence where necessary. Complications with the heist and a double-cross from the heist’s financial backer, corrupt lawyer, Alonzo D. Emmerich (Louis Calhern), sees that violence become a necessity. Whilst not strictly cold-blooded murder, Dix shoots and kills Bob Brannom (Brad Dexter) during the double-cross. It is a situation where the threat of murder is part of the business bargaining and an underlying reality to the dealings in the criminal world.

The same threat of menace and danger which pre-empts murder and death is as present for those working the legal side of the fence. This is especially evident in Anthony Mann’s T-Men (1947). The threat of murder is forever present as two U.S Treasury agents go undercover to infiltrate and bring down a counterfeit gang. In one particularly brutal scene, Moxy disposes of one of the gangsters by cooking him alive in a steam-room. It certainly gives new meaning to turning up the heat. With its brilliant use of deep black and stark lighting, the oppressive sense of violence is heightened and the sense of panic and terror likewise in the moments before death. To protect their business interests, murder is a powerful tool and one which in the world of film noir could be visited upon anyone. Likewise, the private detective, the knight in dented armour, is also more than aware that murder is a reality in his or her world. They certainly spend a great deal of their time investigating it and likewise avoiding it. The ‘gumshoe’ or ‘shamus’ walks a difficult line; they seek truth and justice yet are not part of the police. At times, they drift into illegalities and do not have the legal protections that are afforded the authorities. Indeed, they often annoy and irritate the authorities who see them as obstacles. As evident in The Maltese Falcon (1941) and Murder, My Sweet (1944), the dangers of murder are always around the corner. To avoid it, they work by their wits and experience.

But murder in film noir is not merely an occupational hazard, it becomes a way of solving problems and removing obstacles. In John Stahl’s brilliant Leave Her To Heaven (1945), writer Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) marries socialite Ellen (Gene Tierney). Her obsessive and jealous nature is at first passed off by Richard as simply a love that is too strong. However, Ellen looks for ways in which she can isolate Richard from anyone she sees as a threat, including his family. In one of the most horrific scenes on film, Ellen encourages Richard’s younger, crippled brother Danny (Darryl Hickman) to swim deeper into the nearby lake, as she follows him in a rowboat. She watches as he struggles and lets him drown as he begs for help. Passed off as an accident, Ellen initially seems to have gotten away with murder and she has managed to remove what she deems to be an obstacle in her path to have all of Danny’s love and devotion. In Sorry, Wrong Number (1948), Henry J. Stephenson (Burt Lancaster) arranges the murder of his wife Leona (Barbara Stanwyck) to pay off his debts to gangsters. Stephenson sees murder as the only way to solving his problems and getting out of the mess that he has created. Likewise, in Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity (1944), insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) sees murder as the only way to extricate himself and ‘get off the trolley car’, from the mess he has gotten himself into; ironically after himself committing murder for femme fatale Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck). He will finally realise that Phyllis intends to use murder to get rid of him as well. After all, he is not only a liability to her but he is no longer of any use to her.

Which brings us to the femme fatale, perhaps one of the most recognised characters in film noir. We’ve already had a brief look at two and it’s already noted that murder is a modus operandi for the femme fatale. Either they are murderers themselves or entice and seduce others to commit murder for them; whatever the reason. Two of the finest examples of the femme fatale are present in two films that this writer feels are two of the best example of film noir, particularly from the 1940s: Double Indemnity (1944) and Out Of The Past (1947). In Double Indemnity, the aforementioned Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) is a cold and despicable femme fatale. As Walter Neff discovers, Phyllis uses murder in numerous ways, either enticing others (like himself) to kill or to commit murder herself. In Out Of The Past (1947), Kathie Moffat (Jane Greer) is likewise a cold and despicable woman, who betrays the men in her life. Murder is also an MO for Kathie, and she has no problem using murder to get her way, let alone throwing someone under the bus to save her skin. In. both cases, the fatal mistake that men make is that they fall in love (or lust, to be more cynical). Neff is dazzled at first sight and through a fatalist lens declares that he knew he would fall further for her. Indeed, Neff will suggest that he never knew ‘that murder could sometimes smell like honeysuckle’. The beauty, warmth and scent of the Spanish-style Dietrichson home on the outside hides the moribund, dusty and mundane interior. Phyllis, likewise, is beautiful on the outside but dead with corruption on the inside. Likewise, Jeff (Robert Mitchum) falls in love with Kathie and can understand why Whit (Kirk Douglas) does as well, even forgiving her double-crossing: ‘And then I saw her, coming out of the sun, and I knew why Whit didn’t care about that 40 grand’. It is the perfect line to describe the allure of the femme fatale, and how she can secure a man to commit murder for her.

As part of the audience, we all shake our heads in disbelief that these people would think that murder would get them out of trouble.  It’s easy to ask the question – what makes them think they will get away with it? Yet the answer is clear. They all think they can buck the system and that they will not get caught. No-one, including the audience after leaving the theatre (or in this new brave world, turning off the wide-screen smart TV) can say that they have not fantasised about beating the system, breaking a mundane and boring life or ached to fulfil a desire that we know we cannot fulfil. The difference of course is that in the real world, the audience (mostly) is driven by values, morals, ethics, laws, fears etc to keep the law and steer the course of ‘normal’, mundane lives. In film noir, the audience seems characters make an ‘existential choice’, as Robert Porfirio suggests where the mundane is rejected for authenticity and that means freedom embodied in ‘sex, money, power and the promise of adventure’. However, as the characters in film noir discover, the attainment of these things stepping into the darkness and that often means murder. After all, in the world of film noir, murder and death are the norms.

This article is a proud entry into the CMBA Fall 2022 Blogathon – Movies Are Murder. Please visit to read some fantastic articles from great writers on classic film. Please remember to like, share and leave your comments – it’s important to respect, honour and support the work!

Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.

Death As Redemption in Film Noir

by Paul Batters

If there is one aspect of the noir universe which is a norm, it is the presence of violence and death. The dark streets are not only literal but metaphorical realities, where all manner of individuals become drawn into, seduced and even captured by the shadows of their own pathology. Anyone who has watched a noir film knows that there is a stark, cold fatalism with little empathy for those who test it. Everyone pays for their sins and indeed they may do so with interest. Like the loan shark who has their mark on a hook, the individual continues to pay and escape seems impossible.

There is another harsh reality that the only form of escape is ‘the big sleep’ – death. It is an inevitability that haunts all in the film noir universe and one that they are desperate to escape, despite this fatalist understanding. Having written on the nature of fatalism and futility in film noir before (see link here), this article will try to avoid these themes were possible and focus on the concept of death in film noir as also being a form of redemption – an understanding that sins must be paid for.

At the ultimate moment, it is arguable whether we seek redemption for past sins. There are enough stories of ‘death-bed confessions’ to fill a multitude of stadiums – and whilst on the face of it, such confessions seemed cliched, the truth is that such confessions are made during the last gasps of someone’s life. At the other end of the scale, even the most reticent to admit fault and seek forgiveness (at least in film noir) WILL pay the ultimate price.

Death as redemption in film noir is accepted at different stages in the arc of a character. Perhaps one of the most celebrated examples of this, is in a film noir classic and a template for its’ tropes, Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity. Fatalism is evident at the start of the film, where a badly wounded Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) goes into the insurance office he works at, to spill his guts on the Dictaphone of his boss and close friend, Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson). His opening lines are clearly the beginning of a confession; a mea culpa which will drive the story right to the very end. Neff doesn’t look for excuses nor does he try to explain away his sins by blaming others. Walter’s sins are his own and he takes full responsibility for them. True, in the dying moments of the film after being discovered by Keyes, Walter asks his friend to turn his back as he makes his getaway. But the truth is that it’s a half-hearted appeal for mercy, like a man on the scaffold hoping against hope for a pardon. As Walter collapses at the doorway, Keyes stays with him. Smoking a cigarette (and a beautiful touch with Wilder reversing the motif of Keyes never having a match), Walter waits for justice and redemption to arrive.

The ending is slightly ambiguous in terms of the nature of that justice. The audience never learns Walter’s fate – does he bleed to death in the doorway? Or is he taken to hospital only to recover and be executed for murder? In a now famous image amongst classic cinema fans, Walter Neff stands grim-faced in the gas chamber as Keyes looks on outside. But the scene was cut and the audience is left with a far-better ending. Walter seems to accept his fate and the acknowledgement that he needs to pay for what he has done.

Out Of The Past (1948), one of the finest examples of film noir, employs a similar approach to death as redemption. Jeff (Robert Mitchum) is a private detective who has been hired by bad guy Whit (Kirk Douglas) to find his girlfriend Kathie (Jane Greer). But whilst Jeff initially believes he has found happiness with Kathie, he discovers the truth too late and that Kathie is a classic femme fatale, who has duped both Jeff and her former lover. In the end, there is a chance for escape but Jeff takes a different option. Rather than running off with Kathie and her former lover’s money, he instead betrays her to the police. Despite her threat that she will throw him under the bus as well, Jeff still betrays Kathie, who fatally wounds him with a bullet. It is Jeff’s moment of redemption; he has ‘done the right thing’ in the face of so many wrongs and paid the ultimate price. Kathie will now face justice but the irony of course is that he has been redeemed through her murderous act of revenge. As Mark Conard points out, Jeff has made a ‘presumably redemptive sacrifice’.

But for Jeff it is also the end of great misery and unhappiness. Tortured by his choices, death has now removed all his pain and misery as well. In The Killers (1946), the Swede (Burt Lancaster) is a former boxer whose story is one which sees bad decisions made to impress a woman. His involvement in a bank robbery, even after a stint in prison, further exemplifies how far he slides into the darkness. All he finds is incredible misery and the woman he loves, Kitty (Ava Gardner) has used and duped him as well. When death finally comes to him in the form of the killers, the Swede accepts his fate and indeed even welcomes it. There is a relief in death, as an escape from the pain he has endured.  However, though he does not seek redemption per se, he doeshave regrets and acknowledges that he must accept the consequences for his choices. Whilst it may not be a question of a strict code of right and wrong, the Swede “got in wrong” and strayed from who he was. His death will now right that wrong, and again he will make payment for his crimes.

Tay Garnett’s The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) is an excellent example of the protagonist finding redemption, and incidentally relief, through his own execution. Frank Chambers (John Garfield) is a man haunted by the murder he has committed for Cora (Lana Turner), the woman he loves. Their passionate relationship is one which is punctuated by betrayal, mistrust and sexual desire, and they are both riddled with moral corruption. Both will also pay for their sins – Cora through a car accident whilst Frank is driving and Frank as he sits on death row awaiting execution. Ironically, he is tried and convicted for Cora’s death and whilst initially protesting his innocence, Frank accepts that he has to pay for the murder he did commit. But of course, redemption runs deeper in the world of film noir. Frank believes that both he and Cora are paying for her husband’s murder and his acceptance of this acts as his redemption as well. Even more so, Frank is also devastated that Cora died not knowing how much Frank loved her and he prays that somehow her spirit will know this. In the end, Frank and Cora both pay and Frank’s final prayer is that by accepting his fate, redemption will mean that they are together in the next life.

In Anthony Mann’s Raw Deal (1948), Joe Sullivan (Dennis O’Keefe) escapes from prison with the help of his girlfriend Pat (Claire Trevor) but facing the complication of a dangerous mobster Rick (Raymond Burr) who wants Joe dead. In the finale, Rick and Joe, both wounded in a gunfight, with Rick thrown to his death. However, Joe also dies in the street with an acceptance of his fate and Pat noting that “This is right for Joe. This is what he wanted.”In essence, Joe’s dying face is not one contorted by fear, pain or panic but one filled with contentment. In some way he has found redemption, through the understanding that he needs to pay for his sins and that his death makes things right.

Of course, the deep-rooted cynicism of film noir would suggest that redemption is never available. The hard and bleak reality is that attempts at happiness (or perceived happiness) through crime are futile and hopeless. Yet an extension of that hopelessness and futility is a final desire for redemption and the desperate need for it. It also needs to be remembered that those caught up in the dark shadows are not necessarily professional criminals, gangsters and cops/private detectives (who are used to walking tough streets) but ordinary people who are drawn into the depths. In Sorry, Wrong Number (1948), Henry Stevenson (Burt Lancaster) is drawn into a world of crime because of his deep-rooted dissatisfaction in both his personal and professional life. At the very last second, he desperately realises what he has done but its’ too late to turn things around.

Ultimately, everyone pays a price. Femme fatales rarely walk away and even the innocent are wrongly accused or face prison or death. Yet death brings a finality which cannot be reversed. As a result, it brings a new dimension whilst drawing on tropes as old as religion – that redemption is possible, if the price is paid. In the world of film noir, that is the ultimate price.

Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.