The Big Heat

After a police officer's apparent suicide is determined to be suspicious, an honest detective sergeant uncompromisingly takes the case.

The clues point to a stern crime syndicate which is well entrenched within the town, but making arrests or acquiring evidence proves inextricably drawn and complicated.

Bannion (Glenn Ford) proceeds regardless with noble intent exceeding righteousness, directly to the established regime who's none too impressed with the inspired intrusion.

Soon his legitimate motives are questioned as he becomes a target for enraged thuggery, possessing commensurate headstrong wherewithal, things are bleak and rugged and ruthless. 

It's not inquisitive parlay, he's taken things right to the nerve stricken centre, without much forethought or investigation, like Kurtz he just thought it up and did it.

The repercussions are harsh, his resolve fierce and sympathetic, as he refuses to simply back down, attuned to paramount sublime ideals, and a bit of stubborn insanity.

But the world's by no means idyllic even if virtue is highly regarded.

In such a situation how does one proceed?

How do they induce potent logic?

Helps if you're not on your own and others appear offering tough helping hands, and the script's written to firmly uphold as you freely and nimbly engage.

It's perhaps too bluntly composed as Bannion boldly contends and interacts, too direct, to too the point, without moderate intervening placations. 

The Big Heat's stark contention examines polarized jurisprudence, but doesn't focus on the intermittent stages with much multifaceted concentration.

It's sort of like a football game where good and evil are the opposing teams, and while such a strategy works in sporty realms, it's somewhat disappointing when applied to film.

Realistic film anyways, or films that don't experiment with reality. You expect that kind of thing from superheroes but not from real world crime drama. You could argue that therefore The Big Heat presents the unexpected, which can be a positive thing, since it's important to tear down boundaries when considering alternatives.  Sometimes constabulary candour works well in less grandiose environs, but not when the situation requires depth to convincingly deconstruct the big picture.

Still, for a shout out to doing the right thing within the exceptional bounds of the superheroic, The Big Heat and Glenn Ford deliver.

Not without their share of sacrifice.

Not sure if it qualifies as film noir.   

Rancho Notorious

The future looks bright, overflowing with bounty, as a couple considers their upcoming marriage, happily thriving through steady employ, ensconced in blooming gleeful rapture.

Yet they live on the Western frontier and soon malevolence comes a' calling, the bride-to-be then passing on, her fiancé sworn to loyal vengeance.

He (Arthur Kennedy as Vern Haskell) sets off on the road following leads where he can engaging in bright conversation, or the eruption of bombast flourishing undaunted, should he ask the wrong person the right question.

He hears tales glamorous and bold deftly crafted through spry resignation, of a coveted socialite (Marlene Dietrich as Altar Keane) widely sought after who teamed up with a formidable gunman (Mel Ferrer as Fairmont).

Haskell discovers the whereabouts of the outlaw and ensures he winds up in the very same jail, soon accidentally aiding his escape, before setting out extrajudicially.

The identity of the killer he seeks still remains frustratingly mysterious, but he soon finds the locale wherein which he's supposed to unconscionably reside.

Alongside many others who have earned their livings through corrupt ill-gotten gains, Rancho Notorious revelling in shenanigans transformative vast illicit booty.

It's direct and hard-hitting like a Western bluntly concerned with irate justice, and works in elements of ye olde film noir, whose generic conventions command infatuated.

The femme fatale's by no means duplicitous and remains loosely hitched to the preeminent bandit, who's rather upright and honourable, as if Bonnie & Clyde had endured.

Haskell makes friends with the virtuous crook and seems like he might be at home casually robbing the odd bank (or stagecoach), but the sight of a striking brooch reminds him of goals which have not been forgotten.

The lines between good and evil are ambiguously forsaken as well-meaning townsfolk quickly back down, and no-good rapscallions ignite honest virtue, while vendettas reestablish antipodes.

Never thought I'd see Marlene Dietrich waxing light so home on the range, and didn't know Fritz Lang directed Westerns sans banal black and white refrains.

There's some minor character diversification but it generally sticks to its winning hand, more abundant less superficial interactions may still have cultivated grizzlier lands.

It excels when Haskell's sleuthing more so than when he hits the ranch, the flashbacks and their spirited horseplay generating crucial binding fragments.

There's a lively soundtrack that keeps things focused if not cleverly cloaking wry deception, Lang perhaps approaching generic overload and unable to keep sabotage at bay.

L'amour takes up much more time than hot pursuits or criminal gains.

Preponderantly peculiar.

Almost like comedic romance.