I must be watching too many 1940-50s film noirs. They're infiltrating my dreams.
Last night, in my very own bedroom, I hosted a noir festival. Fragments of a more intricate dream are all I can remember now, but the bits my memory retained were mighty vivid. The dream featured an attractive young couple. He's handsome in a Barry Sullivan way but unidentifiable; she's delicate, like Coleen Gray in Kiss of Death (1947) or possibly like fragile young Janet Leigh in Touch of Evil (1957). Some "mugs" want these young folks iced (the dream didn't say why) and they want it done in the most painful possible manner. The scene then cut to a rickety wood-framed house which replicated the building in the dude ranch run by Mercedes McCambridge in Lightning Strikes Twice (1951).The goons break in and sadistically slash the guy's throat and handcuff the girl to a post, then set the house on fire (which copied the ending of Kiss Me, Deadly [1955]). Next thing I knew, the young lady was alive (the dream didn't say how she escaped the flames) and was being recruited and disguised by a trio of FBI or police officers. Not plastic surgery, just makeup and a change of costume. The plan was for her to go underground to identify and expose the hoodlums (a plot device common to numberless noirs).
When I awoke, I was impressed by the imaginative work of my dreamatorium. "Not a bad plot," I said to myself. "Not brilliant, but original enough to serve. Add a car chase, a blonde songstress, a natty but corrupt district attorney, a crusading newspaperman, some heavies (Moroni Olsen and Mike Mazurki, perhaps), a heist gone bad, a skinny stoolie with a toothpick in his mouth, and a little amnesia, and you've got yourself a movie."
I should add that this dream came to me in high contrast black-and-white. Excellent camera work. Well-directed. Think Phil Karlson or Ida Lupino. With gowns by Orry-Kelly.
Comments