Love you man. I know you love me too. But it’s also clear that you don’t approve of me. That’s okay. I am blessed, in the sense that I don’t need your approval, because my own opinion of myself and my opinions is both absurdly high, and self-sustaining.

Which doubtless is one of the things you disapprove of, and for sure is one of those tricks from the mixed bag I inherited paternally–I know that only makes it worse. C’est … la guerre.

Today I was posed ta pull down this big synthetic post, but I had fish ta fry, category Other. It’ll keep.

Instead, I offer to you 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳 (1949).

It’s not a noir, it’s a jour. It’s noirish in its tensions, but not its morality. Its morals are true blue. I enjoyed it, but I think if I was a woman I’d have liked it even better, because the She is the only complicated character, and ultimately the only reason to watch. The men are pretty stock, unsurprising until the last three minutes at least.

No spoilers.

Onward.