What do you get when you mix a gaggle of expatriate Austro-Germanic cineasts with a gang of American pulp novelists writing about flawed men and conniving women, some Expressionist lighting to hide the fact they’re on a two-bit soundstage, all in shades of gray in post-WWII Hollywood, California? Well, around here we call it Film Noir. Yeah, it’s as defined as the morals of its characters, sure, but it’s kinda like jazz or pornography, Junior…you’ll know it when you see it. So, sit down and keep yer hands where I can see ‘em and we’ll talk about some of the greats, the losers and whatever else comes to mind while you’re bleedin’ out and she’s spendin’ all that insurance money.