I love the noir genre. The plot twists that keep everyone munching furiously on the popcorn. Cat and mouse games. Detectives with a disposition to chase the bottle more than the bad ones. Anti-heroes with more than fifty shades of grey. Femme fatales who always have a back story and a snub-nosed Beretta handy. The long line-up of suspects. Because hey, it’s noir. Everyone’s guilty till they wake up dead, or proven otherwise. Yes, even that character who gets all the sympathy. Nobody knows who’s who until the very end, when they step out of the shadows. And a source of light - a flickering light bulb, a flare of a matchstick, a grimy street lamp - reveals that it wasn’t really the butler who did it.