Pulp-Noir fiction. Real world Newz.

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Jack Hammer here. This is where the real case files live. You look like you need answers. I sell the truth, ten cents a file, and don't expect a smile. If I have any hot tips for you, I'll pin them up here on the Bulletin Board. Now pour yourself a drink, and I'll give you the straight dope.

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I run a clean shop, mostly. But some bum just ransacked my office and lifted a dozen Hammer File Memoirs from the safe. These files tell the real story, from the shadows to the light. Now some two-bit crook has my case history. It's a job for a new kind of detective. Maybe you?

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The only clue I have right now came from a punk kid who witnessed the crime from the burger joint across the street. He didn't want to talk and tried to dummy up. I had to smack him around a little. Finally he broke and cried "Look Pops! They're on the menu! Sometimes they come double, with cheese!"

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So there you have it. The only clue I have is... "They're on the menu! Sometimes they come double, with cheese!" So if you're on the case with me, stop back and I'll pin any updates I have here on the board. This is I tough nut, but I think we can crack it. If you'er gonna be in town awhile you should...

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... have a look around. Maybe take in a flick at the Grindhouse, they have a great Pulp-Noir matinee. Or stop at the Newz Stand for a paper and a girly mag. If your eyes are bad or you're just lazy, they even have a girl who will read for you. Look for the headphones. Stop back, who knows what we'll find.

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To be continued..

The Grindhouse Theater

The Night of the Hunter 1955

Jack Hammer2 weeks ago6 days ago02 mins

This entry is part 3 of 3 in the series Grindhouse Theater

The Night of the Hunter (1955)

Directed by Charles Laughton. Featuring Robert Mitchum, Shelley Winters, Lillian Gish

The world’s a dark place, and every now and then a flick comes along that rubs your face in it. Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter is one of them. Mitchum plays the Reverend Harry Powell, a man of God with “LOVE” tattooed on one hand and “HATE” on the other. He’s a bible-thumping creep with a switchblade and a pension for dead dames. He’s got his eyes on two kids and the ten grand their old man hid before he went to the gallows.

The picture’s got a dreamlike quality, all shadows and silent menace, like a German Expressionist painting come to life. Mitchum stalks those poor kids like a phantom, and Gish—the old dame with the shotgun—ain’t having it. It ain’t a crime story; it’s a grim fairy tale where the Big Bad Wolf wears a preacher’s collar.

This one’s a cold, hard classic. It’s a gut punch of a picture, a real noir gem that shows the true monsters ain’t in the shadows, they’re preaching in the pulpit. Two thumbs up. For the record, they’re the ones with “LOVE” and “HATE” on ’em.

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Grindhouse Theater