Transformative Noir
As was noted here last week this is not the Age of Subtlety, not even close. Now blitzed by ads for Dexter I shudder at this combination of CSI and Miami Deco with its underlying cuteness, because this above all, Dexter is cute. They took the guy from Six Feet Under and coated him with blonde hair and a steadier gaze than you might anticipate from a tech who whacks those who deserve to die. This is an adaptation of Darkly Dreaming Dexter, a novel now destined to be hailed as great when what it was, was cute. A culture struggling to differentiate between cute and great is fertile ground for another decade’s worth of self help books, so the outlook remains drizzly rather than stormy to cop an image from the Weather Channel. Transformative Noir? How about rain in the Ohio Valley, followed by a deluge of Paid Political Announcements? We stagger toward November and Decision Tuesday.
That’s not what I came to talk about, but Dexter has his dampened hands around my throat if that metaphor isn’t too rambunctious for the context. I hope not, because I enjoy exterior shots of Miami as much the next guy, possibly more, since my last visit to Miami was limited to the airport, a visit choreographed by Costa-Gravas, in that I felt a sense of impending doom amid the exotic flora. The encroaching joy of Latin culture boosted my spirits though, so I revel in the panorama of iconic imagery whenever Miami appears on the screen. You know, anything’s possible.
Thus, distracted, my essay on transformative noir must wait another day. Damn it Dexter. I feel as though I’ve crawled through the underbrush for miles only to discover the villagers reading Doctor Phil. When did he get here?