I like noir. The irony is that I like noir because I started reading the Dresden Files, which is sci-fi/fantasy. Anyways, I went straight to the innovators of the genre, Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. Twelve pages into the Maltese Falcon, and here's the big punch in the nuts, Humphrey Bogart is NOT how I picture Sam Spade.
Not only that, you know what?
Casablanca was a dumb movie.
Seriously. A group of us got all psyched to go see this movie in the park a couple years ago, and it was so God awful boring that, looking for things to do, my buddy Tony Clark and I proceeded to get drunk on a $5 magnum bottle of wine.
For the nondrinkers out there, that's about the equivalent of drinking your urine, if it was alcoholic.
(actually, I don't know this, but it sounded funny)
Anyways, Tony Clark and I drank this bottle and, after that was finished, looked for other things to do, at which point, we spotted a dog. That eventually trotted over ...
Matt: "This dog is pretty cool!"
Tony: "Yeah, let's see where it goes."
So, we stopped petting the dog, and waited to see who it went to, in which case, whomever it did must logically be it's owner. Wouldn't you know it? Cute girl, BY HERSELF, watching the movie.
Matt: "This is your chance."
Matt: "Call the dog over, then follow it back. Use it to talk to the girl."
Tony: "You do it."
Matt: "No, you're better looking and Latin ... chicks love that shit."
Needless to say, he wussed out.
Here's looking at you, kid.