The film noir as we know it is oftentimes viewed as an American invention, but one can trace its influences back to European screens. From the German expressionist productions that inspired its signature visual scheme to its very name's French origins, the genre borrowed from a number of sources to form the force of cinematic nature it is now. Such eclectic beginnings are reflected in the multitude of stories the noir has to tell; be you a lower-class thug or a well-to-do socialite, a crooked copper or a goon with a heart of gold, anyone can star in their very own mood piece. Even mainstream moviegoers who haven't cracked into a lot of these pictures are well-versed in the conventions they popularized, and for those flicks that slipped through the cracks of time, the Warner Archive Collection is here to lend a helping hand. Having shed light upon thousands of film obscurities since they began in 2009, the Warner crew has paid extra special care to its growing library of noir titles, three of which I recently had the privilege to see for myself.

THREE STRANGERS (1946). A Chinese idol brings together the fates of a femme fatale (Geraldine Fitzgerald), a drunk (Peter Lorre), and a solicitor (Sydney Greenstreet). Originally intended as a follow-up to The Maltese Falcon, Three Strangers may not feature that flick's gritty gumshoes, but it bears all the marks of a classic noir. It's a story about what happens when morally-tainted characters are pushed to the brink of desperation, when worsening fortunes convince them to put stock in what they once dismissed as superstitious frivolity. People are liable to do anything when backed into a corner, and Three Strangers shows to great effect how the most supposedly virtuous among us can be the most dangerous, as well. Greenstreet's status-centric lawyer has no qualms about playing with his clients' money to fill his own pockets, while Fitzgerald's pretty face hides a truly deceitful persona that'll do whatever it takes to squash an impending divorce. Meanwhile, Lorre (in a rare romantic role) plays a boozy crook who's the most likable of the bunch, helpless as his lot in life constantly leads him to and from death's door. The idol element that assembles this trio in the first place doesn't really come back into play until the picture is nearly over, but the robust acting from each of the leads makes following their respective dramas stirring stuff anyway. Add in the requisite inky-black cinematography, and Three Strangers amounts to a moody little gem well worth tailing down a dark alleyway.

NOCTURNE (1946). A hard-boiled cop (George Raft) suspects that a composer's so-called suicide may be the work of a vengeful ex-lover. If you asked someone to describe an old-timey detective movie, chances are they would picture something like Nocturne. This has all those well-worn tropes we've been trained to expect, from the no-nonsense hero and tough-talking women to the brutish henchmen and wry dialogue ("How would you feel if I married a murderess?" "I wouldn't mind. So long as she's a nice girl."). But rather than come across like the umpteenth rehashing of tired noir cliches, Nocturne brings these elements together in a very entertaining manner, so sure in their execution that viewers can easily look past their corniness and just roll with it all. The acting and one-liners serve as the perfect distraction from the main story, which doesn't quite live up to its inital hook. Raft's dogged lawman uses the unfinished composition that gives our flick its title to track down the killer, but despite an expansive suspect pool and motives aplenty, he blazes through his hunt too fast for a sense of doubt to take root in our thoughts. Enough details have been muddled by the time the truth gets revealed to make you wonder just how in the world the story arrived at that conclusion in the first place. But narrative nitpicking aside, Nocturne remains a riveting watch all the same, thanks to its memorable dialogue, evocative photography, and Raft's turn as the most unrelentingly stoic do-gooder this side of Joe Friday.
 
FBI CODE 98 (1963). Uncle Sam's finest agents try to root out a would-be saboteur. Its strengths as a procedural are a matter of opinion to begin with, but FBI Code 98's qualifications as a noir are on even shakier ground. Because it does everything in its power to remind us that all actions taken by the G-men are in the nation's best interests, the movie lacks that key noir element of having a hero willing to resort to unsavory measures to get the job done. FBI Code 98 is too by-the-book to go lurking about moral gray areas, too preoccupied with showing off its endorsement from J. Edgar's boys and constantly interrupting the story so it can pat them on the back. On the one hand, this really messes up the pacing, and in canvassing an array of agents who all seem to resemble each other working on different aspects of the case, the film's focus is thrown all out of whack, as well. But eventually, the mundane goings-on actually start to work in the picture's favor, lending the plot a more legitimate "you are there" sort of feel. Because the atmosphere comes across with a better sense of authenticity, the stakes are heightened and feel fairly down to earth (with the exception of some subplots stolen right from a soap opera's leftovers). Also, for what was intended to be a TV pilot, many scenes are directed to subtly suspenseful perfection, especially those in which the agents and the bomber (Vaughn Taylor) they're pursuing unwittingly cross paths. Though I'd hesitate to deem FBI Code 98 a true noir by virtue of its characters simply doing detective stuff, the nail-biting frames it provides are enough incentive to look beyond its genre classification and enjoy it for the overall solid thriller it is.
 
 (These titles and other noirs are available to purchase through the Warner Archive Collection: www.warnerarchive.com)