The rare noir with an homme fatale, of sorts anyway. Widmark's Jefty has no particular glamour or mystery, and he's not especially seductive--which is kind of his problem, in addition to how quickly he gets "tired"--but he does bear a mean thwarted-rich-boy's grudge, not to mention, eventually, arms. Them piano-scorching ballads sung by a half-asleep Lupino lead the highlight reel.
Road House was so hard to get my head around. It's more dull melodrama than noir but the great Ida Lupino's musical numbers serve as a parallel for how I felt about it: not even all that good, but something unexplicable about the whole thing pulls you in and keeps you in your seat. Not good noir but a decent movie.