Our 15 Favorite Underrated Film Noirs

"Born To Kill" might be the single nastiest noir of the classic era — directed by the man who would go on to direct "The Sound Of Music," no less! In a genre full of sadistic, amoral anti-heroes, Sam Wilde (Lawrence Tierney) is the nastiest of them all. Tierney was a nightmare of an actor by all accounts, but he is perfectly cast here, playing a pure psychopath who finds a kindred spirit in Claire Trevor's sociopathic socialite. 

Sam is a terrifyingly unpredictable character, and his brutal murder of both his romantic rival and the girl they were fighting over makes for distressing viewing. With the amount of violence and general seediness on display, it's a wonder this even got made during the days of the production code. The twisted relationship between Tierney and Trevor is especially depraved, as they make leery faces at each other behind the backs of their wholesome partners. Walter Slezak is great as the twinkly-eyed, literate private eye, and Elisha Cook Jr is as wonderful as ever as Sam's creepy roommate (the scene where he charms a potential murder victim is truly skin-crawling stuff).

The documentary thriller was a fertile subgenre of the classic noir era — films like "T-Men" and "The Naked City" show the apparent mundanity of police work, and laid the groundwork for police procedurals today. "He Walked By Night" is different, mainly because it forces the audience to identify with a cold-hearted, ruthless killer, and shows him to constantly outmaneuver the cops on his tail.

Richard Basehart gives an impassive, cold performance as the fugitive, in a part that could have been a major influence on "Le Samourai" and "Drive" — although neither of the leads in those films is quite as ruthless. 

Predating "The Third Man" and its beautifully shot chase sequence by about a year, Alfred L Werker and an uncredited Anthony Mann execute an uncannily similar finale as Basehart desperately flees the police through a series of underground sewer tunnels. John Alton's cinematography proved one of the defining features of noir, and he makes excellent use of silhouettes and shadows, creating a striking look for the film.

Forget the remake with Gene Hackman, this is one of the tensest, tightest Film Noirs ever made. FBI agent Charles McGraw is assigned to protect a gangster moll turned government witness (Marie Windsor). As they travel back to headquarters by train, the gangsters close in on them, and when McGraw searches for an ally on the train, he finds nobody is what they seem. 

Marie Windsor played an iconic femme fatale in "The Killing," but is even better here as the tough-as-nails witness who is openly hostile, never softening her character. McGraw, so good as one of the titular hitmen in "The Killers," is a little too straitlaced, but it hardly matters when the rest of the film is so much fun. It's full of witty dialogue and narrative twists that are genuinely surprising (which is something of a rarity in older films), and features memorable roles for the supporting cast — most notably Peter Virgo as the hitman and Paul Maxey as the overweight passenger who gets the immortal line: "Nobody loves a fat man except his grocer and his tailor!"

Robert Ryan might be the definitive noir actor, a guy who could deploy his chiseled looks and imposing stature to depict either troubled heroes or malevolent villains. Here he gives a tragic, touching performance as Stoker Thompson, an over-the-hill boxer. So certain is his manager that he will lose his upcoming bout that he takes a pay off from the local gangster to throw the fight. But nobody tells Stoker this, and against all odds, he begins to win.

Around Ryan's beautifully observed, touching performance, Robert Wise populates his film with bloodthirsty punters who long to see Stoker beaten, from a blind man whose friend provides a running commentary to the mousy housewife who goes from reluctant attendee to the most vocal of the bunch, screaming for the boxers to kill each other.

One of the greatest boxing films of all time and Ryan's favorite role of his career, the actor gives a raw, dignified performance full of pathos. It helps that he could actually box in real life, having been a champion at college, and he makes his character authentic and lived in. Audrey Totter is wonderfully humane as Stoker's despairing wife, who refuses to watch the fights and longs for him to quit. Their final exchange is both heartwarming and devastating, encapsulating the film's bittersweet tone in one line of dialogue. 

The Second World War looms large over the Film Noir genre. Several films use the war as an explicit plot point, such as "The Blue Dahlia," "Thieves' Highway," and "Crossfire," but few confront the trauma and long-reaching impact of the war better than Fred Zinnemann's "Act Of Violence." 

Van Heflin plays a former POW who is now a pillar of the community, revered as a war hero and living a life of suburban respectability with his beautiful wife (an impossibly young Janet Leigh). That is, until fellow survivor Robert Ryan arrives in town, haunting his every step. Zinnemann wisely cuts to the chase quickly, allowing both actors to explore their characters in more depth — Heflin was no hero, betraying his fellow soldiers and getting them killed, and Ryan is the avenging angel here to settle the score.

A lean, efficient thriller masterfully told, Zinnemann adroitly blurs the lines between hero and villain; both leads give incredible performances as characters who prove to be infinitely more complicated than they first appear. Berry Kroeger is a lot of fun as a sleazy hitman, but best of all is Mary Astor as the alcoholic prostitute who gives a poignant, soulful performance, miles away from her glamorous turn as one of noir's first femme fatales in "The Maltese Falcon."

We've discussed this late addition to the genre as a heist film before, but as a piece of noir, it's even more potent. Director Robert Wise takes his time establishing the plight of the main character as we discover each of them at their lowest ebb, and get to know them before they're finally convinced to take part in a bank robbery.

Harry Belafonte gives a surprisingly nuanced turn as the jazz singer hopelessly out of his depth. Even better is Robert Ryan, who David Thomson once called "an actor who seemingly had no wish or need to be liked." It's certainly true of this character, a tightly wound ball of bigoted, impotent rage. When he asserts his masculinity by beating up a marine in a bar, it's not the triumphant moment you might expect, but a pitiful one. Ryan refuses to make his character a one-note racist, though, and he remains decidedly human.

Unapologetically nihilistic, "Odds Against Tomorrow" is way ahead of its time, examining the bitterness that fuels racism in a vivid and nasty way. Abraham Polonsky's harsh, uncompromising dialogue and Wise's excellent direction make this a unique and modern noir. The final coda is both apt and gruesome – the harshest possible way of observing the ultimate futility of racism. 

"All Cain did to Abel was murder him." 

A story of illegal numbers rackets made biblical through the elliptical dialogue and the fraternal relationship at its core, "Force Of Evil" occupies a singular place in the genre. John Garfield was never better than he is here as the flashy, corrupt lawyer struck by an unexpected crisis of conscience, while Thomas Gomez looks positively saintly next to him as his small-time bookie brother. The scenes between the two are a joy to watch, with Gomez easily walking away with the film.

There are so many iconic moments, from the audible click on Garfield's telephone letting him know he's being bugged to the final iconic shootout in the dark. An intensely personal project for Polonsky (who was blacklisted shortly after), this is the ultimate testament to his talents. 

Polonsky's script is dense without feeling flashy or sacrificing the noirish tone. The dialogue is delivered rapid-fire by a solid cast who hardly even pauses for breath. "Force Of Evil" is a grown-up noir that expects the audience to keep up, and it looks beautiful, with breathtaking location cinematography that still looks impressive today. It's a unique film, perfectly conceived and executed, and deserves wider recognition.

"You've got it all ... but you're a dead man, Harry Fabian."

Blacklisted for his communist sympathies, Jules Dassin was effectively exiled to Britain, where he made one of the defining Film Noir movies — and yet one that is rarely listed among the greats. "Night And The City" features stunning location photography, deep focus camerawork to rival Orson Welles, and a kinetic, fast-moving plot that undoubtedly served as an influence on "Uncut Gems." 

Richard Widmark gives his greatest film performance as the irrepressible grifter Harry Fabian. Harry is "an artist without an art," constantly wheeling and dealing. Widmark does an impressive job portraying Harry as irredeemably venal (he's introduced stealing from his girlfriend) and still manages to generate empathy from the audience. As despicable as he is, it's impossible to not feel for him, and it's agonizing to watch his dream dissipate in front of his eyes.

The film is full of well-rounded, colorful characters, all infinitely more likable than Harry, with clear and distinct motivations that keep the plot moving in unpredictable ways. Herbert Lom's "villain" is both ruthless and honorable, and the bitterly comic double act of Francis L. Sullivan and Googie Withers is a delight whenever they appear onscreen. It's a bleak yet beautiful film, and a highlight of the genre.