Many accounts of ‘film noir’ only see a bleak cityscape in which (the) man is threatened by (a) woman — frequently defined as a femme fatale (even when this is inappropriate), and the language used to describe her is often even stronger than her supposed ubiquity:

here is a world where it is always night, always foggy or wet, filled with gunshots and sobs, where men wear tuned-down brims on their hats and women loom in fur coats, guns thrust deep into pockets. (Higham and Greenberg, 1968: 20)

Most uncertain of all is the commitment of the central female character, who may prove true to him [the morally equivocal hero of the thriller] ... or false ..., but who will almost certainly sexually enslave him. ... The Circe figure quite often entices the hero by her song, ... or by her dance. ... The dissembled passion of the femme fatale is characteristic of the film noir. (McArthur, 1972: 46)

The world of the film noir and its heroes did show the seamy side of a section of American life: the poor detectives operating from shabby offices, insurance embezzlers, scheming and unfaithful wives, neurotic femmes fatales, impassive hired killers, frightened little men, and corrupt police officers. These people are the negation of the American dream and Hollywood-made optimism. Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe are expressions of the powerlessness of the honest and decent individual against the nightmare world of crime and corruption and an anonymous social system. (Karimi, 1970: 148; my emphasis throughout these quotes.)