You learn a lot about a noir character by their coffee: sugar? cream? more whiskey than caffeine?
I’m cataloging every noir scene where coffee plays a role — rote and ritual, soul-dark or cream and sugar, served from dingy diners to shiny penthouses.
Noir suffuses everything with meaning, from how a criminal wears his tie to what greeting a cop gives his mistress. Coffee is more often loaded than not, it can forward scenes, reveal character, and serve symbolism.
Here’s an instance in 1943’s Shadow of a Doubt where the hot beverage service does all of the above.
(And if you want more fun stuff, a blocking-and-framing breakdown of the scene is coming on Shot Zero shortly.)
I left the scene transition from the night prior in not merely because Joseph Cotten blowing cigar-smoke-rings in his shirtsleeves is coolness epitomised (though: goals) but because it nearly juxtaposes his evening and morning.
The lighting shifts from deep shadows to soft diffusion (with a brighter, contrast-y establishing shot between); Uncle Charlie has changed from his vest into double-breasted (!) pyjamas; his posture is more upright, nothing like the prior night’s ‘I’m a bad, bad man’ slouch; he puts on a show for his sister Emma, reading the paper like an upstanding citizen even as he checks in on the Merry Widow Strangler investigation.
The breakfast tray does a lot of heavy lifting in this scene, giving Cotten things to play with, by which he tells and show us what kind of person Uncle Charlie is.
His first words are not of thanks, but “Oh coffee . . . I can’t face the world in the morning, I must have coffee before I can speak.”
Sure, it’s an old joke, something cafe patrons say when they’ve exhausted talk of weather. But this isn’t Uncle Charlie’s barista, it’s his sister!
Still, he’s more than happy to let her be his servant. Emma, who clearly dotes too much on her little brother, notes the only times she had breakfast in bed was after giving birth (to Uncle Charlie’s namesake Charlotte and the delightfully incorrigible Ann). Whereas Uncle Charlie has no compunction whatsoever about her making the coffee and serving it to him on a silver platter.
The coffee tray is pretext for the writers (original script by Thornton Wilder, rewrites by Sally Benson and Alma Reville) and director (Hitchcock, with input from Reville) to show off character in deeds, but also symbolic actions, like so:
Uncle Charlie’s face shifts just before he tears the toast in half, a reminder to us (the audience in the know) that his victims were strangled.
The steam rising from the hot coffee, coupled with the slight upward angle and the headboard ‘wings’ and pointed shadows framing him, make him look remarkably like a demon planning his next move.
Finally, the actions of Uncle Charlie actually drinking his coffee caps the scene, big strong strangler hands holding the delicate china.
As the camera rotates around to reveal more of his face, he lifts the china cup to hide whatever dastardly expression may be crossing his lips.
It’s wonderful to see dozens of smaller bits coalesce perfectly: using coffee to add a little steam and a lot of colour to a scene.