26 Feb Fashion in Classic Film Noir: The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946)

If you’ve never seen a John Garfield film before—and you need to know you’re missing out—you might as well start with The Postman Always Rings Twice. I’m admittedly biased, as Garfield is my absolute favourite male actor from this time period, but once you see one of his films you’ll understand.

Before James Dean, Marlon Brando, and all the rest remembered for that troubled, brooding young man persona, Garfield popularised that character first. Garfield is always captivating on screen, always a joy to watch, and here he is no exception. He plays Frank Chambers, a drifter who stops for a meal at a rural diner and is taken on as hired help by the owner, Nick Smith (Cecil Kellaway) and his much younger and dangerously attractive wife, Cora (Lana Turner).

Despite what seems to be a rough start between Cora and Frank, they soon begin an affair and naturally what comes out of that is a plot to kill off Nick so that they can be together.

By the way, the title of the film refers to the concept that you may be able to cheat fate/death once, but the “postman” will “ring” a second time. Essentially, your fate is sealed, and karma will catch up with you sooner or later.

Above is from the famous scene where Cora and Frank first meet. She drops her lipstick and it rolls over to Frank, he picks it up, and a nonchalant Cora ignores him and continues admiring her reflection in a compact mirror as Frank watches on.

Notice the theme: White turban, white top, white shorts, white peep-toe pumps. Can they make it any more obvious? She’s a vision in white. Innocence, good, and purity are the key characteristics associated with the colour and have been used to dress the ‘good’ protagonists on film since the beginning.

This is not what is typical of a femme fatale. In this film noir, the meaning behind the colour is twisted and all of Cora’s outfits (save for one) are completely white. It’s used purposely as a façade: She doesn’t seem to be evil. In fact, you almost fall for her, yourself.

You already know what it is.

Above is a white keyhole dress with a tie around the neck, cap sleeves, belted waist, and a single pocket on the skirt. And she’s darling in it.

Here is a simple but romantic off-the-shoulder dress, suitable for a hot summer night.

Another thing to point out: All of her clothes are spotless. She works in a diner and she’s not living in a glamorous penthouse in a big city, yet the tailoring, and the details, are impeccable. That’s crucial to her character. If she’s this mindful of her appearance, you’d assume she’d be the same in other things, too.

Somehow the censors let them get away with this two-piece swimsuit in an equally scandalous romantic beach scene, above.

How did she do it? Because she’s Lana Turner, that’s how.

Above is Cora’s diner uniform with “TWIN OAKS” written on the left sleeve. Check out those straight, square shoulders and the pleated detailing just below the bust.

And a great 1940s travelling suit, because even for a murderous getaway, one must be stylish.

The beret is very relevant right now, I might add.

Above is the single non-white outfit I mentioned. This is after Nick’s death. Cora is a mourning wife.

You’ll notice it’s the opposite of a similar outfit she wore earlier in the film: Black turban, black gloves, black keyhole dress with tie neck, black clutch, and black peep-toe pumps. I love the cut-out trim around the neck and down the middle.

Today’s minimalists have nothing on Ms. Cora.

An injured Frank post-crash with Cora and her lawyer, Arthur Keats (Hume Cronyn, who, in my opinion, gives the best performance in the film), above

Cora is back in white again for the benefit for the jury and the rest of the court: A simple button-down shirt and midi skirt with a matching padded-shoulder jacket. (She’s taken it off outside the courtroom; it’s hanging on the chair.)

And lastly, after a lucky break, a white robe for when Frank and Cora rekindle their love at the beach (hence the white towel on her head)… Except, you know, fate intervenes.