Double Indemnity: A Crime Writers Film

By Maggie King

“How could I have known that murder could sometimes smell like honeysuckle?”

One of many memorable lines from Double Indemnity (1944), a film I never tire of watching—even after the fifth or sixth time! It’s a film I urge all crime writers to study—whether you’re writing cozies or hard-boiled detective stories. The superb dialogue, with its emphasis on double entendres and provocative banter, not only entertains but moves the plot along. The use of light and shadow create a virtual underworld that emphasizes the unsavoriness of the characters and plot. It is film perfection.

Double Indemnity is the ultimate film noir—it’s dark, steamy, loaded with atmosphere, and the characters are sleazy as all get out. In this story, originally penned by James M. Cain and adapted for the silver screen by Billy Wilder and Raymond Chandler, discontented housewife Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) bewitches insurance salesman Walter Neff (Fred McMurray) into killing her husband. Together, she promises, they will collect on a double indemnity insurance clause.

Phyllis is film noir’s classic femme fatale, luring a man whose brain goes on hiatus the moment he sees her. Walter seems like a good guy, but he’s no match for the lovely and smoldering Phyllis. She doesn’t even seem good—she’s evil to the core. Since he’s only marginally good, ensnaring him in her web is child’s play. Indeed, Double Indemnity’s best lesson for writers may be its showing how easily someone can be led astray by promises of a lifetime of riches and passion.

Writers are frequently advised to show, not tell. Double Indemnity follows this advice to good effect in its depictions of the life styles of Phyllis and Walter. Phyllis lives in an elegant Spanish house in the hills overlooking the Loz Feliz section of Los Angeles. Walter spends his days selling insurance, operating out of a ubiquitous office building in downtown LA, where the worker bees toil in a pre-cubicle bullpen desk arrangement (I worked in a few bullpen set-ups myself). Evening comes and Walter returns to his cramped apartment not far from his office. The contrast of life styles is stark, but never verbalized, only shown.

When it comes to sex scenes, the censorship of the day forced writers to show without telling, allowing them to achieve higher levels of creativity. Sex was left to the imagination, using suggestive dialogue and longing looks. A scene in Walter’s apartment hints that Walter and Phyllis had just been intimate. You don’t know for sure … but you’re pretty sure.

Elements of Alfred Hitchcock are evident in Double Indemnity. You don’t see the murder but you know it’s happening just out of camera range. Phyllis’s satisfied look and the gleam in her eye are what tell you that her husband is now thoroughly dead.

So … no sex, no violence, no profanity. Sounds like a modern day cozy. Not a chance! Double Indemnity is far from a cozy, and a current version of it would include all three no-nos. Body Heat (1981) is an example.

And there’s the creative way the senses are incorporated into the narration: “How could I have known that murder could sometimes smell like honeysuckle?” and “I couldn’t hear my own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man.” There are many such quotes in Double Indemnity.

Here’s a quote that sums up the film in a nutshell: “I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn’t get the money. And I didn’t get the woman.”

You can almost feel sorry for Walter—after all, if you go to all the trouble of murdering your lover’s husband, shouldn’t you reap some of the benefits? Perhaps the film’s best lesson for writers is showing how easily someone can be led astray by promises of a lifetime of riches and passion. It makes you wonder how many of us are just a whisper away from evil.

After the murder, things go downhill. For one thing, Walter’s boss, Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson), is highly suspicious of Phyllis’s double indemnity claim and investigates it like a dog with ten bones. And Walter and Phyllis grow to distrust each other (no surprise there). By the time Walter realizes that murdering Mr. Dietrichson wasn’t such a good idea, it’s too late. But is he sorry that he killed the man? Or does he only regret that he’s left with nothing to show for his efforts beyond a bullet in his shoulder?

Often when I re-watch a movie, or re-read a book, I start finding flaws and turn critical. Not so with Double Indemnity. But I will notice something new with each viewing. Like how Barton Keyes never has a match, and Walter Neff has to light his cigar. But in the last scene, it’s Mr. Keyes who lights a cigarette for Mr. Neff (there’s that bullet in his shoulder). An unexpected touching moment.

James M. Cain took his inspiration for Double Indemnity from a real life case. In 1927 a New York woman named Ruth Snyder persuaded her lover, a corset salesman named Judd Gray, to kill her husband. She had recently convinced her spouse to take out a $48,000 insurance policy with a double indemnity clause. For more information on the case, read this Wikipedia article.

Author: Maggie King

Maggie King is the author of the Hazel Rose Book Group mysteries. Her short stories appear in the Virginia is for Mysteries series, 50 Shades of Cabernet, Deadly Southern Charm, Death by Cupcake, Murder by the Glass, First Comes Love, Then Comes Murder, and Crime in the Old Dominion. Maggie is a member of International Thriller Writers, Short Mystery Fiction Society, and is a founding member of Sisters in Crime Central Virginia. She serves Sisters in Crime on the national level as a member of the Social Media team. Maggie graduated from Rochester Institute of Technology with a B.S. degree in Business Administration, and has worked as a software developer, customer service supervisor, and retail sales manager. She lives in Richmond, Virginia with her husband, Glen, and Olive the cat. View all posts by Maggie King