Oftentimes, bad films have some sort of clue in their marketing, in their title; that cue that you shouldn't be expecting anything more than a middling afternoon with a bucket of over-greased popcorn. Mentions of Adam Sandler, Michael Bay, or Dude Where's My Car?, are often signs that you should stay at home and check to see who was the latest reject on Project Runway.

And then there are films that, even to the most trained eye, catch you off-guard. You assume, thanks to the pedigree of the cast, the grand subject matter, or the quality director, that you'll be in store for something special, only to find that you've been treated to a truly atrocious abuse of film-making cash.

Dahlia should have had everything going for it. The movie stars "it" actors Scarlett Johansson and Josh Hartnett, is directed by celebrated auteur Brian de Palma, and is based upon the most famous murder case in California history, but it still falls drastically short of any of its potential.

Part of it lies with the script, which can't decide which character it wants to focus on, and muddles into not telling any story at all. Should it focus on Hartnett and his corrupt partner Aaron Eckhart, who is mysteriously tumbling off the psychological deep end without any explanation?

Should it be on the faux femme fatale, played by Hilary Swank in a performance filled with so much scenery-chewing that I half expected the forties-era set to collapse on the canoodling Johansson and Hartnett? Or perhaps on the title character herself, a character so secondary the cast has to constantly remind Hartnett that he's still investigating the crime?

The writing and acting can't take the entire blame; however. Lots of movies fail in this respect and are merely bad, not stomach-churningly awful like Dahlia. What makes this so hideous is its total abuse of the noir genre which it desperately wishes to emulate.

Noir, a style of detective films in the 40s and 50s, was all about sexual tension, mystery, and suspense, not about gratuity and overzealous violence. Toward the last half-an-hour of the film, where there's more blood spilled than six Kill Bills and a Mel Gibson "biblical" epic combined, the audience is looking away in disgustčnot in shock or horror. The film doesn't realize that in order to pay homage to a genre, you can't totally defecate on all of its traditions. Dahlia doesn't embrace the seedy detectives and temptresses that littered movies like The Maltese Falcon and Double Indemnity in the 40s, but instead seeks to turn them into slasher flick stereotypes, coupled with an expensive backdrop.

For those of you who saw the Dahlia trailers and are disappointed that the sex, murder, and suspense turned into a train wreck, I'd like to offer you salvation in the best detective noir film, Laura.

Through wit and cleverly-veiled motives, the film keeps the audience on its toes, not being which characters will live, which characters are guilty, and which characters to trust.

It is exactly the sort of high crime and high fashion tale that Dahlia should have been. Alas, only Laura embraces the seduction of noir, and therefore it leaves the lasting, grand impression.

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