The Showtime network, along with its colleagues HBO and Starz, is notable within the television realm for its ability to portray the more ‘unseemly’ aspects of life – the graphic sex, explicit language, and grisly violence that other channels can only hint at. This creative license has spawned the likes of Californication, Dexter, Shameless, The Tudors, Weeds, and, most recently of the bunch, The Affair. The Affair, which “explores the emotional effects of an extramarital relationship”, is a self-declared psychological drama that questions not only how well we can know our bedmates, but also how well we can know ourselves.
Each episode of the inaugural season of the acclaimed Showtime series is partitioned into two segments: the first told from the perspective of Noah, the male protagonist, and the second from that of Alison, his female counterpart in the titular extramarital affair. This division runs far deeper than the literal point of transition halfway through an episode; there are consistent discrepancies between the way in which a character perceives himself/herself and the way in which others perceive the same character. The show’s second season even introduces two additional perspectives, those of Cole and Helen (the scorned spouses of Alison and Noah, respectively). The varied narration of The Affair evokes the illusory, subjective nature of reality that is essential to the ambiguity of film noir, with both the series and the classic genre stylistically asserting that truth – and guilt – lie in the eye of the beholder.
Much like women were the customary scapegoats of traditional film noir, the usage of multiple narrators in The Affair allows the viewer to diagnose the subconscious techniques that Noah and Alison employ in transferring blame. Particularly striking are the wardrobe differences; though what a character wears at any given time should theoretically be fact, it is the perspective that often dictates the outfit. Perhaps most significantly, Noah perceives Alison to be a sort of beach nymph – clothed almost exclusively in romantic dresses and skirts. However, Alison’s recollections of interactions with Noah feature her in dull hues, jeans, and t-shirts. Noah clearly sees Alison as the archetypical femme fatale, the irresistible instigator of their affair. Alison, on the other hand, views herself through a veil of grief brought about by the death of her young son – making her the emotionally paralyzed victim of Noah’s pursuits. Such a stark disparity echoes Noir conventions of convolution and incertitude. Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep immediately comes to mind. Depending on one’s perspective, Carmen Sternwood is either a homicidal seductress or a woman in the throes of severe mental illness.
Shot predominantly in Long Island, New York, The Affair certainly diverges from the grimy urban landscape of classic Noir. However, the ocean and beach – recurring motifs – serve as effective means of diluting the show’s color palette. The title sequence of The Affair, for instance, is overwhelmingly shrouded in variations of gray and blue, reminiscent of Noir shadows. Similarly, scenes depicting Alison’s viewpoint often appear hazy and indistinct. As in traditional Noir, the external mirrors the internal. Occasionally, The Affair‘s dialogue verbalizes the subjectivity that visually dominates the series. “I don’t believe that there are good people and bad people,” Alison discloses when Noah asks if she considers herself a good person. “We’re all just doing our best to get by.” With protagonists who are admittedly neither good nor bad, The Affair self-consciously emulates the malleable morality characteristic of film noir.