GILDA (1946) ★ ★ ★ ★
If we relate to the thin line between love and hatred, then we know why "Gilda" made Rita Hayworth legendary. Her radiant presence had never been put to better use on the silver screen than it was in Columbia Pictures' famous film noir, which was directed by Charles Vidor, meticulously shot by Rudolph Maté, and written by Jo Eisinger, Marion Parsonnet, and Ben Hecht.
To call it film noir is slightly misleading, as the story doesn't abide the conventions of the genre. It lacks a single "hard-boiled" character, its visual style was fairly mainstream in the forties, and it isn't much of a crime caper. It even has a happy ending, a noir no-no. But it also features a classic love triangle, connected to an iconic example of the femme fatale, Gilda herself. Hayworth was born for the role, and her portrayal of a woman who hides her insecurities behind sexual swagger made her scenes emotionally profound.
Instead of foisting a Byzantine plot with inscrutable characters on us, the film only pushes the pretense of that stuff. It focuses instead on the more universal theme of love and what it feels like to lose it, only to find it again. Glenn Ford plays Johnny Farrell, his second role opposite Hayworth, and the one that helped launch him to "A" List status. Johnny's a likable rogue of a character, a gambler and a cheat who bilks his way through the underground games of Buenos Aires.
A mysterious man and his dangerous "little friend" rescue Johnny from a back-alley mugging, and the two men develop a friendship. George Macready oozes menace as the ambiguously gay Ballin Mundson, who demonstrates how his "friend," a long black cane, can become a lethal weapon: one click of a button, and a blade protrudes from its base. Rumor has it that Vidor encouraged Ford and Macready to develop a homoerotic subtext to their relationship, and while Ford denied this, it's hard to miss it.
Ballin runs an illegitimate casino, and hires Johnny to manage its floor. The dialogue between them is steeped in innuendo, often with Farrell expressing an obsessive devotion to his employer's interests, and Ballin weirdly comparing Johnny to his lethal shaft of forever-sleep. Neither man can afford to venture beyond the walls of greed they've surrounded themselves with. Ballin runs his casino under the nose of the Argentine Government, and Johnny is his righthand man. They're quite the power couple.
Ballin goes on a trip, and instructs Johnny to run the casino while he's gone. This exchange of power is the high point of trust between them. But everything changes when the man and his cane return with a new wife, Gilda, a woman Ballin has known for a mere 24 hours before tying the knot. Eager to introduce her, he leads Johnny to his bedroom, and we witness one of Hollywood's most iconic moments, the Hayworth Hair-Flip. That this scene is memorable didn't happen by accident, and probably needed the usual handful of re-shoots for adjustments. It's been confirmed that it was shot at least twice, with her in two different outfits. But Hayworth made it look easy and natural, and it's the only cinematic moment I can think of that has me feeling thankful for the existence of looping GIFs.
Gilda and Johnny give each other The Look, and we know they have a sexual history. Gilda treats him rudely, and does so every time they see each other. She's full of resentment, the kind borne of heartache and abandonment, and these residual feelings drive her to taunt and abuse her former lover. But it becomes apparent that every exchange between them is in code, mostly to hide their feelings from Ballin. When Gilda tells Johnny she hates him, she means the opposite. Ditto for Johnny. This building tension leads up to the exciting moment when they can't stand the sight of each other anymore, and kiss.
Jack Cole's inclusion of three unforgettable musical performances bolster the film's iconic legacy. The first is when Gilda teases Johnny at five in the morning by strumming and crooning her acoustic version of "Put the Blame on Mame," written for the film by Allan Roberts and Doris Fisher. At one point she runs away from home and gives a nightclub performance of "Amado Mio," dubbed by Anita Ellis. This number is really about Hayworth swinging her hips in a white and gold-embroidered two-piece. Near the end, she reprises "Put the Blame on Mame," this time backed by a full band.
There's a bit of a MacGuffin about a tungsten cartel thrown into the plot, mainly to transform Ballin into Johnny's worst enemy. But Macready's performance was always a click away from villainy anyway, and the tungsten thing, which involves Germans and shady business dealings, doesn't land. I found his demise in the final scene to be a bit contrived, but it's so quick that it doesn't disturb the narrative flow. Far more interesting is the abusive and even desperate behavior between Gilda and Johnny. Their romantic tug of war was a common trope in films of the time, but rarely with the "war" part so boldly emphasized.
Ballin fakes his death in the middle of everything, leaving his casino, his business dealings, and his wife to his protégé, who promptly marries her to make her life miserable. Johnny's reasons for doing this are also a bit contrived, but they help set the stage for Ballin's return. In a lesser story, this setup would lead to tragedy. But in "Gilda," it leads its characters around the bend of their grievances, where they display real personal growth, and forgive each other. One more reason to see the film.
--- Bill Fontaine
