If you’re going to take in a film noir classic in which everybody is a bad guy and the world is a dismal place, then why not make it one that also features one of the 1940s’sexiest performances? That’s what you get with Gilda, a dark drama about two people up to no good who refuse to move beyond past hurts and admit that they’re still in love.
Glenn Ford plays Johnny Farrell, an American card shark hired to run an illegal high-class casino in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Hayworth plays Gilda, new wife to the casino’s owner, Ballin Mundson (George Macready), and a former lover of Farrell’s. Her arrival on the scene brings the two together again unexpectedly. Mundson doesn’t know about Gilda and Farrell’s history, so doesn’t think twice about assigning Farrell to keep an eye on his roaming wife. And Gilda really roams. Out to all hours with men of all sorts, she’s a real handful. The only part of Mundson that Gilda loves is his wallet, and she seems to take particular pleasure in rubbing Farrell’s nose in her indiscretions. When Mundson’s other business interests – he’s up to more than just gambling – get him in a lot of trouble, a series of twists ensue, and Farrell finds himself finally in a position of power over Gilda. But all is not how it seems in either business or in love, and eventually, everyone’s truth is going to come out.
Although it has been compared to the earlier Bogart-Bergman classic, Casablanca – and the two do have a remarkably long list of parallels – this is a far more scandalous story, especially for the conservative 1940s. And Hayworth is perfectly suited to playing the trampy Gilda. She is sassy, willing to flaunt her substantial physical gifts, and tough enough to survive the mean games. Farrell and Gilda might despise each other, but this is the sexiest hatred you’ll ever see. The two have an awful lot in common. They’re both in Argentina for the same reason – money – and their loyalty is limited to whatever it takes to get themselves ahead. And beneath their tough exteriors, both are carrying a whole lot of hurt, which powers their vindictive war of wills.
This is fascinating stuff that’s played out capably – and sometimes with humour – by a strong cast. Hayworth stands head and shoulders above the rest. Her performance is sexy, strong and confident – wiping out forever the suggestion that the Second World War pin-up girl was all looks and no talent. Her ‘clothed strip-tease’ rendition of “Put the Blame on Mame” – featuring the dubbed voice of Anita Ellis and tacked on as studio-mandated change well after the rest of the film was complete – is one of the memorable moments of 1940s cinema.
Gilda’s only serious weakness is its ending, presumably designed to satisfy the restrictive Production Code of the day by wrapping things up with a surprisingly optimistic bow and – even worse – by suggesting that much of Gilda’s scandalous behaviour never really happened.
