Gilda

Gilda
Director: Charles Vidor
Screenplay:Marion Parsonnet (story by E.A. Ellington; adaptation by Jo Eisinger)
Stars: Rita Hayworth (Gilda Mundson Farrell), Glenn Ford (Johnny Farrell / Narrator), George Macready (Ballin Mundson), Joseph Calleia (Det. Maurice Obregon), Steven Geray (Uncle Pio), Joe Sawyer (Casey), Gerald Mohr (Capt. Delgado), Mark Roberts (Gabe Evans), Ludwig Donath (German Cartel Member), Donald Douglas (Thomas Langford)
MPAA Rating: NR
Year of Release: 1946
Country: U.S. Gilda Criterion Collection Blu-ray
GildaThat hate can be an exciting emotion is mentioned more than once in Gilda, a particularly twisted and sexually evocative postwar noir that is literally seething with bile. Although set in and around a large, illegal casino in Buenos Aires, the film is far less concerned with criminal intrigue than it is with the uniquely perverse conflagration of love and hate that drives people to all manner of behavioral extremes. “I hate you so much Johnny I’d destroy myself to take you down with me,” Rita Hayworth’s titular character says at one point to Glenn Ford’s Johnny Farrell, a sentiment that he shares wholeheartedly. Yet, the unique lure of Gilda is the way the cast, under the direction of Hungarian émigré Charles Vidor, makes all those hateful emotions so deeply, resoundingly erotic. The word “hate” literally drips from Hayworth’s lips with a breathy intensity, and the smoldering looks that Ford gives her could be read as insatiable lust or homicidal intensity—or both.

The story is narrated in traditional noir fashion by Johnny, the possibly doomed protagonist who starts the film as a petty gambler, winning small change on loaded dice games, before he is literally picked up by Ballin Mundson (George Macready), the wealthy, effete, and dangerous owner of the aforementioned Buenos Aires casino. Recognizing both Johnny’s devious skills and untapped potential, Mundson takes him under his wing and essentially makes him his righthand man in running the casino, which affords Farrell a great deal of newfound power. He goes from scuzzy and unshaved to sleek and tuxedoed. The film’s overripe subtext also makes it abundantly clear that they are in a sexual relationship, as well, which is why things become so incredibly complicated when Mundson returns from a trip having just married the beautiful and provocative Gilda.

Gilda wears her sensuality with casual abandon and develops an immediate and mutual animosity toward Johnny that has a perfectly sensible explanation that is conveniently left secret for more than half the film (this is an area where the screenplay cheats quite unfairly, given that Johnny is supposedly narrating the story, but leaves out large pieces of crucial information). Mundson puts Johnny in charge of keeping an eye on Gilda, who despite her wedding ring can’t help but flirt with, dance with, and go out with every man who looks her way, a behavior in which she indulges as both a means of asserting her own sense of power and flaunting her loathing toward Johnny, who takes a seemingly unhealthy interest in ensuring that she stays true to her vows.

To describe much more of the plot would give away some of its more devious twists and turns, but suffice it to say that most of the narrative hinges on the ever-evolving relationship between Gilda and Johnny, with each harboring secret motivations that render all of their actions toward the other immediately suspicious. Mundson remains resolutely in the middle of things, even as he constantly steps aside to let Johnny keep an eye on his wife, which is either a horrendous mistake or a calculated move to test Johnny’s loyalty. This morbid romantic triangle is flanked by a small cast of eccentric secondary characters, including Uncle Pio (Steven Geray), the casino’s washroom attendant who acts as the building’s eyes and ears for Mundson and develops a comically hostile relationship with Johnny, and Detective Obregon (Joseph Calleia), a police detective who allows the illegal casino to continue operating because he knows there are bigger things going on behind the scenes—which, in fact, there are, as Mundson is operating a cartel that draws the attention of a pair of nefarious Germans (this was, after all, the immediate postwar period when the news was awash in rumors of high-ranking Nazis escaping to South America).

Shot by consummate Polish-born cinematographer Rudolph Maté, who had worked with the great Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer (The Passion of Joan of Arc, Vampyr) before emigrating to the U.S. and working with the likes of King Vidor (Stella Dallas), Alfred Hitchcock (Foreign Correspondent), and Alexander Korda (That Hamilton Woman), Gilda mines the depths of human depravity and carnality, yet somehow still manages to end on a Production Code-worthy note of redemption and potential happiness (it is a rare noir that suggests a future past the final credits, rather than just death or imprisonment, although that future is so absurd we have to see it as a joke). The dialogue drips with innuendo and double entendres, making it one of the more sexually explicit films of its era. Gilda may say “dancing” instead of “sex” and Johnny’s tortured bisexuality, which Ford plays with a marvelously subdued twitch, is never explicitly mentioned, but it’s all there for anyone with eyes. And then, of course, there’s Rita Hayworth’s star presence, which is so openly foregrounded that the film literally grinds to a halt at several point just to bask in her sensual glow. She performs two musical numbers during the film, the most famous being her striptease rendition of “Put the Blame on Mame,” with the only clothing ever removed being a pair of gloves.

Born Károly Vidor in Hungary, director Charles Vidor was a successful, but by no means prominent, studio director who worked regularly in almost every genre—Westerns, musicals, biopics, romantic dramas, comedies—from the early ’30s until his death in 1959. He had previously worked with Rita Hayworth on the Technicolor musical Cover Girl in 1944, but his collaboration with her in Gilda would transcend all of his previous work and hers, setting a new standard for Hollywood sensuality. Hayworth had already been the object of James Cagney’s affections in The Strawberry Blonde (1941) and danced opposite Fred Astaire in You’ll Never Get Rich (1941), but it was Gilda that fully cemented her star as the big screen “love goddess.” The infamous shot in which Gilda is introduced, whipping her head up from below frame with a saucy smile and answering “Me?” to the question, “Gilda, are you decent?” literally redefined her star persona and immediately put her in the pantheon of the unforgettable, although it’s really the follow-up line, “Sure, I’m decent,” delivered with a suddenly icy stare, that seals it. It’s a delicious cinematic moment—so simple, yet so indelible, inextricably merging the femme fatale and the girl next door.

Gilda Criterion Collection Blu-ray

Aspect Ratio1.33:1
AudioEnglish Linear PCM 1.0 monaural
Subtitles English
Supplements
  • Audio commentary by film critic Richard Schickel
  • Video interview with film noir historian Eddie Muller
  • Video conversation between filmmakers Martin Scorsese and Baz Luhrmann
  • “The Odyssey of Rita Hayworth,” 1964 episode of Hollywood and the Stars
  • Trailer
  • Essay by critic Sheila O’Malley
  • DistributorThe Criterion Collection
    SRP$39.95
    Release DateJanuary 19, 2016

    VIDEO & AUDIO
    Ctiterion’s Blu-ray edition of Gilda marks the film’s high-definition debut in Region 1. The new 2K digital restoration (which was done by the UCLA Film and Television Archive) was sourced from a 35mm fine-grain master positive struck from the original negative. There is some slight inconsistencies in the image, with some scenes looking sharper and having better contrast than others, but they seem largely due to the source material, rather than the transfer or digital restoration. The image is clean and well detailed and has a strong presence of grain that looks perfectly attuned to the film’s era. Blacks are generally dark and shadow detail is good, allowing us to see the characters’ faces even when they’re swathed in darkness. The monaural soundtrack was transferred at 24-bit from the 35mm soundtrack negative and digitally restored. It sounds very clean; dialogue is clear throughout, and the musical numbers sound good, albeit slightly flat given the recording technology at the time.
    SUPPLEMENTS
    Criterion has included the supplements that were previously available on Columbia’s 2010 The Films of Rita Hayworth DVD boxset and adds a few of their own, as well. From the earlier DVD we get a generally solid audio commentary by film critic Richard Schickel, who provides plenty of analysis, historical context, and production anecdotes, although he does leave some lengthy gaps from time to time. Also from that disc is a 16-minute discussion between directors Martin Scorsese and Baz Luhrmann about their appreciation for the film and a theatrical trailer. New to Criterion’s edition is a fascinating 22-minute interview with film noir historian Eddie Muller, who spends the whole time talking about the film’s sexual and homosexual subtexts, and “The Odyssey of Rita Hayworth,” a 1964 episode of the television series Hollywood and the Stars that recounts Hayworth’s career, sometimes in her own voice, with plenty of clips from her films (especially of the song-and-dance variety) and newsreel footage.

    Copyright ©2016 James Kendrick

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    All images copyright © The Criterion Collection / Columbia Pictures

    Overall Rating: (3.5)




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