The Film Experience

by Cláudio Alves

Few movies define a star so completely as Gilda does Rita Hayworth. It's impossible to overstate the cultural impact that the 1946 noir had, how it made Hayworth an immortal screen legend and how controversial it was. Some countries even tried to block the release of the picture or censor it. Such feeble efforts only made Gilda more popular, its licentiousness transformed into a thing of myth. In America, audiences went wild, but the critics were more miserly in their praise. Overseas, however, among the European tastemakers and film scholars, Gilda was quickly viewed as an object of serious artistry and not merely a box office juggernaut. Beloved by the public, celebrated by the intellectuals, it's no wonder the flick became such a historical landmark.

It's safe to assume it was also the closest the actress ever came to an Oscar nomination. It would have been a deserved nod, that's for sure. In Gilda, Rita Hayworth is movie magic made flesh…

Set among houses of vice in an exoticized Hollywood version of Buenos Aires, Gilda tells a story of love stained with blood. Its title may suggest a romance that centers on a woman, but the affair propelling this narrative is one that blooms between two men. It starts in the slippery shadows of the docks when a man is saved from a violent robbery by a mysterious stranger. They are Johnny Farrell and Ballin Mundson, an American gambler and a sinister casino owner – two logical enemies and improbable allies. In no time, Johnny is the manager of Ballin's establishment, the two becoming bosom buddies whose devotion to the other verges on the pathological. This being a product of 1940s American cinema, the homoerotic undertones are squelched by a female intrusion. She is Gilda, Ballin's new wife, and Johnny's former lover. She is also Rita Hayworth draped in Jean Louis' gorgeous costumes. She is breathtaking.

Blessed with one of cinema's greatest introductions, Hayworth enters the film most shamelessly, exploding upwards with a sensational hair flip and a coquettish smile on her face. The resplendent grin isn't long for this world, though. The moment she sets eyes on Johnny, her expression closes, as joyful provocation sours into barely contained disdain. Nothing could be more appropriate since Gilda, unlike most Hollywood product, doesn't consider love in very high regard, preferring to sing a song of lustful hatred instead. It's a cynical tale that involves dangerous games of jealousy, a bride wearing widow's weeds and a climactic return from the dead. The plot is barebones but feels convoluted, a mere skeleton upon which to flesh out psychosexual themes and visions of impossible glamour. Intertwined between those threads, are deep feelings of melancholy, a black hole that's always at the margins of the image, threatening to swallow the drama whole.

Gilda, the movie, is sexy and sexually frank, pretty but disillusioned with beauty. Gilda, the character, is the cinema's most famous femme fatale - or is she? This woman may act like one, present herself like one and even seem aware that men see her as one, but she's not a femme fatale. After all, Gilda is powerless and whatever effect she has on these two idiots doesn't compare to the effect they have on each other. They project all their insecurities on her as a consequence, cage her, try to dominate her while she plays up the persona of a vixen. It's all roleplay and there's a lot of punishment for the bad girl whose only sin is having sexual confidence. When the world goes wrong, there's always a woman for men to blame and take out their fury on.

"Put the Blame on Mame" is a song that speaks of this misogynistic game played since the beginning of time. The sexiest strip-tease in movie history (only the gloves come off) may cloud the truth of the moment, but its ugliness is there for everyone willing to pay attention. Lip-synching to Anita Ellis, Hayworth makes it clear with her performance. She does what Liza Minnelli would do, years later, singing "Life is a Cabaret" - Hayworth plays gaiety as a transparent façade framing the manic desperation hiding beneath. Pointedly, the scene succeeding the musical number finds Gilda being attacked by Johnny whose loyalty to Ballin has, by this point, swerved into full-on psychopathy. For Gilda, hate is an aphrodisiac but she's smart enough to know she doesn't deserve that vitriol. More importantly, Hayworth allows us to see that.

Because this movie and this character are such epitomes of Hollywood stardom, it's easy to overlook Rita Hayworth's achievement as an actress. The silver screen's most beloved redhead plays the role with ample magnetism, but she never flattens Gilda into a bi-dimensional cipher. There are always at least two layers to her acting, elaborating on the tension between Gilda's self-destructive behavior and her genuine sentiment. What she says is rarely what she's thinking, her provocations are motivated by elements not made obvious by the dialogue and her stage performances within the narrative never match her present emotions. When seething in frustration, there's wanton abandonment clouding her resolve. When she plays romantic passion, there's the fear of a caged animal. When she smiles her expression is hollow, hauntingly so.

Gilda is streaming on the Criterion Channel.

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