Well, seriously. Glenn Ford and Rita Hayworth have some issues going on here. As onlooker Joseph Calleia points out, "It's the most curious love-hate pattern I've ever had the privilege of witnessing."
It's curious all right. Johnny (Ford), a scruffy grifter on the streets of Buenos Aires, is on the brink of being killed when he is saved (picked up?) by a well-dressed stranger named Ballin (George Macready). Ballin hires Johnny to oversee his illegal casino, and the two form a quick bond of trust and loyalty. This relationship's a puzzler too; when Ballin reverses his dictum that "women and gambling don't mix," and announces there's a lady in the picture, Ford's expression reads less like a concerned business partner than a jilted suitor.
Quicker than you can say "so what's that about?" we meet Gilda (Hayworth), and... it's no mystery why this remains Hayworth's most famous role. From that first dazzling shot of her tossing her hair back -- even her hair is erotic -- with shoulders bared, she simply glitters with sex. Was this really 1946? Onstage at the casino, she flirts with the audience: "I can never get a zipper to close. Maybe that stands for something, what do you think?" Oh, I think it probably does.
The plot is frankly odd, hinging on lust, murder, and for some reason tungsten. Rudolph Mate's photography is gorgeous. The dialogue is consistently entertaining. Ford, often saddled with bland roles, does fine here as a ne'er-do-well with a conscience, and Steven Geray is quite amusing as the owlishly cynical Uncle Pio.
But it's Hayworth you'll remember, wriggling in her black dress or raising her stockinged leg like a banner of temptation. "Hate is a very exciting emotion," she tells Johnny, pressing up close. "I hate you so much I think I'm going to die from it." Hayworth's lips melt and transmute the word "hate" until it means "want." She murmurs again, "I think I'm going to die from it." What a way to go.
It's curious all right. Johnny (Ford), a scruffy grifter on the streets of Buenos Aires, is on the brink of being killed when he is saved (picked up?) by a well-dressed stranger named Ballin (George Macready). Ballin hires Johnny to oversee his illegal casino, and the two form a quick bond of trust and loyalty. This relationship's a puzzler too; when Ballin reverses his dictum that "women and gambling don't mix," and announces there's a lady in the picture, Ford's expression reads less like a concerned business partner than a jilted suitor.
Quicker than you can say "so what's that about?" we meet Gilda (Hayworth), and... it's no mystery why this remains Hayworth's most famous role. From that first dazzling shot of her tossing her hair back -- even her hair is erotic -- with shoulders bared, she simply glitters with sex. Was this really 1946? Onstage at the casino, she flirts with the audience: "I can never get a zipper to close. Maybe that stands for something, what do you think?" Oh, I think it probably does.
The plot is frankly odd, hinging on lust, murder, and for some reason tungsten. Rudolph Mate's photography is gorgeous. The dialogue is consistently entertaining. Ford, often saddled with bland roles, does fine here as a ne'er-do-well with a conscience, and Steven Geray is quite amusing as the owlishly cynical Uncle Pio.
But it's Hayworth you'll remember, wriggling in her black dress or raising her stockinged leg like a banner of temptation. "Hate is a very exciting emotion," she tells Johnny, pressing up close. "I hate you so much I think I'm going to die from it." Hayworth's lips melt and transmute the word "hate" until it means "want." She murmurs again, "I think I'm going to die from it." What a way to go.