Criterion Collection have reissued Spine #795 with a new 4K restoration, Blu-ray (there is still the DVD for those who prefer that version), and while Gilda, directed by Charles Vidor, is something of an atypical film noir, it is worth both this restoration and its place in the film noir canon for its use of light and shadow, its story of crimes, dames, and its undertone that only somewhat hides its homosexual subtext.
The first shot of the film is not the hair flip, but another that gives a good introduction to one of the three main characters: Johnny (Glenn Ford), an American freshly arrived in Argentina. He's down on his luck and crouched on the ground, trying to scam some sailors with weighted dice. He succeeds, but that luck almost runs out when someone tries to rob him. He's saved by a mysterious stranger, whom Johnny meets the next day as Mundson (George Macready), the owner of a local casino. Mundson has taken a shine to Johnny, it seems, hiring him to be his casino manager, and introducing him to Mundson's fresh young wife, Gilda (Hayworth).
But it seems Gilda and Johnny already know each other, setting off a rather interesting love triangle, For while Gilda and Johnny might have some lingering feelings simmering under the surface, Mundson seems to have little romantic interest in his wife (having married her for appearances and control). And there are some definite looks and innuendos passes between Johnny and Mundson. In today's parlance, we'd likely call the gambler a chaotic bisexual, torn between his attraction to his new employer and his long lost love.
Mundson is happy to leave Gilda on Johnny's care, and she takes the time that her husband is away to spend time with as many available, attractive men as she can. After all, she's not getting any satisfaction from her husband, and she can't from Johnny. At least half the dialogue could be interpreted as double entendres and Johnny can barely keep his head on straight as he negotiates between the two people under whose spell he is wavering.
But power corrupts, and love can twist into hatred. Johnny in one moment relishes the power he believes was handed to him by Mundson, and turns it into power over Gilda. The shadows in which Johnny used to operate are no longer necessary, but without them to hide behind, his face reveals its proverbial ugliness; the gambler doesn't need to gamble anymore, not with money, so he gambles with love. Vidor shows how this character cannot figure out how to function anymore, not when given this kind of status, and the harsh, sharp light that noir brings into contrast exposes a little too much. The sexual attraction between Johnny and Mundson might seem obvious to viewers today, but it's hard to assess if viewers at the time, other than those who would be looking for it, would notice.
Gilda, being powerless in this world controlled by men, does everything she can to have some small bit of independence: she works. Hayworth infuses something of herself in this, as a person who had been working since she was a child. As much as Gilda knows there is only so much she can control, and as much as she likes the kind of lifestyle she enjoys thanks to the company of powerful men like Johnny and Mundson, she can still carve some small piece of the world according to her own desires. When she practices 'Put the Blame on Mame' with just her guitar, or when she performs it in the near-naked dress in front of a delighted crowd, these are two of Gilda's many sides: the one who knows the sorrow of loneliness, and the one who will not let it steal her thunder.
As other critics before me have noted, Gilda is something of a cross between a noir and the forthcoming cycle of women's pictures. As much as Vidor finds the mood of noir light and shadow, and some international post-WWII crime intrigue, the love story between Gilda and Johnny, the anti-love story between Gilda and Mundson, and the almost-love story between Johnny and Mundson dominate the film. While it received mix reviews at the time (and Hayworth is said to have hated what it did for her public image, as she never liked being a 'bombshell'), it remains a standout of the era.
Special Features
Criterion continues to excel with its 4K digital restorations; this is always a challenge with older films that relied on the lack of digital clarity to hide some of its tricks. It's necessary to restore the original beauty with digital technology, without letting the proverbial puppet strings show, and this restoration looks and sounds beautiful.
Two experts give context and depth to the history of both this film, and its stars. Sheila O'Malley's essay (which, rather than being in a booklet, is one one side of a sheet that folds out into a poster), discusses how Gilda was part of the flood of American films that hit France after World War II, and was part of how critics in that country identified the film noir mode, and originated auteur theory. Though as O'Malley also writes, Vidor was the kind of director who switched his style to suit a story, so he was not always thought of as an auteur in the strict French definition. She also discusses how Hayworth's dancing and theatre background contributed to her screen work, and that the character of Gilda is not, contrary to popular belief, a femme fatale. Eddie Mullins, one of the world's best authorities on film noir, agrees. Mullin credits this, and the fact that the homosexuality subtext was only semi-subtext, with the fact that this was a rare noir with a woman producer, Virginia Van Upp, who likely helped steer the film into its atypical, and thereby lasting, story and status.
Clearly the film has always had its fans among filmmakers, as interviews with Martin Scorsese and Baz Luhrmann attest. They both discuss the famous hair-flip shot, the portrayal of Gilda as both innocent and guilty, the sexual tension between all three main characters, and how costume designer Jean Louis made Hayworth's clothing in such a way as to make the audience see her almost naked.
There is a great archived television episode on the film's star from 1964. It tells of Hayworth's origins as a dance performer, working with her father on stage as his dance partner, being basically born trodding the boards. Her mother was a dancer with Ziegfeld Follies, so it's no wonder that Hayworth's beauty and talent made her destined for stardom, so the show supposes. She might have begun her film career in B-pictures (this fact made me lament the loss of Hayworth's potential late career as a scream queen), her comfort in the public eye, and her career development in playing "erotic and willful heroines". It also discusses her marriages to Orson Welles and Ali Khan, and how she had to navigate motherhood and her career.
Gilda is now available to order from the Criterion Collection.