PopSyndicate.com

Rita Hayworth as Gilda turns up the heat in the Noir Bar, crime fiction author Kelli Stanley’s new film noir column.

No, not Auntie Mame, though reading the book at an impressionable age is probably responsible for my satiric sense of humor. That and Mad Magazine, of course.

Welcome to the Noir Bar, a place where the cocktails are always Mickey Finns, where the toughs and the broads, the street sharpies and the uniforms come home to unwind … where you’ll rub elbows with the desperate and the destitute, high society and low society equally sweaty under the shadows.

In short, this column is about film noir. One of the beats of my heart, one of the strongest influences on me as a writer. And to launch the Noir Bar, this month we’re offering the Gilda Cocktail … one part sloe gin, one part Angostura bitters, and two parts eau-de-vie. Shake like Rita’s hair, and serve over ice—but it’ll warm you up in no time …

Gilda (Columbia, 1946) is my sentimental favorite film noir for a number of reasons. First, there’s Rita Hayworth. She embodied this role in a way few actresses can hope to achieve … much to her own personal misfortune. Rita famously said that men fell in love with Gilda and woke up with her … the allure of fantasy never equaling the reality of the woman.

And yet I have seen a modern film audience agape and held to silence when she sashays into view and sings “Put the Blame on Mame.” Love goddess, sex symbol, star power—that elusive magnetism between performer and camera and vehicle that made flesh and blood people the stuff that dreams are made of. Gilda did that for Rita, and the world—never mind cinema—was never the same.

Despite the eponymous title, the film itself is more about the journey of Johnny Farrell (Glenn Ford) than Gilda, the impossibly beautiful, impossibly alluring woman who is never given a full name of her own, only “Gilda”, and the last names of the men she marries. For those that aren’t already familiar with it, the plot can seem convoluted, even nonsensical. More on that later.

Directed by Charles Vidor and with a story and script by E.A. Ellington, Marion Parsonnet, and Jo Eisinger (and an uncredited Ben Hecht), Gilda tells the story of down-at-his heels gambler and drifter Johnny Farrell. Why he is in Argentina—where the story opens—is unclear. Draft dodger? Women problems? Or, like Rick Blaine in Casablanca—did he kill a man?

Enter the sinister Ballin Mundson (George Macready), a Teutonic uberman-type down to his aristocratic fencing scar. Mundson and his “little friend”—a sword-cane—save Johnny’s life when he’s attacked by a vengeful sailor. Mundson even invites the ingratiating young man (played superbly by Ford) to a gambling house. Johnny accepts, wins (by cheating), and then discovers that his patron owns the casino. Johnny offers to become Mundson’s other “little friend”, as loyal as his trusty sword-cane—for a price.

Mundson accepts, intrigued by the brash, good-looking and venal Johnny. They become closer—how much closer is open to debate (see below). Then Mundson returns home from a trip with a new wife in tow … enter Gilda—the woman, we find out, that supposedly made Johnny the bitter little thug he is.

In the meantime, there’s a subplot about tungsten monopolies, Nazis in Argentina, faked suicides and megalomania. But never mind—the real conflict is with Johnny. Confronted with the most alluring woman in the world—and his ex-flame—will he be loyal to her or to Mundson?

The answer is trickier than you might expect. When I first saw Gilda on the big screen (a few years ago at San Francisco’s famed Noir City film festival), Eddie Muller, the Czar of Noir, spoke of a definite twist to Gilda’s boy meets girl theme. It seems that Charles Vidor, the director (married to Evelyn Keyes at the time, herself no slouch in the femme fatale department), was potentially wrestling with sexuality issues … a theme that plays out in Johnny’s somewhat inexplicable devotion to Mundson, and his anger at and even more inexplicable rejection of Gilda. In spurning her overtures , he is rejecting heterosexuality itself.

When viewed with this knowledge, the film is rife with symbolism … from how Vidor films Mundson’s “little friend” to the torment Johnny puts himself (and Gilda) through, to her lines about how he’s forgotten how to dance … and he used to be such a good dancer.

But no matter how you slice it, Gilda is compulsive watching, an explosive, legendary film noir that, like all truly classic cinema, transcended its own genre to become a pop culture icon. Rita makes Gilda a combination of innocence and eroticism, a romantic heroine with the dark foundation of the femme fatale temptress: “If I were a ranch” she taunts Johnny, “I would have been named the Bar Nothing.” This combination of vulnerability and helplessness with mega-wattage sexual power rivets the viewer’s sympathies to Gilda and made Rita Hayworth—in my opinion—the greatest good-bad-good girl in the history of film.

Witness: who else could have inspired The Shawshank Redemption? And the Jean Louis-designed dress worn by Rita in her “Mame” number was recently supposed to be auctioned off as part of the Forrest J. Ackermann estate. The suggested bid price was $30,000-$50,000. Apparently, the dress was pulled from the auction, and no one knows why. I’d like to think it’s because the Smithsonian wants to purchase it.

But let’s face it—a dress and a performance that iconic deserve a little mystery. Luckily for us, we can pick up the Columbia DVD and watch it whenever we’d like. I only hope that one day Sony will put out a deluxe version, with commentary, of my favorite film noir.

Kelli Stanley is an award-winning crime fiction author. Her debut novel, Nox Dormienda, won the Bruce Alexander Award and is a Macavity Award finalist. Her next book, City of Dragons—a dark vision of 1940 San Francisco—introduces Miranda Corbie, PI and ex-escort. City of Dragons will be released February, 2010, by Minotaur.

Visit Kelli at her website.