Practically all the s.a. habiliments of the femme fatale have been mustered for Gilda, and when things get trite and frequently far-fetched, somehow, at the drop of a shoulder strap, there is always Rita Hayworth to excite the filmgoer.
The story [by E. A. Ellington, adapted by Jo Eisinger] is a confusion of gambling, international intrigue and a triangle that links two gamblers and the wife of one of them. The setting is Buenos Aires. Sneaking in somehow is the subplot of a tungsten cartel operated by the husband, who also runs a swank gambling casino. A couple of Nazis are thrown in also.
Hayworth is photographed most beguilingly. The producers have created nothing subtle in the projection of her s.a., and that’s probably been wise. Glenn Ford is the vis-a-vis, in his first picture part in several years.
There are a couple of songs ostensibly sung by Hayworth, and one of them, ‘Put the Blame on Mame’, piques the interest because of its intriguing, low-down quality.
Gilda is obviously an expensive production – and shows it. The direction is static, but that’s more the fault of the writers.