Dad loves this movie and so do I. We disagree on our readings and interpretations (he thinks I go overboard and dredge up signs and meanings where there are none). But we are of like minds on one essential thing: There is no sexier creature than Rita Hayworth in the movies of this period and Gilda is the one that proves the argument. The story is a sick and twisted tale of love and money south of the border – dangerous games played out by sadists and masochists, "extroverted" women and "inverted" men. (Oops, there I go again; don't tell Dad.) If the machinations become too much, just "Put the Blame on Mame"; civilizations are prone to crumble in the face of Hayworth's performance of this song.
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