Gilda is perhaps the most polished of film noirs; the lacquered camerawork of cinematographer Rudolph Maté seems to fix forever this vision of a world permeated by corruption and cynicism--a vision so thorough that it almost transcends the bounds of the genre. “This is a film with the intense surrealist quality of a dream,” write Higham and Greenberg in Hollywood in the Forties. “Its Buenos Aires (setting) is a creation totally of the imagination, with its winding dark streets, its gambling hell.... The ambiance is one of heat, decadence, sexual ferocity barely concealed behind civilized gestures and phrases....” It is on the figure of Gilda (Rita Hayworth)--caught in a triangle between her tycoon/casino-owner husband (George Macready) and her ex-lover (Glenn Ford)--that all these jaundiced elements converge. A once-healthy girl now sullied by suspicion and hatred passing for love, she acts out, like an animal who will not be trapped. The sultry sexuality of her nightclub rendition of “Put the Blame on Mame,” while patrons' hands reach out for her in the dark, just about says it all for the world of film noir, where no one gets anything--even love--for nothing.