Vigoda (left) with Richard Castellano and Marlon Brando in "The Godfather" (1972)

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Abe Vigoda, whose hang-dog expression and low-key mannerisms help propel him to fame, has passed away at age 94. Vigoda toiled in films and TV without notable success until director Francis Ford Coppola cast him in the key role of Tessio, a mob lieutenant in the Corleone crime family in the 1972 classic "The Godfather".  Tessio was one of the most trusted "employees" of the Corleone family but following the death of its patriarch Vito Corleone, Tessio is discovered to be planning the assassination of the new godfather, Michael Corleone. Memorably he is led away to his execution with typical understated emotion. Vigoda's stock in the film industry rose immediately and he became a popular character actor, appearing in such films as "The Cheap Detective", "The Don is Dead", "Newman's Law", "Look Who's Talking" and "The Cannonball Run II". He also made an un-billed cameo appearance as Tessio in the 1974 production of "The Godfather Part II." (Both films won Best Picture Oscars). In 1975 Vigoda landed a key supporting role in the popular TV sitcom "Barney Miller", playing a world-weary detective nicknamed "Fish". The show ran until 1982 and resulted in a short-lived spin-off series about the character in which Vigoda reprised the role. Vigoda was a popular fixture with the Friars Club whose merciless jibes against him usually focused on his less-than-stellar looks and the fact that Vigoda has mistakenly been pronounced as having died in a 1982 article in People magazine. Vigoda accepted the resulting jokes with typical good humor. At various Friars Club roasts that he attended, speakers would inevitably joke "If only Abe Vigoda were alive, he would have loved this evening!".

Abe Vigoda was also a member of the legendary Lambs Club in New York City, as was Cliff Robertson. They are seen here with Marc Baron, "Shepherd" of the private club for the arts.

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“PUT THE BLAME ON MAME, BABE”

By Raymond Benson

Life Magazine called Rita Hayworth “The Love Goddess.” Make no mistake—she was primarily known as one of the sex symbols of the 1940s. Nevertheless, she was also a talented actress and a terrific dancer (she held her own with Fred Astaire in a couple of movies). Strikingly beautiful, Hayworth was the type of star who lit up the screen and oozed charisma. And her big breakthrough to that position in Hollywood was Gilda, the 1946 part-noir, part melodrama that contained many of the iconic images for which Hayworth is famous.

Film noir historian Eddie Muller, in a new interview included as one of the supplements, says Gilda is not film noir, although it’s got all the trappings. This is true. It’s certainly made in the style of a film noir—the contrasting black and white cinematography by Rudolph Maté (who later became a director in his own right) is clearly derived from German expressionism, the characters are untrustworthy and suspicious, and there’s a femme fatale.

But wait—is Gilda really a femme fatale? Not really. Sure, she’s manipulative and uses her sexuality to get the men in her life to do what she wants; but Gilda is not a bad person—she’s just caught in an uncomfortable situation and is acting out because she’s unhappy. A minor subplot dealing with Mundson’s business dealings—with former Nazis—doesn’t totally qualify Gilda as being a film noir, either. No, this is a movie soap opera, but that doesn’t mean it’s not an entertaining piece of Hollywood glamour that captures a cynical post-war mood prevalent in a lot of Hollywood fare of the late 40s.

The story takes place in Buenos Aires just as World War II is ending. Johnny Farrell (Glenn Ford, in one of his significant roles as well) is a gambler, drifter, and “tough guy” bumming around Argentina. There he meets a rich man, Ballin Mundson (George Macready), who offers Johnny a job being his right hand man at the casino. The two men work together well and become very chummy—until Mundson returns from a weekend away with a gorgeous wife. She is, of course, Gilda (Hayworth)—and it is immediately obvious she has a history with Johnny.

The rest of the film is a melodramatic clash of wills within this triangle, and it’s not a smooth ride. Much is made of the word “hate,” but in most cases in this picture, that word really means “love.”

Hayworth is quite good in the movie. She performs two song-and-dance numbers (for the casino audience), but her singing voice is dubbed by Anita Ellis. These are signature tunes—“Put the Blame on Mame” (done as a sultry striptease—almost), and “Amado Mio.” (One wonders how Gilda managed to rehearse with the band and lighting crew to do tight, theatrical show-stopping acts, seemingly on the fly.) At any rate, Hayworth smolders as Gilda, and she takes over every frame she’s in. Ford is fine, although he sure has a funny way of hitting people. Macready provides the requisite sinister authority over the other two characters, just as he would a decade later in Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory.

Production aspects are top notch—the photography, music, editing, sets, and especially the costume design. Hayworth’s gowns are right out of the catalog of Hollywood dreams. Perhaps the only weak element is the writing. The story feels jumbled a bit, but the dialogue is rich with memorable one-liners. “If I was a ranch, I’d been named the Bar Nothing,” Gilda famously says. The screenwriters had challenges on their hands. The Production Code prevented the filmmakers from fully exploring the relationship that is really going on between Johnny and Mundson. It’s pretty muted, but it’s there, folks. Ford’s character is much more enamored of his boss than a regular employee would be. How that wrinkle plays into the stew once Hayworth arrives is the heart and soul of the picture. Read between the lines and you’ll fathom what the writers intended, but couldn’t quite get past the censors.

The Criterion Collection’s new high-definition digital restoration, with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack, looks and sounds exemplary. A wonderful audio commentary by film critic Richard Schickel, made in 2010, accompanies the film.

Supplements include the previously mentioned interview with Muller; an interesting 2010 discussion with filmmakers Martin Scorsese and Baz Luhrmann about the film; “Hollywood and the Stars,” a 1964 television show about Hayworth’s career up to that point; and the trailer. The fold-out insert contains a poster of Gilda on one side and an essay by critic Sheila O’Malley.

The tag line on the movie poster read: “There never was a woman like... Gilda!” That’s probably true. Put the Blame on Mame, indeed!

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