Imagine becoming PM to impress your girlfriend and she just dumps you.

Paul Henreid said, "Copacabana, there's music in the word!", and Barry Manilow said, "fuck me, he's right."

No thoughts, just Shirley Maclaine in that black bikini, beside that pink swimming pool.

It's called Gilda because there's no one else in this movie. At least, not that I can recall.

An almost perfect example of how the American mythos of adventure, exploration and freedom is actually based on extraction, exploitation and obsessive fatalism. The most relatable aspect was the way everyone looked annoyed with Dennis Hopper.

Hepburn and Bogart have spectacular unchemistry. I had just started to enjoy the fact that there was no romance between them, when they started making out. I guess sometimes actors are so good that the only thing left is to find out what they can't do.

Never in a million years would have guessed that this movie used the "straight man can't be sure a gorgeous woman is hot until she takes her glasses off" gag.

*There isn't a woman in this over 25, and there isn't a man in it under 35. I love Hollywood.

I didn't know much about Faye Dunaway before seeing this, and I don't know much more about her now. For how magnetic and fascinating she is on screen, her legacy doco is surprisingly dull.

It is sort of refreshing to see a religious scammer speak so frankly about his grift. Occasionally though, Marjoe seems like one of those serial killers who wants to be caught, so that everyone will know just how good he was at his crimes.

This is... not great, but it did get me thinking, how different could the culture be if midcentury romcoms weren't all framed as battles over who gets to be the boss of the relationship?

It is really pretty fuckin wild the insane shit that a romcom will ask you to agree is cute.

This did not cure my fear of submarines, or my crush on Tallulah Bankhead. Gary Cooper is so dull, I can forget his face while I'm looking at it.