Party Girl (1958, Nicholas Ray) (Patreon)

63/100

Second viewing (last seen 2003), down significantly from 76. I can still kinda see why I was so impressed, though—initial half hour in particular is very strong, teasing out a barbed-wire courtship between two dangerously self-possessed iconoclasts. Taylor's arguably never been better, deliberately playing against the character's symbolic impotence, while Charisse demonstrates that she's more than just two endless gams (even as she gets a couple of showstopping routines). Trouble is, the film's not really about their relationship, nor even about the titular party girl. Vicki loses most of her autonomy halfway through, becoming little more than a means for pseudo-Capone and his goons to threaten our deeply compromised hero (who cares nothing for himself, natch, but repeatedly capitulates to protect her). Instead, we get Farrell trying to lawyer his way out of danger by serving up a variation on the same sob story we'd previously seen him employ in court—a tactic that (a) feels kinda sub-Darrow, not at all in keeping with this character's generally icy persona, and (b) doesn't even necessarily work, except insofar as it stalls Rico long enough for the cops to arrive. (At which point we get the whole vial-of-acid silliness.) All the same, I retain a soft spot for Party Girl's pre-Code-esque, post-Moon Is Blue barely concealed vulgarity ("Seeing [as] you're a dancer—for which I'll take your word..."), complemented by Ray's garish color scheme. Perhaps if I were to watch a 35mm print again, my opinion would revert. On the other hand, this is the Ray film that even hardcore auteurists tend to struggle with, so maybe the mystery is why I swooned in the first place.