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5.9/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 5.9/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Don't Bet on Love remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you like old-school, snappy banter and watching Ginger Rogers play the sensible one while everyone else loses their minds, you’ll have a good time. If you need a movie with a plot that makes sense for more than twenty minutes at a time, skip it. It’s a very specific kind of 1930s fluff that mostly exists to kill an hour.
There is a scene near the middle where the main character, Bill, is just pacing around his shop. He looks so stressed that I actually started worrying about my own sink. The lighting in that shop is weirdly dramatic, too. It’s like he’s in a noir, but he’s just trying to figure out how to pay his bills.
Honestly, the racetrack sequences are a total blur. They clearly wanted to capture that high-stakes feeling, but it just ends up being a lot of people yelling at horses. It reminded me a bit of the frantic energy in The Crowded Hour, though with way less at stake. Still, watching characters make obviously bad decisions is its own brand of fun.
The pacing is all over the place. Sometimes it rushes through important life events, then it stops dead for a weird, awkward conversation about manicures. I found myself checking my watch, but then someone would deliver a really sharp line and I’d be back in. It’s that kind of movie. Inconsistent, but not boring.
Is it a classic? No way. But it’s got a heartbeat. There’s a moment where Bill is supposed to look defeated, and he just looks like he forgot his keys. It’s a small, weirdly human detail that made me laugh for the wrong reasons. Whatever, it works. 🐎🔧
