It’s tempting for some to assume that all the idiocy and incompetence in Hollywood is recent. Like maybe it only began in the last decade or two.

It’s actually been around for quite a while. Historically, it’s been outweighed by consistent competence and occasional bursts of genius. Only in the last 30 years or so has Hackneyed Hollywood’s creative bankruptcy hit critical mass.

It didn’t come out of the blue.

One phenomenon that’s always been there was corporate bean-counters trying to cash in on the success of any hit by pretty much just duplicating it after tweaking a few details.

I can picture the Board Room meeting at Colombia: one cigar-smoking suit says they need an inexpensive-yet-money-making film noire to pump their profits up. Some nerdy little suckup suggests they repeat the success of Gilda, some eight years ago.

“It’s a cinch, Boss! Same setup, see? Femme fatale is an American nightclub singer working in South America. We give her a couple song-and-dance scenes. A rich gent owns the club; has his fingers in some dirty pies maybe; carries a torch for the singer. Hero is streetwise and handsome, but a regular Joe. There’s a murder. But here’s the kicker: We bring in Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford to team back up again–you remember the chemistry they had on the screen last time. But this time, instead of ex-lovers, they’ll be connected through the murder victim and fall for each other fresh!”

And there you have it.

This time, the Glenn Ford character is the brother of the murder victim. He mailed his brother a letter on the very day he was murdered. Or was it suicide?

What about Hayworth–did she murder him? Is she helping the police to catch her boss? To frame Ford? Is she making suckers out of everybody?

I found the aforementioned song/dance scenes rather underwhelming and unnecessary. There were some noticeable plot holes, too. But the acting was solid and the cinematography was superb.

Personally, I’m a sucker for films about Yankee expatriates in Latin America during the age of fedoras and suits as everyday fashion. I must have seen a great film with those ingredients once, but just forgot what it was. This one was set in the titular country, of course.

Trinidad was apparently still a British territory/colony/protectorate during the postwar years, as the leading investigator is a British officer, rarely seen without some bureaucrat from the US consulate in tow. Trinidad also has a measure of mystique because of the Andrews Sisters’ risque classic “Rum and Coca Cola.”

With all it’s weaknesses, Affair in Trinidad is more worth your time than the garbage Hollywood’s been defecating in recent decades.