Some films, for all the critical praise they receive, simply pass underneath the popular radar. 'Love Me Or Leave Me', Charles Vidor's masterpiece, is one of those films. It is the greatest musical Doris Day was ever involved with, yet it doesn't seem to command the same devotion as 'Calamity Jane', an entertaining but unsatisfying comic romp, or even the lumpen 'Moonlight' movies. That's a great pity, because this film contains one of the two extraordinary dramatic performances Day delivered in the mid-fifties (the other was in 'The Man Who Knew Too Much'). In her earlier musicals, Day was an energising presence, but slightly overstated and eager as a comedienne. She was still the best thing on screen, but she lacked subtlety as an actress. Here, she's in a whole new league. Just look at the scene in which James Cagney tells her that she's going to be a Hollywood star. Her apathy is something unimaginable in Day previously, a weary cynicism expertly underplayed. Having seen this film, I don't think it's hyperbole to talk about her as being the equal of Judy Garland as an actress, if maybe not quite as a singer (although her expressive, surprisingly sensual voice makes all her other peers look suitably weak - particularly as most of them were being dubbed anyway).<br /><br />She holds her own against a Cagney at full tilt, which is no mean feat (no other actor is so able to blow other stars off the screen, with the possible exception of Al Pacino). He plays Martin Snyder as a dynamic combination of ego and insecurity, all macho bluster and hair-trigger temper. He's a monster, yet one who becomes increasingly sympathetic as the nature of his failings becomes apparent. He's a man looking for self-respect, but he can't find any - he's ridden to success on the talents of Day's Ruth Etting - so he tries to demand it from everybody else. The film doesn't soft-peddle his repellent egotism - his behaviour at the Ziegfield theatre is both intimidating and pathetic - and for the most part the audience takes Etting's side. There's a great moment shortly after the characters arrive in LA and he's been throwing his weight around, when she punctures him mid-boast. 'Just who do you think you are?' she demands, pointing out how little he's achieved compared to those he tries to intimidate. He deflates, and it's so satisfying the audience wants to cheer. Yet the movie is too complex merely to point the finger - Etting does owe much of her success to him, for all his mistreatment (and, at times, mismanagement) of her, something she realises even as the audience urges her to leave him in her wake. There's another wonderful scene, towards the end, when Robert Keith's Loomis checks Snyder's fury and tells him to, essentially, get over his own fragile ego. Etting knows she owes him - now he has to be big enough to let her pay it back. Just for a moment, it seems as though he really will change, but the film is too canny for any sort of pat resolution. He remains an egotistical heel to the end.<br /><br />The cinematography for this film is sublime, dark and rich in a way that's reminiscent of Vincente Minnelli. The film, however, is altogether less fatuous then that director's most famous works ('Meet Me In St. Louis' is visually beautiful but sentimental and patronising). A better comparison is George Cukor's 'A Star is Born', released the previous year, which matches the velvety style with dramatic teeth. The musical numbers are as good as those in any other musical of the period - particularly 'Chasin' the Blues Away' at the Ziegfield, and the final performance of 'Love Me or Leave Me'.<br /><br />This isn't just Vidor's last great film, it's probably his greatest film (and yes, I do remember 'Gilda' - but even that film doesn't have such a satisfying dramatic shape). The open ending is a device that too few films of the period used, but the tension between resolution (Etting is paying off her debt to Snyder in preparation for a future without him) and unresolved questions (Will he go to prison? Will his club be a success?) is oddly satisfying - all biographical pictures should be as open about their inability to provide neat closure to a life. The final shot of Day, singing 'Love Me or Leave Me' as the camera draws back, is one of the Hollywood's (few) great endings.