Film Review: Gloria (1980)

John Cassavetes’ Gloria is a gritty, pulpy, and wholly unique entry in the canon of American crime thrillers—one that cleverly upends genre expectations and places a woman at the helm of a narrative typically dominated by men with guns and grudges. What makes the film truly unforgettable, however, is Gena Rowlands’ electrifying performance in the title role—equal parts force of nature and reluctant maternal figure.

Rowlands brings a startling physicality to Gloria. It’s not just her line delivery or the hard-bitten vulnerability in her eyes, but the way she moves. Her stance—leaning just slightly forward, always alert—tells you she’s both ready for a fight and weary from the battles already fought. Her walk is purposeful, all confidence and defiance, often charging ahead of the camera, dragging the story behind her. And the way she enters a room—tense, calculating, commanding—feels like a declaration: she will not be underestimated.

This physical presence reinforces what makes Gloria so groundbreaking: its gender politics. Here is a woman wielding a gun not as a fetishized fantasy or in support of a man’s quest, but as a tool of survival and, ultimately, power. Gloria is not framed as a victim or sidekick. She is the protector, the hunter, and sometimes, the executioner. In 1980, such representation was rare—and remains rare enough to feel radical even today.

John Adames, in his sole film performance, plays young Phil with a brashness and precociousness that might seem too much in lesser hands, but in Gloria it works. His chemistry with Rowlands is unpredictable and authentic. There's something genuinely affecting about the way this odd pair—a mob widow and a mouthy kid—form a reluctant alliance that becomes something close to love, if not quite family.

The score, by Bill Conti, threads through the film with elegant effectiveness. It swells at the right moments, sharpens tension, and underscores the emotional stakes without ever overwhelming them. The music acts like a bridge between the film’s noir roots and its off-kilter tenderness.

If the film has one misstep, it’s the final scene. After so much stylish grit and emotional ambiguity, the ending leans too hard into sentimentality. It’s a tonal shift that feels slightly at odds with the rest of the film’s boldness. Where everything leading up to it had been raw and unpredictable, the conclusion feels softened, almost too eager to reassure us.

Still, that one misstep does little to diminish the power of Gloria. It’s a film that paved the way for new types of action heroines—though few have matched the complex, lived-in strength Rowlands brought to the role. She didn’t just play Gloria. She embodied her, from the ground up.