There are too many famous lines in Casablanca, it was impossible to choose one for the headline. So choose your own adventure, Constant Reader:
Although whoever made that video somehow missed these gems:
UGARTE: You despise me, don't you?
RICK: If I gave you any thought I probably would.
RENAULT: What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?
RICK: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.
RENAULT: The waters? What waters? We're in the desert.
RICK: I was misinformed.
"I was misinformed" may be the best.
#37: Casablanca
After life intervened with our ReViewing Habit for the past week or so, we get to start things back up with a legitimate and enduring Hollywood classic, Casablanca. I mean, just look at the poster:
It just screams classic.
For me Casablanca is The Great Gatsby of Old Hollywood. No, not the Baz Luhrmann version. (You should be ashamed - but, yes, I will go see it.) I'm referring to the actual book. Gatsby isn't my favorite novel, but I think its nearly perfectly written - or as close any writer has ever come to the Platonic ideal of The Great American Novel. Casablanca is that for classic Hollywood. It's not perfect, it's not my favorite film, or even my favorite of the classics, but it does everything well that the big studios did well.
For those who haven't seen it yet, here's the gist. Humphrey Bogart is Rick, a cafe owner in unoccupied French-controlled Morocco during World War II. At the time, Casablanca is essentially a weigh station on the refugee trail from occupied Europe to Lisbon to, ultimately, America. One day, Ingrid Bergman's Ilsa - who broke Rick's heart back in Paris before the Nazis came to town - shows up at the cafe with her husband, Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid). Laszlo is on the run after escaping from a concentration camp. The Nazis are tracking his movements and while they apparently can't get to him in technically free Casablanca, they want the local prefect, the fantastically corrupt Captain Reinault (Claude Rains) to make sure Laszlo doesn't get on the plane to Lisbon. Rick has to decide: help Laszlo or win back Ilsa?
This is the type of story Tinseltown was made to tell. Humphrey Bogart is the definition of the American movie star: the rogue with a heart of gold. Ingrid Bergman, afforded a surplus of rapturous soft focus close-ups, is not only insanely gorgeous but just anxious enough to give the film an underlying sense of urgency and tough enough to explain how she could love both Bogart's elusive Rick and the passionate Laszlo. It's set in an exotic locale, sumptiously filmed on studio sets populated by a bevy of terrific character actors in glamorous attire. Everyone has something smart or at least smart ass to say when it matters. An atmosphere of mystery and romance hangs over the whole thing, but a sense of humor abides. And when the crowd sings La Marseillaise at Rick's? C'mon. Nationalism at it's finest and most inspiring.
Is it melodramatic? Yes. Are the racial politics more than a little suspect? Sure. Is it believable? Not always. Wouldn't the Nazis have just killed Lazlo the moment they saw him rather than casually chatting with him over champagne cocktails? Probably. Is there fog in Morocco? Not very often, I'd wager.
It doesn't matter. This is Hollywood - you will love every single second of it.
FINAL VERDICT: Keeper.
NEXT UP: Casino.
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