Published by The Massie Twins
Release Date: January 23rd, 1943 MPAA Rating: PG
Director: Michael Curtiz Actors: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre
ith the coming of the Second World War, the steadily more restricted occupants of Europe turn toward the freedom of the Americas. Lisbon is the primary escape point, where journeying from Paris to Marseille, across the Mediterranean to Oran, then by train along the rim of Africa to Casablanca in French Morocco, provides an opportunity for liberation. In Casablanca, the wealthy, influential, or simply fortunate ones can obtain visas to Lisbon. Others, however, continue to wait, stalling capture by the police for as long as possible.
It’s the end of 1941 when two German couriers carrying official documents are murdered and their killers pursued into Casablanca, where all refugees, liberals, and suspicious characters are routinely investigated for forged or expired papers. Although Casablanca is considered unoccupied France, German Major Heinrich Strasser (Conrad Veidt) of the Third Reich arrives in town to throw around his significance and to supervise the arrest of the fugitives. His mission is to halt their departure to Lisbon indefinitely, trampling on jurisdictional authority if necessary.
Ugarte (Peter Lorre) sells exit visas to the highest bidders and is now in possession of unquestionable letters of transit, which he plans to unload for enough money to finally leave the godforsaken Casablanca altogether. For safety, he has them looked after by Richard Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), a perpetually disinterested, isolationism-minded soul who doesn’t particularly like the corrupt extorter, but runs Rick’s Café Americain, the primary club and neutral meeting place in the city. “I stick my neck out for nobody,” states Blaine coolly to the local chief of police, Capitaine Louis Renault (Claude Rains), who is himself a man of shifting, monetarily obtainable allegiance. It’s a line he’ll repeat more than once, though each time it begins to lose its certainty. “I’m only a poor corrupt official,” Renault comments when betting on the intended seizure of Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), a concentration camp escapee searching desperately for a way out of the country, accompanied by lover Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman).
Beneath Rick’s cynical shell, at heart he’s a sentimentalist – which leads the investigatory German leaders to inspect his motives. While Laszlo was a Prague newspaperman openly speaking out against the Nazis, Rick has a checkered past for helping the losing side of political and governmental gambits. With Ilsa harboring a secret history with Rick (a relationship in which they reveal nothing about themselves, hoping to preserve an unaffiliated affair) leading up to the Nazi invasion of Paris, a tragic love triangle is formed. Bogart and Bergman’s onscreen romance is sensationally cinematic, exchanging quotable dialogue (“Here’s looking at you, kid”), tearful emotions, and meaningful stares, presided over by the iconic song “As Time Goes By,” keyed by piano player Sam (Dooley Wilson). Their communications are divinely executed, demonstrating the actors’ incomparable skills – and director Michael Curtiz’ flair for romantic drama scenarios.
In a place of civil unrest, violently opposing factions, threats of paranoia-fueled apprehension, and wartime tensions, a complex love story unfolds, involving putting the wellbeing (and the cause) of the many above the happiness of an individual and sacrificing knowledge for the sake of preserving attachment. In a multilayered manner, it applies to more than Rick and Ilsa, as the unscrupulous Renault morally contaminates young women that pass through the prefect’s office. It’s also an opportunity for flawless character development, moody cinematography, gripping scripting, and absorbing wordplay, examining impulse, rationale, changing ideals, a rarified interpretation of destiny, and the essence of humanity.
Character actors Lorre, Rains, and Sydney Greenstreet (as Signor Ferrari, a competing bar owner, poetically cryptic linguist, and leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca) are equally spectacular as supporting players, imparting nuances that make their roles inspiringly authentic and unique. Even waiter Carl (S.K. Sakall), Russian bartender Sascha (Leonid Kinskey), and Dooley Wilson are grandly unbound from artificiality. No role is wasted, no shot overdone or overlong, and nearly every moment absolutely unforgettable. It’s no wonder that “Casablanca” is regularly regarded as one of the greatest movies ever made, frequently topping critics’ lists and earning the 1943 Academy Awards for Best Picture, Director, and Screenplay.
– Mike Massie
The classic wartime romantic melodrama Casablanca has been tested by time and passes with flying colors. An accidental success of the studio system assembly line, it carries as much weight today, if not more, as it did in 1942. Its poignant and stirring love story is timeless and eternal. The rich and smoky atmosphere and chiaroscuro lighting, the lush black and white cinematography, and main themes of loss, honor, self-sacrifice and redemption in a chaotic world perfectly reflected the dark and pessimistic WWII social climate, and are still perfect seventy years later.
Rick Blaine’s (the unimitable Humphrey Bogart) tough, cynical, and efficient exterior is an imperfect armor, barely covering the core of sentiment and idealism. His ultimate sacrifice in the service of something greater than himself is instantly appealing. He becomes a true romantic hero worthy of the other characters’ and the audience’s admiration. The emotional effect on viewers warming in the glow of Rick’s gallant heroism is the thought that perhaps we too could achieve greatness through great sacrifice. The film’s ending is not happy, but it is hopeful. True love does not conquer all. It does, however, elevate its characters to higher levels of humanity. And this stands at the core of Casablanca, distinguishing it from the majority of noir films that chronicle the dark side of human nature, basking in their own deep shadows of gloom and disenchantment. The movie dares to rise above the dark atmosphere of the war years, demonstrating that nobility and honor are still alive and well, and run a café in the unoccupied French province of Morocco.
***This is a short analysis of the film. It contains spoilers.
In the world of Casablanca feelings and concern for others are dangerous. The lone outsider hero sticks “[his] neck out for nobody,” because that is the safe thing to do. A tough and cynical shell is a wise defense mechanism. The movie’s protagonist doesn’t let on too much about himself; his eyes are brown (“really?”) and his nationality “drunkard.” He has no past—last night is “too long ago to remember”—and no future—tonight is too “far in advance.” He has been hurt and is by choice an exile in Casablanca. We know he is an American, but people speculate about why he left the country, with theories ranging from “[absconding] with the church funds” to “[running] off with a senator’s wife,” to having killed a man. The protagonist gives nothing away, claiming it’s actually “a combination of all three,” and assuring Capt. Renault he came to Casablanca for the waters: “The waters, what waters? We’re in the desert.” Rick was “misinformed.” He projects a façade of mystery and disinterestedness and hides behind heavy clouds of cigarette smoke because he wants to forget what happened with Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman) in Paris, although he remembers every detail: “the Germans wore gray, you wore blue.” Rick objects to the shady surroundings, activities and “cut-rate parasites” of the city and is sometimes disdained by his own occupation, calling his Café Americain a saloon.
The women of Casablanca, represented by Ilsa and Yvonne (Madeleine LeBeau), are fundamentally different, falling into two separate categories. Yvonne is an archetypal film noir dame, able to constitute “an entire second front,” as Renault points out. The main female character is not exactly a typical femme fatale, although she is completely aware of her power over Rick, and could manipulate him into getting the transit visas, and tries in every way possible to convince him to hand them over: she cries; she explains; she threatens. Her motives are pure, but she is, nonetheless, “nothing but trouble.”
When the leader of the underground movement and concentration camp escapee Laszlo (Paul Henreid) encourages the entire café to sing the Marseilles in a rousing scene, a close-up of Ilsa’s face demonstrates that she remembers why she loves this man, although quite differently than she does Rick. In the end, she gets on the plane with Victor Laszlo, “where she belongs.” She also sacrifices her own happiness for a better cause. In this way, all the main characters are redeemed. Even Capt. Renault, by deciding not to arrest Rick for killing Maj. Strasser (Conrad Veidt), and symbolically throwing the bottle of Vichy wine away, discovers his backbone and straightens his moral compass. This one good act atones for all the petty crimes he has committed.
The setting and plot of Casablanca don’t have much to do with reality, but then again, not a lot of the best noir films do. Shot mostly in the studio, in a pure, dreamlike black and white world of light and shadow, the film projects its own image of the troubled war years. It is a testament to its greatness that it is still as loved today as it was in that time. Its characters are unforgettable and timeless, its lines infinitely quotable (“Here’s looking at you kid”). According to Casablanca’s hero, “the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,” but Rick and Ilsa’s problems certainly amount to a hell of a lot more than a hill of beans for the viewers.