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| Casablanca |
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  (9/10)
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Runtime: 102 |
| Public Rating: 8.56 (62 votes) |
Director: Michael Curtiz |
MPAA Rating:  |
| Genre: Drama/War |
Year: 1942 |
| Writer(s): Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, Howard Koch |
| Distributor: 1 |
| Reviewed by: Vadim Rizov |
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It's one of the most difficult movies to review and put a fresh perspective on. But I'll try my best. First, however, the obligatory statement: Casablanca, to many people, is not just a classic film, but rather a symbolic encapsulation of every classic film. For many people who don't watch classics, it may be one of the few classic movies they ever see. And since it's a very good movie, why would you want to say anything bad about it? Why, indeed, would you want to say anything new about it at all? Especially when reading new reviews, you come across a quote like "a brilliant film that merits inclusion in every self-respecting film critic's top three." You don't mess around with a movie like this. Do you?
Casablanca opens with some scenes which few people seem to remember. A narrator ominously rumbles about World War II and European immigrants struggling to get to America. Stock footage flashes on screen, surimposed over a path traced on a globe. Eventually, we wind up in Casablanca; the story, however, still hasn't
started. First we see a police round-up of Europeans in Casablanca, as well as a pickpocket in action. Finally, we arrive at the start of the film's proper story: we've arrived at Rick's Cafe Americain, where seemingly every anxious would-be American is making deals for false immigration papers. Presiding over this popular institute is Rick (Humphrey Bogart), a cynical businessman who never drinks with his customers. His best friend is corrupt French official Louis Renault (the great Claude Rains at his best), whose loyalty (to free France or Germany) is in question. And then she (Ingrid Bergman) walks in. And Rick begins dealing with his past and future.
There's no reason to go any further into the famous plot or scenes. Casablanca is the ultimate argument that the studio system had a certain genius to it. It's not a movie that would ever impress anybody looking for cool, flashy cinematography or innovative sound design. It's a standard romance, mixed up with a war movie, combined with suspense, plus some of the funniest dialogue ever heard in a drama. The superbly cynical first half can be very funny. The drama feels remarkably sincere as well; proof that studios could make seemingly sincere movies.
Maybe some of the emotion in this movie was sincere. Conrad Veidt, playing the villainous Major Strasser, was actually a German Jew. Michael Curtiz, ace craftsman and great studio director, was a Hungarian whose career was established in America well before World War II began; still, it's hard not to believe that he didn't have something personal invested in the movie as well. Ditto Leonid Kinskey as Russian waiter Sascha, who, during the war, worked with the Soviets in choosing which Hollywood movies to import.
Now for the attack. Sure, the movie's full of great dialogue, moving emotion, suspense, and dialogue so well-known you can lip-synch parts of the movie. So what's wrong? The propagandistic overtones of the beginning, flashback to Paris, and especially Paul Heinreid's throroughly self-satisfied character date this movie as, decidedly, partly a propaganda film. The line between art and pablum is crosssed a few times, and so this film isn't an unqualified masterpiece. A small complaint, I know; still, I think it's about time somebody officially stated it. And with that in mind, watch this and see old Hollywood at its peak
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