Casablanca (1942) dir. By Micheal Curtis
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As “One of the Classics” (if not THE classic), I have tried to put off watching Casablanca a few times before I forced myself to get it over with. I sat down and devoted an hour and 42 minutes to my movie history education. As someone raised mainly in the 21st century, my attention span for digesting classic films (especially black and white films) has never been great. The exaggerated, probably-works-better-for-live-theater acting, the overbearing scores, and especially the treatment of women as helpless, finicky creatures are mainly there to humanize the main character’s emotional storyline. But while some of these films may be hard to watch, I guess they did become the stepping stones to evolve the film industry into the capitalist, yet occasionally artful medium we see now.
So, let’s start with the basics. Casablanca, directed by Micheal Curtis, and starring Humphrey Boggart and Ingrid Bergman, was released in early 1943 and won the Oscar for Best Picture in 1944. Released and produced amid World War II, this production fortified itself as a symbol (and later propaganda tool) of American and the Allied forces’ supremacy over fascism under the very thinly veiled guise of a nuanced unrequited love story of two ex-lovers.
Casablanca is of course named after the town of Casablanca in, what was then referred to as Un-occupied French Morocco. As a main port with little allegiance to either the Nazis or the Allies, the setting creates an ideal allegory for so many of the morally dubious lines one crosses that comes with war and the duty it places on the citizens it affects. Even in the height of war, greed, self-importance, and capitalism thrive in this pseudo-paradise filled with (mostly wealthy) Europeans hoping to flee Europe for America.
Rick, played by Humphrey Boggart, is the curmudgeonly yet impartial owner of a popular bar where countless expats mingle, drink, sing, gamble, and, most importantly, trade black market goods and visas to get out in the next plane. This is where Rick sees his ex-lover, Isla, played by Ingrid Bergman, who recently arrived in Casablanca with her husband and current lover, German rebel leader, Victor Laszlo, played by Paul Henreid, who has recently escaped a concentration camp and is being hunted across Europe by the Nazis. While Ilsa and Victor’s search for visas is brought to a halt by the German Officers’ arrival, Ilsa and Rick must confront their short-lived but passionate affair in Paris while Victor is imprisoned. Rick holds the fate of the married couple in his hands with his possession of their intended travel documents, seeking to exact his emotional retribution on Ilsa for leaving him stranded at the train station before they intended to flee for Casablanca. Armed with the knowledge that Ilsa was married when they had their Parisian fling, while also acknowledging they don’t know each other, Rick and Ilsa plan behind Victor’s back to take the papers for themselves and flee to America. With Victor’s heroism and bravery, he bestows his blessing on Isla to leave him in Casablanca. In an uncharacteristic and patriotic turn of events, Rick urges Isla and Victor to take the papers and get on the plane while he holds off the Nazis attempting to stop them.
One of my main points of contention with this movie, and so many other movies made before 1980, is the infantilization of Ilsa’s character as though she doesn’t understand the consequences of the decisions she has made. She and the other female characters seem to be there only to show how wanted and charismatic Rick can be (without even trying). Rick feels betrayed by Ilsa keeping her marriage a secret during their Parisian fling where they agreed not to share much information. Women don’t owe you anything, Rick, especially when you agree to just have a casual fling in Paris. Maybe he should have gotten the message when she left him at the train station.
Watching this movie for the first time felt like somewhat of a psychic dream for the number of lines of this movie that I had already known. “Here’s looking at you, Kid” and “Of all the gin joints in all the towns…” along with countless other one-liners, solidify the film eternally in the cinematic zeitgeist. Maybe that contributed to the fact that so much of this film felt so clichè to me. Of course, most of the reason it felt like a cliche was because this movie was where they all started. Casablanca was so iconic that looking back 80 years later, the film industry can trace back so many of its iconic moments to this one film. Iconic scripts stay iconic, even if they are kinda misogynist and propaganda tools.
So after all that, what does this film hold in the context of 2024 America, and the larger globalized world? Turns out a lot of paradoxical human rights policies. Looking back, it seems naive to have such a black-and-white Gaza genocide, which shows how easy it is to emotionally manipulate the masses with one strong view of morality and war. Considering this movie portrays the US and most of the Allied Forces as anti-genocide military saviors, the silence (and outright support of the perpetrators) of these same governments toward the genocide of the Palestinians in Gaza. Despite how much I really would have loved to yell a big “Fuck You” to the Nazis, the emotional moment of all the bar patrons joining together to sing the French national anthem over the Nazi officers felt like blatant propaganda to 21st-century, semi-media literate me. But honestly, Fuck the Nazis.
