Casablanca

Michael Curtiz's Casablanca (1942) has a well-deserved reputation as one of Hollywood's greatest achievements. Its a near-perfect cocktail of everything you'd want in a film: war, romance, spies, intrigue, humor and marvelous production values. Curtiz made better pictures (namely Mildred Pierce), but Casablanca is the most lasting.

Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) is a cynical American emigre running a cafe in Casablanca, Morocco. World War II is raging, and the cafe swarms with refugees from Nazi-occupied Europe, all desperate to get visas to America, with crooked Police Captain Rennault (Claude Rains) and crime boss Ferrari (Sydney Greenstreet) gleefully profitting off them. Into this situation walks Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), Czech resistance leader, and his wife, Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), who happened to be Rick's lover many years before. Despite his policy of "putting my neck out for nobody", Rick finds himself drawn to helping his old flame - even when Nazi official Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt) sticks his Teutonic nose into the affair.

In its straightforward plot and easily-identifiable characters, Casablanca is a timeless film with universal appeal. It's melodrama on an international scale, with the turmoil of World War II brilliantly reduced to a handful of characters. Its message is clear-cut: with the world being overrun by evil, sitting on the sidelines is not an option. It's a clarion call for American intervention and an affirmation of humanism, showing a simple, endearing idealism: however grim things may seem, we'll win in the end.

Casablanca is a den of amorality, populated by criminals, crooks and refugees. The situation is muddled - there are genuine refugees about, but also criminals like Ferrari and Ugarte (Peter Lorre) taking advantage of the situation. Renault's delightful cynicism is only practical: loyal to France and eager to enrich himself, he must please his Nazi masters, who have the power to kill or arrest anyone they wish. Making moral choices in this climate is nigh-impossible, when self-preservation is hard enough.

Rick's attempts to blend into this seedy world come to nought: confronted with Laszlo's idealism and his own past (by way of Ilsa), he realizes that standing by is not an option. Even in the complicated world of Casablanca, some things are black-and-white. Rick loses his place and doesn't get Ilsa, but he can be satisfied by a greater truth: against all odds, he has done the right thing. The finale is inspiring in its simple nobility, showing that anyone can be a hero under the right circumstances.

Michael Curtiz goes from directing big-budget action films (The Adventures of Robin Hood) to a moody, crime-infused melodrama without missing a step. With the help of cinematographer Arthur Edeson, Curtiz handles a modest, moody production, ably mixing elements of film noir, espionage thriller and melodrama through brilliantly expressive touches. We are treated to some of the most iconic images in film history: Rick's bustling cafe, his breakdown after confronting Ilsa, the letter with ink running in the rain, and the finale at the fog-shrouded airport. The brilliant script by Phillip and Julius Epstein (with aid from Howard Koch) is one of the most quotable in film history, and Max Steiner has a fine musical score. Of course, none of this would matter a whit without the cast, and Casablanca has one of the best ever.

Humphrey Bogart gives a career-defining performance as Rick. He had just broken out of playing small-time hoods in The Maltese Falcon, but it was Casablanca that made him a true superstar. He hits all the right notes, investing Rick with cynicism and swagger, but subtly letting his character's romanticism and emotion shine through. Ingrid Bergman is no less impressive; she's never been more beautiful, and she ably balances a tightrope between determined and vulnerable, noble and conflicted, delivering a wonderfully endearing performance.

Claude Rains steals the show, walking away with all the choice lines in his best screen role. Dooley Wilson is also impressive: his Sam is very much Rick's equal, a welcome change from the Step'n'Fetchit stereotypes of the time. Warner players Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre (both of Maltese Falcon) and John Qualen (His Girl Friday) all shine in small roles. French actress Madeleine Lebeau has a heart-breaking bit as a young refugee: more heart-breaking if you know she went through the same thing in reality. Paul Henreid and Conrad Veidt are given the most thankless roles, having little to do but act noble and nasty, respectively.

The only reason Casablanca does not get a "Great Movies" tag is because I'm a chauvinist about it, restricting this classification to some of my absolute favorites. Don't let set arbitrary Groggy decisions dissuade you from watching, however, as it's an undisputed classic.

Happy Valentine's Day!