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“CASABLANCA” HAS A MESSAGE FOR US TODAY  
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Greg Olear
April 28, 2024
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_ The first time I saw Casablanca was 1992, The most recent was last
night. On each viewing, I notice something I hadn’t seen before,
walk away with something new. Casablanca is often described as a
romance—and it is. It is a drama. It is a war film... _

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The first time I saw _Casablanca_ was in 1992, at the Key Theatre, a
now-defunct arthouse cinema on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown, at a
special theatrical release celebrating the film’s 50th anniversary.
The most recent time I saw _Casablanca_ was last night. In between,
I’ve seen it probably two dozen times. On each viewing, I notice
something I hadn’t seen before, walk away with something new.

_Casablanca_ is often described as a romance—and it is. Bogart and
Bergman are one of the all-time Hollywood pairings, and, “Here’s
looking at you, kid,” is probably the film’s best known line. The
conflict in romances derives from the insurmountability of the
obstacle, on what is keeping the two lovers apart: Romeo and Juliet
are the teenage kids of two families in a blood feud; Harry and Sally
don’t want to risk their friendship for a romantic engagement that
might not work out; Tom Hanks lives in Baltimore and Meg Ryan lives in
Seattle. The obstacle in _Casablanca_, which I will not spoil, is
realistic, tragic, and completely insurmountable. It is a riddle that
cannot be solved, a problem that has no solution, like how to fix the
United States while the Senate exists.

But _Casablanca_ is not just a romance. It is a drama. It is a war
film. It is a buddy movie, replete with some of the sharpest comic
dialogue ever written. It is a heist picture—we don’t see the two
German couriers murdered on the train, we don’t see the letters of
transit stolen from them, but the rush to obtain those two documents
animates one of cinema’s greatest plots. It is an exploration of how
to deal with heartbreak and loss. It is a story about sacrifice and
courage and redemption and standing up to tyranny. It is an allegory
for a world that, when it was made in 1942, was very much still at
war—and, as such, is an overtly political
film. _Casablanca_ contains multitudes.

When I first watched the movie, I was more concerned with the romantic
content. I loved Rick, loved his café, loved his white tuxedo jacket
and his gruff manner and how he threw the best party but always held
himself at a remove. But it is impossible to watch _Casablanca_ in
2024 and not focus on the Nazis.

The first action we see in _Casablanca_ is a violent police
crackdown. And not just any violent police crackdown. This part of
North Africa is controlled by unoccupied France, the German rump state
based in Vichy. A prominent Nazi is coming to town, and the local
authorities are detaining all the potential rabble-rousers—the usual
suspects, as it were—who might not welcome the Gestapo’s
jackbooted presence in French Morocco. One fellow is menaced by the
police, who shoot and kill him when he tries to resist arrest; when
they search his body, they find he is carrying leaflets for Free
France.

If the film were made today, this scene would have been shot on
location, in Casablanca or a city that could reasonably pass as
Casablanca, and the terror of the crackdown would be amplified in one
of those grandiose action scenes that modern movies often open with.
But the film was produced in 1942. It was shot on a soundstage in
Hollywood. The danger is cloaked behind old-timey cinematic
production. No matter. The opening distinctly shows brutal,
Nazi-aligned cops using unnecessary force, shooting and killing an
agent of the Resistance: an anti-Fascist.

Similarly, the first time we see Rick—after we meet Captain Renault,
the French prefect of police, and Major Strasser, the Nazi big
wheel—he is alone at a chess board in the casino part of the club.
His first lines of dialogue are directed to an arrogant Nazi—an
official at Deutsche Bank, no less!—whom he bars from entering the
inner sanctum:

—Your cash is good at the bar.
—What? Do you know who I am?
—I do. You’re lucky the bar’s open to you.

Rick owns and manages the café, and he is a good boss. He supports
his employees, reassuring Emil after the house loses 20,000 francs,
and keeping everyone on the payroll when the police shut him down. But
he keeps himself aloof. “I stick my neck out for no one,” he says
when the police arrest Ugarte. “I’m the only cause I’m
interested in,” he tells Ilsa. But this is a false front, a defense
mechanism. He doesn’t want his heart broken again. He is, as Victor
Laszlo astutely observes, a man trying to convince himself of
something he doesn’t really believe.

At 17 and a half minutes into the movie, Ferrari, criminal overlord
and owner of the Blue Parrot, remarks to Rick that “isolationism is
no longer a practical policy.” That line may as well have been
spoken to the entire country. Rick and Sam, his friend and piano
player, are the only Americans in _Casablanca_, and as such,
represent the United States. The staff and clientele at his club come
from everywhere: Carl is an anti-Nazi German, Sascha is Russian, Emil
and Yvonne are French, Abdul is Moroccan, Berger is Norwegian, and so
on. In that sense, the café is a microcosm of Europe. (In real life,
many of the supporting actors are European war refugees who had
escaped the actual Nazis—including the astonishingly good actor who
plays the Gestapo’s Major Strasser, Conrad Veidt, who fled his
native country with his Jewish wife when Hitler came to power.)

It is no accident that the action in _Casablanca_ takes place over
three days in early December, 1941—just before Pearl Harbor. Rick,
like the U.S. in the late fall of 1941, preferred to remain neutral.
But ultimately, like the U.S., he is drawn into the fight—and his
presence ultimately helps the good guys prevail.

Perhaps the film’s most rousing scene is when the orchestra, with
its brass instruments, overpowers the Germans singing patriotic songs
at the piano, with a stirring rendition of “La Marseillaise,” the
French national anthem. In 1992, I chalked it up to Hollywood schlock;
now, I recognize the scene’s awesome power: music becomes the field
of battle. Even Yvonne, last seen flirting with a handsome Nazi, is
moved to tears:

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But the film is not all doom and gloom. _Casablanca_ rewards us with
sharp dialogue and genuinely funny moments. When Victor Laszlo arrives
at Rick’s, he orders drinks, only to have his orders upgraded and
put on someone else’s tab, which annoys him; it’s a running joke
that he can’t pay for his own drink. Carl’s aside with the couple
practicing their English before leaving for America is comic gold. And
as Captain Renault, Claude Reins drops one-liner after one-liner, in a
remarkably modern performance—not least of which the famous “I’m
shocked, shocked” scene.

When Rick sits down for his interrogation by the Nazis, he is asked
his nationality. “I’m a drunkard,” he says dryly—and it looks
like the men at the table are genuinely laughing, as if the line was
ad-libbed. But Renault immediately supplies the rejoinder: “And that
makes Rick a man of the world.”

We learn that what causes Rick’s moral paralysis is his heartbreak.
Ilsa Lund—the wife and traveling companion of the Resistance leader
Victor Laszlo, who has just arrived in town—is, improbably, the
woman who broke his heart. The chances of them meeting again like this
are a million to one, which Rick alludes to in yet another famous
line: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she
walks into mine.”

During their confrontation later in the film, Ilsa accuses him of,
basically, nurturing a grievance: “You want to feel sorry for
yourself, don’t you? With so much at stake, all you can think of is
your own feelings. One woman has hurt you, and you take your revenge
on the rest of the world. You’re a coward and a weakling.” She may
as well be addressing Elon Musk, or any one of a thousand other
alt-right Twitter incels.

But by then, Rick has already started to change. Precedents are being
broken. He’s having a drink with customers now. He’s involving
himself in politics more overtly. This is made clear in the scene with
the Bulgarian refugee, Annina. She is, Rick observes, underage and
should not be at the bar. But she seeks him out. She wants to be
reassured, without explicitly saying so, that if she has sex with
Captain Renault, he will honor his promise and let her and her husband
leave for America. This is dark, dark stuff, concealed by the soft
lighting and the beautiful actress:

Oh, monsieur, you are a man. If someone loved you very much, so that
your happiness was the only thing that she wanted in the world—but
she did a bad thing to make certain of it—could you forgive her?

Rick replies with a punch to the gut: “No one ever loved me that
much.”

But this is not true, although he doesn’t realize it yet. Ilsa did
love him that much. And he is sufficiently moved by Annina to arrange
for her husband to win at roulette, securing enough money to finance
their visas—much to the delight of the staff.

The first time I saw the movie, I knew what the last line was, so I
had some idea of the ending, but I didn’t know anything else. Twenty
minutes from the end, Rick gives Victor Laszlo the letters of transit.
Renault emerges from the shadows to arrest him. And I remember
thinking, “Holy shit! How the hell are they going to resolve
this?” I wasn’t the only one. Even the _screenwriters_ didn’t
know, well after production began. All they did was devise the best
ending of all time.

[THIS IS A GOOD TIME TO STOP READING, IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIE,
BECAUSE SPOILERS ARE COMING.]

We think Rick and Ilsa will take the letters of transit and leave.
Ilsa thinks that, too. But that’s not what happens. Once at the
airport, Rick informs Renault that _Ilsa and Victor _will be the
ones leaving. This surprises Ilsa, Renault—and the audience. But
this is Rick putting away his personal grievance for the greater good.
This is him atoning for the sins of the past. This is also him
entering the fray, as Laszlo tells him on the tarmac, in a line I use
in the intro to my podcast: “Welcome back to the fight. This time, I
know our side will win.” That line is spoken in December of
1941—for all we know, Japanese planes are bombing Pearl
Harbor _as_ Laszlo’s plane flies to Lisbon. If Rick represents
America, this is America entering the war. And, remember, the movie
came out in 1942! “Our side” winning was _not _a sure thing.

(Also: Rick told Victor that the letters of transit were not for sale
at any price. At the end, he refuses to take Victor’s money—which
both makes the comment about the letters not being for sale true, and
also continues the running joke about Laszlo not being able to pay for
his own drinks.)

The Resistance leader and his wife get on the plane. The plane taxis
out to the strip. And then, the Nazi big wheel shows up! After warning
him to put down the phone, Rick shoots and kills him. Renault explains
how “unpleasant” this is going to be. “I’ll have to arrest
you, of course.”

The plane takes off, heading for Lisbon. The couple makes it out of
Casablanca. Rick wins his 10,000 franc bet with Renault. Then the
police show up. And watching the movie, we prepare for Rick’s
impending arrest. “Major Strasser has been shot,” Renault tells
his charges. And there is a long, dramatic pause, before he delivers
yet another of the film’s famous lines: “Round up the usual
suspects.” With those five words, he lets Rick go free.

Renault—an unscrupulous lech who “blows with the wind,” a
“poor, corrupt official” who exploits his authority by bedding
desperate refugee women—has found his own way back to the light. He,
too, is back in the fight. And he and Rick leave together, bound for
the French garrison at Brazzaville, and adventures to come, and a
continuation of what is already a beautiful friendship.

Watching the film again last night, there was something else I
realized about _Casablanca_. No one wants to be in Morocco. Everyone
wants to go to America. The word is spoken countless times: America,
America, America. Rick is American but can’t go back to America,
although he desperately wants to. America is the symbol of freedom, of
safety, of security, of respite from the Third Reich. The entire black
market of French Morocco revolves around guarantees of safe passage to
America. It’s taken as a given that America is the land of the free.

But now, somehow, 82 years after the release of _Casablanca_, this is
no longer a given. Nazis are again on the rise—only this time,
they’re not in Europe or North Africa but here, in America, among
us. What would those supporting actors who fled the Third Reich have
made of that? What would Rick have thought?

While helping dress his wound, Rick asks Victor if he thinks what
he’s fighting for—that is, democracy, freedom, anti-fascism—is
worth it. I leave you with Laszlo’s response: “You might as well
question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we’ll die. If we stop
fighting our enemies, the world will die.”

The fundamental things apply, as time goes by.

_[GREG OLEAR [[link removed]] (@gregolear
[[link removed]]) is the L.A. Times-bestselling author
of the novels Totally  Killer
[[link removed]] (2009), Fathermucker
[[link removed]] (2011),
and Empress (2022), as well as Success Stories of a Failure
Analyst (2023) and 2018’s Dirty Rubles: An Introduction to
Trump/Russia
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which Salon called “required reading for all Americans.” His first
two novels have been translated into other languages and have been
optioned for screen._

_His work has appeared at Dame Magazine
[[link removed]], Slate, Medium, the
Huffington Post, Newsweek, Hudson Valley Magazine, The Nervous
Breakdown, and his now-defunct arts and culture site, The Weeklings._

_A graduate of Georgetown University, he lives in New York with his
wife, their two kids, and their three cats.]_

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