HomeClassic Movies‘Casablanca’: Humphrey Bogart-Ingrid Bergman Classic ‘Nowhere Near Greatness’

‘Casablanca’: Humphrey Bogart-Ingrid Bergman Classic ‘Nowhere Near Greatness’

Casablanca with Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart.

About three years ago, I finally gave in to watch Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) for the first time. I had hesitated because of the five- and ten-minute snippets of the film I had seen, and for its reputation as a hokey Christmas story “chestnut.” Well, was I wrong, for It’s a Wonderful Life is a great film – arguably the best Capra ever made. It is also a good example of the auteur theory of filmmaking, in that the film fits remarkably well within the Capra canon. From the first five minutes, the viewer knows that no one but Frank Capra could have directed it.

With that in mind, I decided to finally give in and watch Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca from start to finish. Like It’s a Wonderful Life, it’s a film from the 1940s (1942 to be exact) whose hold on audiences has not abated. However, unlike It’s a Wonderful Life, Casablanca often turns up on the Top Ten Greatest Films of All Time lists – and this is wrong.

After all, while Casablanca is a good film (I’d give it a 75-80 score out of 100), it is nowhere near greatness for a variety of technical, aesthetic, and artistic reasons. I will explain them in this essay in order to demonstrate that while the film itself is likable, “likability” and “greatness” are wholly different qualities – be they applied to a work of art, an idea, or just the execution of a plan.

Before I summarize the well-known plot of Casablanca, let me detail some of its strengths and weaknesses, which I will expound upon later, and offer reasons why critics in general have missed the boat on many aspects of the film.

First off, director Michael Curtiz (who also directed the James Cagney vehicles Angels with Dirty Faces and Yankee Doodle Dandy), while a good studio man, was in no way an auteur. Take It’s a Wonderful Life or The Third Man, and one can clearly see stylistic continuity from those films to others in the auteur’s canon. (For these purposes, I regard Orson Welles, not Carol Reed – a journeyman filmmaker with a style and canon akin to Curtiz’s – as the true auteur of The Third Man.)

The aforementioned continuity includes the use of dialogue, visuals, character development, editing, scoring, etc. Watch scenes from any earlier Capra film and one can easily see that George Bailey, the Jimmy Stewart character in It’s a Wonderful Life would be perfectly at home in them. The same is true with the visual motifs in The Third Man. As for Casablanca, there’s no continuity when compared to Curtiz’s other efforts.

Next, there is the film’s lack of “vision.” In short, it is not in the least bit poetic like the works of true masters such as Ingmar Bergman, Akira Kurosawa, Theo Angelopoulos, Michelangelo Antonioni, or Stanley Kubrick. Casablanca is a solid-prose movie, but there is no higher meaning to it. This flaw, if you will, is revealed by the fact that virtually all the characters in it are, to be generous, archetypes (if not full-blown stereotypes), and this one-dimensionality makes much of what occurs in the story predictable.

That is not to say that this predictability is poorly handled, but from the moment Humphrey Bogart’s and Ingrid Bergman’s eyes first meet, you know that theirs is destined to be a doomed romance. Why? Because that’s the way Hollywood formula works with dark, brooding antiheroes, and angelic, almost Madonna-like heroines. The hows and wherefores are minor in comparison to the knowledge that these two characters will not end up together.

Now, compare Bogart and Bergman’s relationship to that of other romantic film couples – from schlock like Love Story (which also uses the doomed-love trope) to deeper investigations of human relationships as portrayed in, say, Michelangelo Antonioni’s great films of the ’60s. True, Casablanca is both propaganda and melodrama, and these are all fine and dandy reasons to explain why there is not a good deal of depth in the characterizations and resultant relationships, but … an explanation is not an excuse for a flaw.

The Casablanca screenplay, which according to historical reports was written haphazardly, would have been more bearable with a bit better writing, a few more moments to flesh out some complexities, a few off-handed bits of “accidental” poesy or philosophy, and the loss of some of the film’s dramatically absurd moments, e.g., the scene where Bergman threatens Bogart with a gun, or the cringe-inducing jingoism of the much too stagy bit when German soldiers and French refugees do battle with patriotic songs.

Paul Henreid, Ingrid Bergman, Claude Rains, Humphrey Bogart in Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

Once again, this is not to say that the Casablanca screenplay – credited to Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch – lacks charm; the comic scenes in the film, such as those involving the pickpocket, are good, but compare them with the deeper and blacker humor of some of the scenes in Stanley Kubrick’s far superior Paths of Glory; for instance, the sequence where one of the condemned men moans of the unfairness that a fly buzzing about him will be alive the next day and he won’t, so another of the prisoners kills the fly and remarks that the prisoner now has it over the fly. The contrast in screenwriting quality is stark.

But the flaws in terms of character development and the subsequent narrative that flows from it do not all stem from the screenplay. It is also the result of acting that mostly ranges from mediocre to downright bad. First, let’s go with the performances of some of the leading characters, and let me start by stating that most of the critical assessment of the acting abilities of the Casablanca cast is often quite wrongheaded.

Beginning with the three top-billed actors: Humphrey Bogart as club owner Rick Blaine, Ingrid Bergman as his ex-lover Ilsa Lund, and Paul Henreid as Ilsa’s husband, the Czechoslovakian Nazi Resistance outlaw Victor Laszlo. Virtually all critiques of this trio leave Henreid as the odd man out, mainly because the film focuses on the love angle between Rick and Ilsa.

Yet, from a purely technical standpoint Henreid gives, by far, the best performance of the trio. But because it is the most understated, it usually gets dismissed as stiff acting rather than good acting of an intentionally stiff character. In many ways, Henreid’s performance reminds me of Masayuki Mori as the murdered samurai husband in Akira Kurosawa’s 1950 drama Rashomon. Like Mori, Henreid conveys emotional depth and complexity with his eyes alone, or even the slight lift of a brow. He is restrained, but this is because his character is über-disciplined.

Victor is a concentration camp escapee and a guerilla fighter who must not draw attention to himself and who must repress his emotions. He is not demonstrative about his feelings for Ilsa, but one need only look at Henreid’s eyes and his physical posture – he’s constantly leaning in toward Ilsa – to see how Victor truly adores his wife. And despite what some critics say, his two-time overt declaration of love for Ilsa stands in starkly positive contrast to Rick’s cartoonish, caveman-like refusal to utter such declarations. Furthermore, Victor shows his love for Ilsa throughout the film, while Rick’s love is displayed only in the final scene; even then, Rick’s final gesture is not something that emanates from within.


Because he ends up doing the very thing that Victor initially suggests to Rick that he is willing to do: to allow Rick to leave Casablanca and take his wife with him, for her own safety!


Because we never get a moment that we doubt Victor’s love for Ilsa, whereas there is the sneaking suspicion that Rick merely had the hots for Ilsa even if he blew it up into more than what it was.

That not a single critic, to my knowledge, in the nearly seven decades since the film’s release has ever commented on Rick’s final “grand and altruistic gesture” merely being the inverse of Victor’s earlier suggestion, and that this places Victor at the center of Casablanca – heroically, romantically, and dramatically (especially in contrast to the puerile Rick and Ilsa) – is further proof that:

a) most critics simply are not good enough at their jobs to break down more complex aspects of a work of art, and

b) they too often rely on cribbing others in their profession.

This means that a few “talking points” per film are disseminated by the most widely known and read critics, and all the ancillary second- and third-tier critics merely regurgitate the same talking points, supplemented with their own biased, emotion-based yeas or nays on any particular film.

But getting back to Paul Henreid’s characterization, one need only watch the cheesy scene in the bar, where Victor hears the Nazis singing “Die Wacht am Rhein,” and dares to get the band to play “La Marseillaise.” Look at his eyes to see that, far from what critics claim, Victor is a man of great passion and principles from the get-go; this break from his usual restraint gains in power precisely because it is a break, but one that seems wholly natural for a man who has been frustrated for the bulk of his scenes and then feels he is having his face rubbed in it. While the political implications of the bar scene have lost their resonance (as do most blatantly political gestures in art), Henreid’s volcanically restrained performance has not.

Paul Henreid, Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey Bogart in Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

As an aside, compare that moment with a similar bit toward the end of the aforementioned Paths of Glory, where a captured German girl is put on stage in front of drunken French soldiers seemingly willing to ravage her, until she starts singing a plaintive German tune of a soldier and his lost love. The drunk soldiers quiet down, and eventually start humming along with the “enemy,” and slowly show that they have not been totally inured by carnage. A comparison of these two scenes (their structure and placement) neatly and clearly shows why Casablanca is mere entertainment while Paths of Glory is great art.

As for Paul Henreid’s performance, it is always more difficult to play a character that is the “good guy” and does not undergo some sort of however slight transformation. A good critic, however, does not let himself be swayed by a role’s theatrical pyrotechnics. Instead, he focuses on what the actor does with the written material handed him. Thus, Henreid’s character is not only the best portrayed, but it’s also the most nuanced.

Really, does anyone for a moment not believe that Victor knows full well what went on between Ilsa and Rick both in Paris and Casablanca? Of course not, but the character has to pretend not to be affected even if he is – because he has his eyes on the greater prize, the overthrow of the Nazi regime, not the famed “hill of beans” problems of three little people. In short, Henreid’s character, despite having less screen time than Ingrid Bergman’s and Humphrey Bogart’s, is the film’s center and lynchpin. Simply stated, without the character of Victor Laszlo, in his physical being and internal composition, Casablanca would not have even reached the level of good melodrama.

Now, contrast Henreid’s Victor with Bogart’s Rick. Rick is rather one-dimensional despite the character’s early evocations of depth. His attraction to Ilsa seems quite superficial; after all, in the flashback scenes in Paris and even those in Casablanca, does he ever speak of higher purpose? No, Rick is wholly selfish, through and through.

Bogart’s Rick is also a far showier role than Henreid’s Laszlo. But does Bogart do anything more with it? Despite some wittier lines and the nice scene where Rick lets a Romanian refugee couple win at roulette to pay for their visas out of Casablanca, is Rick Blaine sufficiently different from the Sam Spade Bogart essayed in John Huston’s The Maltese Falcon, or any of the rather stolid thugs he played throughout the 1930s? No.

That’s because there is the same reliance on trite body mannerisms that, while they define the Bogart “star persona” (as did John Wayne’s personal foibles define his), they add nothing to the film’s character. In short, Rick Blaine is the generic Bogart character from past films, little different from the above mentioned “John Wayne” characters in dozens of Westerns, or, for that matter, Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp.

Now, don’t take my word for it. Ask fans of Casablanca, for they will almost always refer to the character Bogart plays in the film as “Bogey” or “Bogart,” not “Rick” or “Blaine.” They’ll rhapsodize on and on when Bogey does this or that, not when Rick does this or that, precisely because the lead character in Casablanca is not “Rick Blaine,” but “Bogey.”


Bogart simply was not that good of an actor, and could not differentiate his characters, unlike, say James Cagney (compare his roles in White Heat and Yankee Doodle Dandy), or Gary Cooper (compare his roles in Sergeant York, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, and High Noon), James Stewart(compare his roles in It’s a Wonderful Life, Rope and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington), or, more recently, Robert De Niro (contrast his roles in Taxi Driver, The Deer Hunter, and The King of Comedy).

I’m not saying that Casablanca does not take advantage of Bogart’s limitations as an actor; it certainly does, especially in the last fifteen minutes. Even then, however, Bogart (or Rick) only slightly breaks the pellicle of his star persona to “realize,” a bit, a character of some depth. And that’s a symptom of the film’s problem.

Since all the characters are archetypes, they need to be fully realized in order for claims of greatness to be made. Yet, while some characters are almost fully realized, others are not; and even those who almost get there display a lack of character development that prevents Casablanca from reaching true greatness.

Now, compare scenes where Humphrey Bogart tries to act with his eyes the way Paul Henreid does, and one notices Bogart’s utter limitations – he could do cynicism well, and pain ok (aided by a drink in hand), but that’s about it. This is not because Rick is constricted emotionally the way Victor is. The limits are Bogart’s, not Rick’s, and these limits provide the parameters for objectively measuring Bogart’s success at transcending his star persona and breaking into a new level of characterization.

To his credit, Bogart does break a few bonds, as mentioned. He is not an early-and-forever typecast version of the characters someone like Joe Pesci plays from film to film. That said, Bogart’s performance is not in a league with Henreid’s, much less on the same level as some of the truly great performances in film history.

That brings me to the last and least of the trio of star performances: Ingrid Bergman’s rather mediocre portrayal of Ilsa Lund.

Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman in Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

First of all, I should clarify that Bergman’s is not a “bad” performance; however, it’s nowhere near great, either. One need only look at contemporaneous performances by, say, Katharine Hepburn, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, or even Judy Garland, to see how much Bergman pales in contrast. Her Ilsa is a pawn, a toy, a heroine who is the plaything of the two men in her life – and, incidentally, isn’t it interesting how similar in facial construction both Henreid and Bogart are? A fortuitous development that adds some much-needed depth to Ilsa’s psyche.

Ilsa has zero control of her destiny and zero ability to will herself any power – emotionally, spiritually, or sexually. It’s rather apparent that Ilsa really loves Victor, not Rick, because anyone who’s ever been in love knows that she would have stayed with Rick, no matter. The truth is she likely just lusted for Rick and realized that, but lucked out in having him make a decision she knew was right while being too weak to voice it.

Before objections are raised, think of all the scenes where we get a sense of the spiritual, political, humanitarian, and ethical consonance she has with her husband, and compare them to all the scenes she shares with Rick – both in the present and the Paris flashbacks – and then ask: What exactly does she share with Rick? Not temperament, not vision, not ethics, not spirituality. All that we are left with, then, is a physical and superficial bond. In the real world, this is called lust. She lusted for Rick, but loved Victor. The screenplay shows it, and her choice, while assenting to Rick’s “choice,” proves it.

As for the actress? The raving over Bergman’s performance is likely the worst aspect of most critical assessments of Casablanca. I’ve pointed out how nuanced Paul Henreid’s acting was, being able to convey emotions with his eyes alone; well, Bergman does something different – she totally overacts with her eyes. Many a critic fulminates rapture over her terminally tear-filled gaze (including Roger Ebert in the DVD’s film commentary), but from the get-go Ilsa is a stereotypical damsel in distress, prone to hyper-emotionalism, and in no believable way a “mature” woman.

True, Ilsa is beautiful, but she is no more beautiful than many of the other female characters that inhabit Rick’s bar, while being far more emotionally needy. Even by film’s end, she wholly thrusts her life’s future into Rick’s hands. Despite the fame of Rick’s last advice to her about regretting not getting on the plane with Victor, that bit comes across as incredibly paternalistic and belittling advice when seen from an objective perspective.

Now, having seen Bergman in other films, I know she is a better actress than what can be attested in Casablanca. That leaves three reasons for this rather muddled and uninspiring performance:

  1. The character is not well written and lacks depth,
  2. Bergman was too young and callow as an actress to pull off the role, even if better written, and
  3. Reasons 1 and 2.

I opt for number 3.

Let us now look at some of the other minor roles. In the second tier there is Captain Louis “Louie” Renault (Claude Rains). While there are certainly some great moments for Louie, the character is not a great one nor does Rains exhibit great acting chops. Louie’s best moments are mostly comic, such as when he closes Rick’s bar after the dueling anthems for being “shocked” at gambling going on, and then a valet brings him his winnings and he says “Thanks.”

Much as in the dialogue afforded to Humphrey Bogart’s Rick Blaine, there is a flippancy and preciousness that Louie and Rick have within their own repartee and with others that’s simply not believable. One would think both of them were the reincarnations of Oscar Wilde, for their conversation, however quotable, feels scripted.

Dooley Wilson, Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman in Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

The ending is good – Louie and Rick talk of leaving Casablanca after Louie covers for Rick’s killing the Nazi Major Strasser – but there is nothing either actor does that lifts the scene above its own well-written basis.

Then there is Strasser’s portrayer, Conrad Veidt, an actor perhaps best known for his role in Robert Wiene’s 1919 silent classic The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Simply put, is there anything that lifts Strasser above the generic Nazi archetype in thousands of films? No. How about the black marketer, Signor Ferrari (Sydney Greenstreet)? No. This isn’t to say that Ferrari does not get off a few good lines, but again, most critics mistake a few good lines – or tear-filled eyes – for good acting, and utterly overlook detailed and restrained performances like Paul Henreid’s.

Finally, there’s a thinner-than-usual Peter Lorre as Ugarte, another black marketer; one who ends up getting killed. Just look at his last scene – “Rick, Rick, you must help me!” – and one can see what a steep decline that role was from his killer in Fritz Lang’s M a decade earlier, even considering the too-precious soliloquy at the end of that film. In short, Casablanca is not a film to which one looks for an acting clinic.

Casablanca is part of a two-disc DVD package, put out by Warner Bros. Disc one has the film in a transfer stunningly free of blemishes. The disc also has two theatrical trailers (the original and rerelease trailers); an introduction by Bogart’s widow, Lauren Bacall; and two commentaries. The lesser one is by film historian Rudy Behlmer. It’s loaded with information on the making of the film, but Behlmer is just reading from a script of Warner Bros. inter-office memos about the film, and few of the facts are scene-specific. Behlmer’s monotone is also rather off-putting, and he rarely ventures an idea or opinion of his own about the film.

By contrast, film critic Roger Ebert provides his usual quality commentary. What makes it good is not that Ebert has such profound insights, for he repeats much of what Behlmer imparts, but he has a love for the film while offering scene-specific comments that illuminate things a casual viewer might miss. As I’ve stated before, Ebert has serious limitations as a critic of film, but he is thoroughly qualified as a film historian. (Admittedly, much too often Ebert lets his emotions get the better of him, such as in some embarrassing burblings about Ingrid Bergman’s lips, as if they had any bearing on her acting. Compounding matters, Ebert offers a constant denigration and misassessment of Paul Henreid’s acting.)

The second disc has many of the goodies that DVD fans love. Those include the documentary Bacall on Bogart, hosted by Bacall and covering Bogart’s career. It’s a quality film. Also, “You Must Remember This: A Tribute to Casablanca” is a good piece, as are a few other featurettes. There are deleted and alternate scenes, a 1943 radio adaptation, as well as a 1955 TV adaptation, and a “Looney Tunes” spoof, Carrotblanca. All in all, it’s a good package.

The Casablanca screenplay was based upon an unproduced play by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison, “Everybody Comes to Rick’s.” Screenwriters Julius J. Epstein and Philip G. Epstein added some mediocre comedy touches, whereas Howard Koch added melodrama. (Casey Robinson also contributed to the mix.)

Among the things that date Casablanca are some poorly produced backscreen projections, and a ridiculously bad model airplane. As stated, the film lacks a single memorable shot – nothing that defines cinematographer Arthur Edeson’s images the way, say, an Ingmar Bergman film is noteworthy for the images of a Sven Nykvist. I should add that I’m not saying Edeson lacked talent; after all, he helped to create film noir with his work on The Maltese Falcon and helped to define 1930s horror films with his work on James Whale’s Frankenstein.

As for Michael Curtiz’s direction, it’s rather pedestrian. Having stated that, does it surprise you in the least that Curtiz garnered one of the three Oscars Casablanca won (out of eight nominations)? The other two won were for Best Picture of 1943, the year the film opened in Los Angeles, and, no surprise, Best Screenplay.

The worst technical aspect of the film, however, is its music, most of which is diegetic. In the formal scoring field, Max Steiner shows an inept handling of music, for the “As Time Goes By” piece, used as the love theme for Rick and Ilsa, too often gives away upcoming dramatic elements. At other times, the scoring is mawkish, often intruding on scenes better left unscored, giving away plot elements before they arise, or trying to emotionally lead the audience in ways the actual narrative does not.

Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey Bogart in Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

Now, the biggest mistake that prevents Casablanca from reaching greatness is its lack of great themes. There is nothing in the film that is so overwhelmingly majestic, technically or performance-wise, that can put it in a class with many of the other highly praised motion pictures of the past. Seen next to Citizen Kane, Tokyo Story, Seven Samurai, La Dolce Vita, or 2001: A Space Odyssey, Casablanca comes up short, way short.

It lacks Citizen Kane‘s innovations, acting, and screenplay; it lacks Tokyo Story‘s characterizations and philosophical depth; it lacks the action, acting, and universal appeal of Seven Samurai; it lacks the acting, humor, and biting social commentary of La Dolce Vita; and it lacks the intellectual probing, audacious screenplay, and mind-blowing presence of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Naturally, most film critics were utterly clueless. Some yahoos have read homosexual and Oedipal subtexts into the film. But it is the unstinting (and often unthinking and uncritical) praise by those who should know better, that is the most silly. I’ve mentioned a couple of Roger Ebert’s missteps in his audio commentary on the DVD, but he, too makes some absurd claims about the film, such as: “Rains as the subtly homosexual police chief.” Huh? If anything, Rains’ character is portrayed as an opportunistic womanizer.

In his essay “Casablanca, or, The Cliches Are Having a Ball” writer-philosopher Umberto Eco states:

Casablanca is not just one film. It is many films, an anthology. Made haphazardly, it probably made itself, if not actually against the will of its authors and actors, then at least beyond their control. And this is the reason it works, in spite of aesthetic theories and theories of film making. For in it there unfolds with almost telluric force the power of Narrative in its natural state, without Art intervening to discipline it. And so we can accept it when characters change mood, morality, and psychology from one moment to the next, when conspirators cough to interrupt the conversation if a spy is approaching, when whores weep at the sound of “La Marseillaise.” When all the archetypes burst in shamelessly, we reach Homeric depths. Two clichés make us laugh. A hundred clichés move us. For we sense dimly that the clichés are talking among themselves, and celebrating a reunion. Just as the height of pain may encounter sensual pleasure, and the height of perversion border on mystical energy, so too the height of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the sublime. Something has spoken in place of the director. If nothing else, it is a phenomenon worthy of awe.”

Note that in his summation of a critique that Casablanca is mediocre, Eco:

  1. makes absurd claims about the film’s “intertextuality” (a weasel approach that bad critics toss around to cover up the fact they are saying nothing of real import) arising from its use of clichés, something that does not add up in a synergistic way to anything better,
  2. throws in a throwaway word like “telluric” as if it had deeper meaning (it only means terrestrial), and
  3. repeats the quasi-Stalinist dictum on clichés, only to end his review praising the film – a touch of creeping Political Correctness that utterly reveals his essay as bunkum of the highest order.

Let me bring this all back down to earth with a realistic assessment of the film, as opposed to the emotionally whitewashed views of Ebert and other “pop” critics, and the intellectually pretentious views of Eco and a few other “academic” critics.

Casablanca, like any other film, rises and falls on its screenplay. To co-opt a metaphor, a screenplay is to a film what a good ground game is to an army. The visuals are merely the “shock and awe” that bombing and high-tech assaults bring. That never wins a war; the ground game does; going house to house to clear a street does.

Film, despite being thought of as a visual medium, is really a narrative form that merely uses images to enhance the narrative. Heresy that it may be, film is utterly dependent upon narrative. This is why the medium is called “motion pictures,” not “pictured motions.” The emphasis on the movement in the term “motion pictures” is not literally on the images, but on the narrative aspect.

Dooley Wilson, Humphrey Bogart in Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

As I’ve shown, there are many flaws in Casablanca‘s narrative; among them the fact that it is melodrama – driven by plot, not character development. All the characters react to what the plot dictates; the plot does not organically flow from their personae. Now, before you claim, “But it’s a war film,” let me state: It’s not, it’s a romance set in war, but even were it a war film, just look at the greatest of war films; all of them are driven by characters, not plots.

Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory has its dramatic tension not because of the trench warfare, but because of the force of Kirk Douglas’ colonel and the reactions of the doomed men he commanded. Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now is driven by the conflicting wills of the wholly scrutinized Martin Sheen character, and the ghost-like persona of the little-seen Marlon Brando character. Apocalypse Now could have been set in any war; it could have been a spy film, a gangster film, or any other genre because its conflict is man vs. man, or more specifically, one man vs. one man. Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line is also wholly structured on the subjective views of a few characters as parallaxed by one character (the narrator) during the Pacific Theater of World War Two. In it, the war is a subservient element to the personal growth of the characters fighting it. So, there are no excuses for Casablanca‘s trite plot, period.

On the plus side, Casablanca is quite modern in terms of pacing and in some aspects of editing, for within the first ten or twelve minutes you feel as if you know these archetypal characters (for good or ill), as if you’d already had a full movie’s worth of them under your belt. This is part of the reason why the film sucks you into its vortex, and gets subjectively better as it goes on, even if, objectively, it’s fairly static in terms of plot.

On the downside, Casablanca has not dated well because of its poor special effects (at the level of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1930s British films) and its handling of the black character, Sam. The film may reflect its time fine enough, but there is still a cringe-inducing quality to Dooley Wilson’s slightly above coonish attitude of deference to Rick.

Despite many critics’ claims that the film portrays the two men as equals, this is clearly not so. Sam’s deference is typical of black depictions of the time, as if he had no personal or interior life of his own; it’s as if he exists merely as an extension of his white friend and employer.

In that regard, the worst scene in Casablanca takes place when Bergman’s Ilsa offhandedly refers to Sam as the “boy” who plays piano, even though he’s clearly forty-something years old – a decade and a half or more older than Ilsa herself. The moment is teeth-grinding because, unlike the black characters in Gone with the Wind, there was no reason for Casablanca, which is set in a French colony in Africa, not to reflect the more accepting French attitude toward blacks. Naturally, this aspect dates the film, cementing it to a bygone era in the worst sense, while the lack of other contravening social or aesthetic pluses means this flaw goes unmitigated.

The truth is, the more one cogitates on Casablanca, the more flaws one finds with it, and the lower it sinks in estimation. This serves to point out the power and correctness of being objective when critically evaluating art, because it does not allow personal biases to cloud judgment, pro or con; criticism is analysis, and analysis is always about evaluation, for analysis without evaluation is merely recapitulation and description. What is the point of merely describing a work of art? The art should always be its own best description.

Casablanca poster
Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman on the poster of Michael Curtiz’s Casablanca

Film critic Andrew Sarris claimed that Casablanca was, “the most decisive exception to the auteur theory,” but he was wrong – and wrong for several reasons. First, auteur theory generally applies toward films or filmmakers that are great, and while Casablanca has been claimed as great, no one has ever made that claim for Michael Curtiz. Thus, it’s not an exception to the auteur theory because it’s outside the scope of greatness. Second, greatness is part and parcel of a vision, and vision is, almost by definition, a property only a singular person can have, not a group; thus Sarris’ admission that Casablanca had more than one “auteur” makes it also outside the scope of auteur theory, by definition, not an exception to the theory. In order for something to be an exception it has to fall within the purview of the claim.

In conclusion, Casablanca is a good – if vastly overrated – film mainly on the strength of its wit, pacing (there’s not a dull or “wasted” moment in it), and the acting of Paul Henreid. Yet, it’s not even what I would term a “genre-great” film, whether one considers its genre melodrama, romance, war, or thriller – even were it to fall into the purview of an auteur film. That’s because Casablanca lacks vision, in addition to being a stylistic and narrative hodgepodge. But it does entertain. In fact, the lower your expectations, the more entertaining it seems. Ah, the flicker of illusion!

© Dan Schneider

CASABLANCA (1942). Director: Michael Curtiz. Cast: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Paul Henreid, Claude Rains, Sydney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre, Conrad Veidt, S. Z. Sakall, Dooley Wilson, Joy Page. Screenplay: Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, Howard Koch; from Murray Burnett and Joan Alison’s unproduced play “Everybody Comes to Rick’s”

Note: The views expressed in this article are those of Mr. Schneider, and they may not reflect the views of Alt Film Guide.


You may also like

Leave a Comment

*IMPORTANT*: By using this form you agree with Alt Film Guide's storage and handling of your data (e.g., your IP address). Make sure your comment adds something relevant to the discussion: Feel free to disagree with us, but *thoughtfulness* and *at least a modicum of sanity* are imperative. Abusive, inflammatory, spammy/self-promotional, baseless (spreading mis- or disinformation), and just plain deranged comments will be zapped, and, if we deem appropriate, reported. Lastly, links found in submitted comments will generally be deleted.


Say WHAT? -

Great assessment of an overrated movie. It’s not just me, then.

Kathie Tietze -

What an abysmal, sneering review of a film that represented an era of hopelessness and tragedy. The feelings the actors purveyed were not even mentioned. Rick’s heartbreak over his memories of his time with Ilsa are not something that can be written….they are felt and the audience feels them as a result. I found this picky review to be so disheartening to read that I am sorry I found it. All I wanted to do was to find the one comment that Ingrid Bergman made about not wanting, initially, to be in the movie because she felt it was of so little consequence. And yet it turned out to be one of the most famous roles she ever had in an unforgettable movie. People don’t go to movies to pick them apart scene by scene. They want to see movies that they can escape into, that they can relate to. They want to experience feelings of people they have never met but who lived their lives the best they could in circumstances beyond their control. I’m sorry to have read such a soulless review.

ama2405 -

Sorry, but I have to disagree with RG. I come at it a little differently.

a) First, l want to distinguish between how a character is written up in the script-Ilsa Lund has been given this kind of character, Rick Blaine has that kind-and the way the actors develop the script. I’m contending that the script delivers two characters who act according to the beliefs of their times. In general, men were to be the active partners, not show much emotion. manage & protect their women etc. In general, women were to be passive, show lots of emotion, accept the managing and protecting. etc/ According to norms like these, both Ilsa and Rick behaved the way ideal characters were supposed to behaveback then.

In the past 70 years, relations between men and women have modified themselves. Paul Henreid’s Victor allows Ilsa to say “no” in the Blue Parrot, to turn back questions about Paris, to act as it seems best to her regarding the letters of transit (unlike Rick, Victor promises to go on believing and trusting her no matter what she does or how things seem). As it’s written, his character is less time-bound.

b) Now, how well do the actors put their characters across? I think Bergman does a pretty good job with a pretty dull character-lots of beauty, not much grit-whereas Bogart does a less good job with a more interesting character. His part has more motion and more good lines than, for instance, Henreid’s Victor, but I have to agree with our reviewer, Dan Schneider: Bogart falls back on his mannerisms and doesn’t develop Rick until maybe the end dialog with Ilsa. Best actor of his generation? How about Spencer Tracy, or Gary Cooper, or even Lawrence Olivier? Or, closer up, Paul Henreid, who does a detailed portrit of a tense, buttoned-down man who loves his wife and tries to keep his cool in the midst of a life on the run.

As for patronizing: “Women don’t appreciate Bogart because women see what they want to see.” Well, maybe some do, some don’t: let’s not generalize. But to tell the woman you love that she can’t understand the situation, and maybe won’t if ever. seems kind of patronizing to me. For this women, thank goodness the world has moved on.

MME Corbett -

I really enjoyed this blog because I think it has some of the most perceptive comments about Casablanca, especially about Paul Henreid’s performance. So many people don’t seem to appreciate his work, probably because it was subtle enough that not everyone “gets” it.
I ‘m always surprised how many people think of him as having a very limited range when he was capable of a lot more than Casablanca & Now, Voyager.

RG -

Just buzzing around looking for feminist views on Bogart. What an utter surprise that feminists hate him. I think the fact that without Bogart’s clever heroism in Casablanca both Henreid and Bergman would be dead or headed for the gas chamber in a Polish concentration camp is something this nameless female reviewer has chosen to ignore. The true story of this marvelous film is that almost the entire cast was made up of refugees. Once you learn that the fat bespeckled waiter in real life lost 3 sisters in German concentration camps, you will never look at this movie the same way again. Both Bogart and Rains were WWI veterans. Both were wounded. Was Henreid a better actor than Bogart? He certainly wasn’t good enough to manufacture a Czech accent. Women don’t appreciate Bogart because women see what they want to see. Women love Cary Grant because he appears to be perfect. Bogart doesn’t. Bogart was a bit actor who became a star. His style represented the have-nots. Bogart rarely gets the girl. He gets killed a lot. He’s a crafty loser. He’s a chain smoker and a drunk. He can hardly speak. Yet he remains an american hero, both on film and in life. John Wayne was a deceitful fraud (and no veteran). Bogart, like Lon Cheyney, Paul Muni, and Lee Marvin, was true blue. Women who disregard him are women who don’t see him. A bad actor? He was the greatest actor of his generation. Watch Sahara or Treasure of the Sierra Madre, if you dare. Casablanca is about love, but not Bergman’s. Bergman only loves herself. She sacrifices nothing. Bogart saves her even though she doesn’t deserve it. He gives her up. What he says to her isn’t patronizing. It’s an excuse to get her on the plane. He recognizes the Henreid character will take better care of her. He is being utterly unselfish. Something wrong with that?

ama2405 -

For an interesting reading of the Rick Blaine-Victor Laszlo relationship, and their motivations, you might want to look at Bernard Paris: “Rick, Ilsa and Laszlo: A Closer Look at Characterization in Casablanca.” It’s on the internet, stored under “Casablanca: Characters.”

ama2405 -

I agree that Ilsa’s character is written up as pretty passive & pallid, but I think Dan’s judging her by a post-feminist criterion. Ideal women, Hollywood women, were SUPPOSED to be passive, steered by their men, victims of rageing emotions; men were supposed to be the active, initiative-taking, hard-charging members of a couple, capable of objectivity and reason. That’s why Rick is so sure he is the right one to “think for” both of them, and why he doesn’t give Ilsa any final choice about her future life. That’s what a “strong” American male did back then: manage and protect his woman. (Of course, there were men who were exceptions to this rule, who respected strong women. Paul Henreid was married to Lisl Henreid, who was famous all over Hollywood for her wit and strength. The Henreids enjoyed each other for over 55 years.)

I’m a member of the “silent” generation, and that’s what we rebelled against in the women’s movement of the ’60’s and ’70’s. Rick Blaine’s “You’ll be grateful to me later when/if you can understand my decision for your future” is the kind of paternalism we expected when our men gave orders. But poor Ilsa: back in 1942 a “good” woman-even, in popular culture, a supposedly “normal” woman-was usually supposed to passively accept the destiny offered to her by the fathers, husbands, sons, or lovers in her life. Back then, most of us did, sometimes gratefully, sometimes not. Remember, we weren’t supposed to be set up for decision-making. Again, there were exceptions: Bette Davis played some of them. But Ilsa’s tears were her best resource when arguement failed.

Victor is portrayed as respecting Ilsa’s freedom much more. He lets Ilsa say “no” when he tries to talk her into that single visa in the black market; later he doesn’t press her about what went on in Paris (he knows perfectly well what happens with lonely people in war time.) In the 1940’s, though, he could have been judged as “weak ” for not insisting.

At the end, compassionate and sad, he simply asks, “Are you ready, Ilsa?” Hardly belittling or paternalistic to the wife he’s just been observing, crying her eyes out. One wonders what they’ll talk about on the plane.

ama2405 -

Your analysis & elevation of Paul Henreid’s Victor Lazlo is so on-target. Bogie was just playing Bogie, with the mannerism that he was noted for and that fans paid to enjoy.

Henreid was never that type-cast, rolling from Nazi villains to suave continental lover to tense, tight-focussed resistance hero, who’s dedicated to his Cause, freedom for Europe. At first Victor seems so cool and restrained it’s hard to believe he’s a charismatic leader until he yields to impulse over the Marseillaise. When he lets loose, he has the passion & power to stir audiences 60 years later. Not just Henreid’s eyes but his shoulders, neck and jaw portray what’s going on inside: the wary man entering Rick’s for the first time, tense with his eyes sweeping the room, unlike the next evening when he’s familiar with the scene: he’s more relaxed and ready to try some charm. Or after he gently questions Ilsa about Paris-in vain-and she pops up with her interjection “Victor!” His whole being stiffens in terror at what she’s maybe going to tell him. If she’s going to lie, he doesn’t want to deal with it just now; if she’s going to tell him the truth, he doesn’t want to face that, either. This may be the last time he ever sees her, because he’s on his way to a dangerous meeting. When she changes her mind and just says “Be careful!” you see him relax with relief. A nifty piece of acting.

Victor is what we term a “secular saint”; think Ghandi, or Eleanor Roosevelt, or Dag Hamerskjold. Typically, he isn’t much fun to live with and continually involves himself together with anyone he’s close to. Typically, he’s a manipulator. Typically also, he’s accepting and non-judgmental. Typically, Ilsa probably doesn’t love him as a person, or in an intimate way; the people around secular saints give them awe and admiration as embodiments of causes they believe in. Typically he’s good at setting up support groups; in one evening he forms one at the Cafe after the Marseillaise, and goes off to another with the Resistance group. Unfortunately both groups evaporate on him, so he changes course and offers to sacrifice his own needs to send Ilsa out of danger with his rival, Rick. Because Victor’s focus is far off on the Cause, he doesn’t focus on his own needs or Ilsa’s either, though he needs and adores her. She’s portrayed as the one person he can be vulnerable with, but he’s not good at intimacy. If he can ever let up and relax his sense of total dedication, you wonder what Ilsa will see in him. She’ll have to learn to love him in a new way, and she’s not portrayed as bright enough to learn that. Typically, secular saints push on until they die trying.

We need secular saints to keep us moving in the right direction, and sometimes even getting there. Henreid portrays the layers of such a person with nuance and verve. Why people prefer Bogart’s acting is beyond me.

Michael O'Reilly -

The statement: “there was no reason for Casablanca, which is set in a French colony in Africa, not to reflect the more accepting French attitude toward blacks.” is remarkably naive. Ask the Algerians how accepting the French were. Look closely at contemporary French society. You’ll see as much bigotry in France as anywhere in the world now. it did not appear overnight.

Although this review focuses overly much on Paul Henreid’s eye movements, the question of what makes a great vs. good film is worthy of critical examination, particularly in the case of a film such as Casablanca, where character development is limited.

Schneider seems a bit too enthusiastic in his criticism of Bogart. I would agree that the ending of the film cannot support the big themes suggested within it. The tension between personal desires and patriotism/freedom fighting is, in my opinion, rich enough to make a great movie. Bogart’s performance may be part of the reason that film’s story does not completely elucidate big themes in an emotionally or intellectually satisfying way, but that’s more the fault of the script than the actor. Watch Maltese Falcon again. With better lines, Bogey can deliver.

Fredrik Gustafsson -

Some commentators have already made some valid observations, such as Casablanca does in fact have themes, some of which are rather important.

But since you mentioned Ingmar Bergman several times, I’ll just say that Bergman was a great fan of Curtiz, and in the 40s he was influenced by his work, in particular his style. But you can see it even in the late 60s. Because Curtiz had a style. You’ll notice it if you compare Curtiz with Raoul Walsh for example, at their Warner Bros. periods. I once zapped through the channels and came across a film I didn’t recognise. A watch for a few minutes and then though “It’s probably Curtiz.” Then I had a look in the TV-guide. I was not wrong, and yet it was a film I hadn’t seen before. One thing about Curtiz is his expressionistic style, excessive use of shadows (for example it’s much more of it here than in The Maltese Falcon, also shot by Edeson but directed by John Huston). He also uses edgy camera movements, not a friend of lingering takes. You said that nobody has said that Curtiz was a great director, or auteur. That’s wrong. Peter Wollen for one is a fan, and has written an essay explaining why Curtiz can be regarded as an auteur. As has James Robertson and Paul Leggett. When Curtiz made Captain Blood, it went over budget because Curtiz “wanted to stamp his personality all over it”. And Curtiz was usually engaged in the script writing process, even on Casablanca. As for themes, he had a socially conscious agenda, champion of underdogs and revolutionaries.

You also said about Ingrid Bergman’s acting that she was too young and inexperienced when she made Casablanca. That’s a bit silly, since she had been a great star and a great actress in Swedish cinema for 10 years before she came to Hollywood.

But all of this is irrelevant as to whether Casablanca is a good film or a bad film. Personally I think it is OK, but it’s not exactly on my top 100 list, or even top 200. But that’s just me.

Dr. Rob Prince -

As a film studies professor, I confessed to being a bit shocked at the lack of understanding about Casablanca exhibited by the article’s author. He is of course entitled to his opinion and expresses it very well. However, it would take me an entire article to engage in a rebuttal. I came across this article while searching for more references about this great film because I’m screening it for my class this next Thursday.

Tyrone Revere -

Thank you, this was a wonderful review. I look forward to following your work from now on. Especially enjoyed your bold (and dead-on) observation of your impostor peerage.

Mike -

“…Ilsa is beautiful, but she is no more beautiful than many of the other female characters that inhabit Rick’s bar…” !!!

Are you joking Dear Dan ?! Bergman’s beauty in CASABLANCA is unique. I can’t compare her to any other female characters in Rick’s bar. She was really one of the most beautiful actresses ever. I’m sure that many people enjoy watching Casablanca because of Ingrid Bergman’s natural beauty.

Nan Pers -

Enjoyed the reviews. Bacall at Defying Mainstream website most likely would too.

Colleen -

Well, you certainly know your film criticism, but YOU JUST DON’T GET IT. ” Casablanca” is agit-prop which transcends the limitations of its genre, made shortly after Pearl Harbor, when it looked like the Nazis might win. It’s as unfair to fault it for not having the emotional distance of postwar films like “Paths of Glory” or ” It’s a Wonderful Life” as it is to criticize “Birth of a Nation” for being politically incorrect by the standards of 2009.

You come across as someone who is either too young or too cynical to have suffered to defend your principles, and your inability to grasp the dueling national anthems scene is what gives you away. Speaking as the daughter of a veteran, someone who saw her high school classmates drafted, and who spent years doing relief and development work in Africa, I feel your different history makes it hard for you to understand the film.

Performing a banned national anthem is a political act of great courage, because IT CAN GET YOU KILLED ON THE SPOT. And Curtiz the Hungarian emigré understood this. He made good use of music to advance the story, just as the contrasting musical styles and rhythms in “Battle of Algiers” reveal the different goals and world views of the French and Algerians.

I agree with you about Henreid’s acting but disagree about the others. I’m sure you know Bergman was directed to “play it down the middle,” since the screenplay was being written just a day ahead of the shooting. But I think what you see as limitations are Curtiz’s choices,again informed by his experience. The actors are meant to be icons: Elsa symbolizes Occupied Europe, Rick is the USA - and thus uncertain about the depth of his commitment until the end. The same is true for the rest of the cast.

Just as “Liberty Leading the People” is both propaganda and a remarkable painting and “The Marseillaise” is a genuinely stirring national anthem, “Casablanca” is a war movie and yet so much more. Watch a contemporary newsreel and then give it another chance.

Marcus Tucker -

I think Casablanca is one of the most abysmally boring movies ever made. The only think even remotely great about that film is Ingrid Bergman’s face. Casablanca being ranked as the greatest film “of all time” is one of the purest examples of cowardly people afraid of expressing their own opinions.


This website uses cookies to improve your experience. If you continue browsing, that means you've accepted our Terms of Use/use of cookies. You may also click on the Accept button on the right to make this notice disappear. AcceptRead More