As Time Goes By: 80 Years Since Casablanca

Isaac Coon

With the coming of the Second World War, many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, or desperately, to the freedom of the Americas. Lisbon became the great embarkation point, but not everybody could get to Lisbon directly, and so a Refugee Trail sprang up. Paris to Marseilles, across the Mediterranean to Oran, then across the rim of Africa to Casablanca in French Morocco. Here, the fortunate ones through money, or influence, or luck, might obtain exit visas and scurry to Lisbon. But the others wait in Casablanca… and wait… and wait… maintains a policy of neutrality in his cafe, an analogy for America’s own policy of isolationism prior to the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

The beginning of this year, specifically January 23, marks the 80th anniversary of the release of Casablanca in the United States. Released right at the peak of Hollywood’s Golden Age and adapted from the unproduced stage play Everybody Comes to Rick’s, the movie is often cited as one of the greatest movies ever made.

It may be tempting to say that this is just another word and that we should disregard the inherent problems involved with the concept. After all, this is a word that will likely stick around for a good length of time while its meaning is slowly shaped into a stable form. Yet there is inherent danger associated with ignoring the broader social implications of a word. Not all words are created equal. For instance, there are some words that are unprintable and would probably cause our Editor-in-Chief, Seth, to descend from the heavens and smite me on the spot. In truth, using the word rizz probably will not cause a broader societal collapse, but it is worth understanding what we are saying and the ideas we are espousing. To rizz or not to rizz is up for debate, but however the cards fall, I think it goes without saying that we should think before we speak. More people should learn that.

Set in 1941, during Nazi Germany’s occupation of France and prior to America’s involvement in the war, the story follows the cynical Rick Blaine, an American expatriate who owns the club, Rick’s Café Américain, in Casablanca. The French Vichy government of Morocco, while politically distinct from occupied Metropolitan France, is in cooperation with Hitler’s Nazi Party. Consequently, the film opens with the murders of two German officers in Casablanca and the arrival of the Nazi Major Strasser by plane. Despite the political unrest surrounding him, Rick

Rick has come into the possession of two letters of transit, signed by a high-ranking French general, allowing for unrestricted travel across all of Europe: priceless commodities to the refugees of Casablanca. His secluded world is further upset when Ilsa Lund, the former love of his life and the source of his cynicism, walks into his club. To add insult to injury, she is joined by her now husband, Victor Laszlo, a freedom fighter and a leading figure of the French Resistance. They have both come to Rick’s to procure the mythical letters of transit and catch the last plane to leave Casablanca, hoping that Laszlo can continue his work in America, outside the grip of the Gestapo.

A cynic, an old flame, and her idealist husband?

Yes, that is right, at the heart of Casablanca is one of those dreaded love triangles we have all grown to hate. Indeed, Casablanca has melodrama in its veins, right down to the music that swells as Ilsa goes from pointing a gun at Rick to falling into his arms and declaring her love for him. The movie is, by all accounts, a cheesy chick flick. Remember that the next time some pretentious douche like me walks around calling it one of the greatest films of all time.

But Casablanca is more than just the problems of three little people. It is a slice of life from the past, a place not so long ago, a window into another time. If you could describe the movie in a single word that would be the word to use: time. Rick and Ilsa’s love story, told through flashbacks, was cut short by the outbreak of the war. If only there was another time, they wonder. So many people’s lives were ruined and uprooted—people both good and bad, on the run from the ultimate evil of the Third Reich.

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I could not imagine being put in that position. You hear so often from people today that their families moved long ago to America or to Canada after Hitler’s invasion of Europe. I cannot imagine staying behind—or, even worse, getting left behind—and I cannot imagine being in that place, waiting to get out, stuck in Casablanca to wait . . . and wait . . .

But Casablanca captures the time so well because it was made at that time. Filming began in May of 1941, and the movie’s premiere was rushed in order to capitalize on the ongoing Allied invasion of North Africa. It is not a period piece, the way Dunkirk (2017) or Hacksaw Ridge (2016) are period pieces of the same war (although, on different fronts). No, Casablanca is not a period piece; it is the period.

It is not just about the time; it is the time. Rick’s eventual turn from cynicism to rediscovered idealism reflects and argues for America’s then involvement in the war, but so much of the anxiety and the wait, the time of the movie, reflects the real uncertainty people felt about the ongoing war, a war that might have ended in Nazi victory.

Yet the war is almost always in the background of the movie. We never see a battlefield, per se, but we feel the gasp and the holding of breath, the uncertainty over whether the free world would prevail, and whether or not it would prevail in one piece. So much of the emotion depicted on screen is just . . . real. Something not always explicitly said, but something right in the movie’s bones that’s heartbreakingly real.

In one of the movie’s most memorable scenes, a meeting between Rick and Laszlo is interrupted when they hear the German officers, led by Major Strasser, singing “Die Wacht am Rhein,” a traditional song of German patriotism that was appropriated by the Nazis. Enraged, Laszlo approaches the cafe’s house band. resilience of the French people during this time. These moments of high drama are also punctuated with a kind of intelligent wit and humour that always seem to populate these old movies. In what is perhaps one of the greatest exchanges of dialogue, following the singing of “La Marseillaise” and leading into the movie’s final act, the unashamedly corrupt Captain Renault is forced by Major Strasser to close Rick’s cafe.

“Play ‘La Marseillaise.’ Play it!” he demands. With a quick nod of approval from Rick, the band plays the French national anthem. At first, it is only Laszlo singing, but soon it is the whole cafe singing together, the French refugees smothering their German occupants. The German officers try to sing louder, but they are soon overwhelmed by the crowd, and they sit down, defeated.

“How can you close me up? On what grounds?” Rick protests.

“I am shocked,” Renault says, morally appalled, “shocked to find that there is gambling going on in here!” Not half a second after saying this, a croupier hands Renault a wad of cash.

“Your winnings, sir.”

“Oh, thank you very much. Everybody out of here, at once!”

The scene is memorable because its message is clear: only by working together can we overcome tyranny. But the importance of the scene runs even deeper. During the scene, the camera focuses on Yvonne, played by actress Madeleine LeBeau, who is tearing up while singing the French anthem. Notably, the script does not call for this. At a time when Germany still occupied France, when Nazi soldiers still marched through the streets of Paris, many of the French refugees never knew if they would see their homeland free again. They never knew if they would sing “La Marseillaise” again; many on the run were afraid to. LeBeau, the last surviving credited cast member, was also an actual French refugee, as many of the extras in this scene were. Her presence during the scene is important because the anguish she expresses is real. And all this from a character that has around three lines of dialogue in total. The role she plays is small, but LeBeau’s story is a testament to the