Abstract
“Casablanca,” released to coincide with the Allied invasion of North Africa, seems particularly sensitive to its historical context. Indeed, the filmic “text” is all but universally read as the triumph of history over romance. This paper posits, however, that the respect for the demands of history, those seemingly promoted by the film—its apparent questioning, in the context of impending world historical disaster, of the continued relevance of the same old Hollywood stories—is functionally indistinguishable from its commitment to the sexual politics of those stories. The erotic trumps the historical, even as history serves as an alibi for erotic revenge. “Casablanca” is, as it turns out (and as the artists turn it out), the same old story—an exposition of female crime (infidelity) and punishment.
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Notes
Eco (1979) argues that “Casablanca” “is not one movie. It is movies,” a veritable compendium of cinematic clichés (208–209). Rick himself seems to acknowledge the cliché in which he is nevertheless swept up: “With the whole world crumbling, we pick this time to fall in love.”
Barker (1984) argues that Areopagitica marks both a decisive caesura in the history of censorship (from what came after as well as before, as its recommendations were not immediately implemented) and a new formulation of the relation of the state to social life. In what is generally taken to be an impassioned polemic against censorship—but which Barker construes as an argument for its reconceptualization and reintroduction in less overt forms—censorship is, for the first time, guaranteed by an apparent withdrawal, however limited, of state control from the production and dissemination of discourse (48).
A uniform national standard, “voluntarily” adopted, protected the industry from the even more draconian measures proposed by local and state authorities.
Vonalt (1991) is one of the few critics who acknowledges “the obscene supplement” to Rick’s nobility: “there is a hint of cruelty in putting her [Ilsa] through such emotional turmoil to get her to confess his love for him and then tossing her over to Laszlo” (64).
Shumway (2003) makes the case that “Casablanca” and “Gone with the wind” more or less tell “the same story” (pp. 110–130).
Ray (1985) reads “Casablanca” as a displaced Western, that most American of all genres, and Westerns do not characteristically allow their protagonists permanent erotic entanglements. Thus, like any number of characters before him, Rick must escape the lure of the domestic, the feminine, the civilized (pp. 89–112). “Casablanca” ends with a beginning, “the start of a beautiful friendship,” a journey toward a French free garrison that is the movie’s perilous compromise between the demands of heroic individualism and social responsibility. (The garrison is at once a symbol of political engagement and an unexplored frontier, an embodiment of the social and a properly masculine alternative to it.) The start of the beautiful friendship is also the start of a “buddy movie,” a “bromance,” and one of the cinema’s greatest love stories devolves into a world without women that is nevertheless, or consequently, perfectly heterosexual.
This is Harry Reasoner’s characterization of the plot of “Casablanca,” from his homage to the film on “60 minutes”; as quoted in Harmetz (2002, p. 351).
The “atemporality” of the Parisian idyll finds its dark counterpart in Rick’s treatment of Yvonne early in the movie:
Yvonne: Where were you last night?
Rick: That’s so long ago, I don’t remember.
Yvonne: Will I see you tonight?
Rick: I never make plans that far ahead.
“Casablanca” transformed Bogart’s career, much to the chagrin of his co-star, Paul Henreid: “Before “Casablanca” he was nobody. He was the fellow Robinson or Cagney would say “Get him.” Bogart was a mediocre actor. He was so sorry for himself in “Casablanca.” Unfortunately, Michael Curtiz was not a director of actors; … he could not tell Bogart he should not play like a crybaby. It was embarrassing.” From a private interview between Henreid and Harmetz; as quoted in Harmetz (2002, p. 97). There is no doubt a strong element of sour grapes here–“Casablanca” did not transform Henreid’s career—but he does have a point. Before “Casablanca,” Bogart was a poor man’s Jimmy Cagney, a more or less conventional tough guy. “Casablanca” established him into a romantic lead. Apparently what Henreid found embarrassing our culture found compelling.
In “Gone with the wind,” Rhett abandons Scarlett on the road to Tara to take up arms in a cause that he had hitherto treated with irony. He does so, moreover, in the full knowledge that the South is doomed. Sentimentality trumps ideology, and sentimentality can issue in some highly problematic politics.
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Morrison, P. “It’s still the same old story”: “Casablanca,” history, and the erotic. Neohelicon 40, 209–223 (2013). https://doi.org/10.1007/s11059-013-0179-8
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DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/s11059-013-0179-8