No sun on the New Jersey Shore for the third day in a row. Figures. As soon as The Famous Author and I begin our vacation, the rains come and stay like a complaining mother-in-law. So it was that TFA and I found ourselves in front of the television early in the afternoon today, and--oh, boy--we found our favorite movie.
It's a great story, well told, for a bunch of reasons, including: (a) Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman; (b) the sad ending in which true love is denied for the greater good; and (c) the mystery of Bogie and Ingrid's backstory, explained, finally, in a perfectly set-up flashback. (She makes Sam play the song; then Bogie makes Sam play the song, Bogie's eyes get misty, and suddenly we're back in Paris as Sam plays the song and the Germans take the city.)
Gosh, it's a romantic movie. The way they look at each other, but we don't know why. The pressure and danger of encroaching war. Who she's married to, why Bogie is torn between the girl and the cause. How he doesn't know the full story until...
Like so many treasured books and movies, Casablanca wasn't a big hit when it came out. Only over time has this studio-scripted tale become the classic that it is.