Word: casablanca
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...THINK THAT Bogart was the catalyst. In each film after Casablanca. Bogart played a role outlined by Chandler. Yet the role was so much in own stylistically, and he emphasized it so much in film after film, that Bogart became our idea of Philip Marlowe, no matter whom he played. That is, he contributed as much to the public's perception of Marlowe as Chandler. Rick Leland and Marlowe are remarkable similar, even though Casabalanca was released before Chandler achieved any popularity. Aloofness merged with compassion, ruthlessness with a unique sense of justice, cynicism with a deep sense of morality...
...Casablanca. Bogart. Why the Brattle brings this crowdpleaser back season in and season out I don't want to know. Why people pack the house I don't like, except on especially good days when nothing can phase me. Only then will the audience stock responses--"Play it, Sam", howls--rub off as some sort of togetherness high that is very very funny. On normal days the movie takes the most self-indulgent of campy spirits to be endured. Brattle...
...Casablanca. Bogart. Why the Brattle brings this crowdpleaser back season in and season out I don't want to know. Why people pack the house I don't like, except on especially good days when nothing can phase me. Only then will the audience stock responses--"Play it, Sam", howls--rub off as some sort of togetherness high that is very very funny. On normal days the movie takes the most self-indulgent of campy spirits to be endured. Brattle...
...undertones of the heavies, of intellectual riffraff at its most sincere and heart of heart having it outs. Everybody eavesdrops, it is licensed voyeurism. The Window Shop (56 Brattle St.) is an outdoor cafe that provides a front row bleacher seat as to who's who at the Casablanca (where the preppies hang out for their booze). Grendel's Den (on Boylston St. across from the Hungry Persian) is a basement coffee house with great spicy shiskebab, an endless selection of the most select folk rock albums, and some of the most carelessly elegant counterculture waiters around...
This is not the place to argue with Peter C. Berg as to whether all showings of Casablanca are for educational purpose. I cannot, however, let pass his aspersions on my sentimentality. I am, Sir, a man who weeps at the playing of the Marseillaise each time he sees Casablanca (fourteen times, at most recent count), and I would gladly abandon my writs and demurrers to follow Ilsa Lund to the ends of the earth. I do not know who Mr. Berg may have in mind as a man whose heart is his least vulnerable spot. I suggest he round...