The fundamental things apply
No other word for it: Friday night was cool. Lori and I went after hours to Smithsonian's American History museum, sipped champagne served by a man in a fez, watched the premiere of Warner Brothers' beautiful, digital restoration of Casablanca, and heard Bogart's son speak of dad.
We happened to get tickets after colleague Erica came across tickets and posted a Facebook APB. The restoration is stunning. The New York Post's chief film critic was at the event as well and fell in love with the darks and details. You can see them in a Blu-Ray release in late March.
The movie played in the museum's new theater, courtesy Warner Bros. The theater is medium-sized with no stadium seats or cupholders. But it has a regal sense likely to serve it well. The picture is ultra-crisp. The seats may be the most comfortable movie seats in Washington. I'm not just saying that, either. Last week kicked my butt. The seats revived it.
What I had forgotten of Casablanca – and what I most appreciated of a fresh viewing — were the geographic range and the consistently great writing. On the range, it's easy to remember the bar, the train station and the airport. It's harder, maybe years past your last viewing on the small screen, to recall the streets, the police office, or just how far the bar stretches. Like Rick, the movie never seeks scope but establishes a world within through small moments and errands. On the film's writing, yes, it's Casablanca. But the film proves itself to you again like no other.
Captain Renault: What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?
Rick: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.
Captain Renault: The waters? What waters? We're in the desert.
Rick: I was misinformed.
Fez bartender.
From Warner Brothers' clip-reel before the movie. High-def, people.
Stephen Bogart, who looked more like his father than I expected.
In the lobby, Rick's ice bucket and the movie's Best Picture Oscar.
