Bette Davis: Twins Times Two!

Bette Davis does twins twice: 1946's 'A Stolen Life' and in 1964's 'Dead Ringer.'

Bette Davis not only started a favorite Hollywood casting stunt, playing twins, but Davis did the sister act twice: 1946’s A Stolen Life and 1964’s Dead Ringer.

Both pictures were made by Bette’s long-time studio, Warner Brothers. The ‘46 A Stolen Life was Davis’ career peak, Bette’s biggest hit at the studio. With the ’64 edition, Davis had made a huge comeback with 1962’s Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? WB only released but didn’t make the surprise hit. This time, Warners’ bit and produced Dead Ringer. Compared to A Stolen Life, Dead Ringer wasn’t a bell ringer. Still, both films are fun, especially for Bette fans.

1964's campy 'Dead Ringer' was playing directly to those 'Baby Jane' people!

A Stolen Life is a dreamy romantic triangle set on the scenic New Bedford, Massachusetts coast versus Dead Ringer’s harsh Los Angeles is a backdrop for wrangling over money, sex, and murder. Whereas A Stolen Life has gentle Freddie as the family counselor to the rich twin sisters, Dead Ringer’s Edie goes from her true blue cop boyfriend to a snake pit of cheaters and chiselers. 

A romantic melodrama, A Stolen Life has lighthouse keeper Bill (Glenn Ford) actually refer to artist Kate as an un-frosted cake! Soon he finds a more complete confection in her man-eater twin, Pat. Bette’s sympathetic Kate is really the star of A Stolen Life. Davis’ devious twin Pat is brought in to stir up trouble before she’s dispatched in a boating accident.

Davis enlisted Glenn Ford, just back from the war, as her leading man in 'A Stolen Life.' Here's Bette as Kate.

Glenn Ford, who was borrowed from Columbia, is quietly appealing, but I’m not sure why producer Bette insisted on casting him. After artsy Kate loses Bill to crafty Pat, she becomes close to rough and rugged artist, Karnock, played by Dane Clark, a typical WB alpha male. Aside from brutally critiquing her art, Karnock takes personal jabs at Pat, all about her not being “a real woman!” Ironically, Davis would soon marry a rough and tough artist in real life!

Dane Clark, with Davis, as the brooding artist whose specialty is making sexist remarks!

Bruce Bennett, Mildred Pierce’s Bert, shows up for just one scene, as Pat’s extramarital lover. Surely Bennett’s part got cut for running time and WB didn’t force him to appear for a scene anyone could have played?

Charles Ruggles offers some reality amidst the farfetched dual/dueling sisters plotting, as family retainer Freddie. Ruggles is sympathetic and no-nonsense, a warm screen presence. There are a typical slew of great characters, including scene stealer Walter Brennan, as a crusty light house keeper. Auntie Em herself, aka Clara Blandick, shows up as the stingy antique store owner.

Romantic and lush, the script attempts to be adult and sophisticated, which it may have been in the ‘40s. Now, some of the lines are cringe-worthy. The photography is lovely, especially the light house scenes. The boating accident, for the era, is also well-done.

Bette Davis as Kate and Pat Bosworth in 'A Stolen Life.' There's an excellent biographer named Patricia Bosworth!

Most notable is that Bette gives restrained performances as the rival twins. The differences are subtle between Kate and Pat, especially in their style. But in characterization, Kate is emotionally subdued and self-doubting, whereas Pat is flirtatious and self-assured. This is again proof that Bette Davis could be subtle when playing sympathetic, as in Now, Voyager or The Great Lie.

The bad sister wears black and the modest sister wears frumpy!

However, there is absolutely nothing subtle about Dead Ringer.

Bette as bar owner Edie, who resents her rich sister. Notice Davis with her own hair,  and willing to look dowdy.

This time out, the twin dramatics cuts to the chase. Modest Edie attends the funeral of long-lost love—lost to her flamboyant twin sister Margaret. The bad sister swept good sister’s beau Frank DeLorca off his feet, and claimed pregnancy to get him to marry her. The sisters reunite after the funeral and its fireworks rather than a lovefest. On the way home, Edie finds out from the chauffeur that there was no DeLorca child born, not even a pregnancy. This sets the long suffering sister off and she demands the conniving sibling to meet at her upstairs apartment. Edie plans to get even!

Here's Davis as devious sister Margaret DeLorca. Notice the subtle original title of 'Dead Ringer.'

Pay attention to the scene where Bette Davis, as Edie, combs out her baby fine hair to resemble her glamorous twin, Margaret. With a little bit of teasing, voila! Edie’s coif now looks just like her sister's lush page boy wig.

Catch the moment when Margaret is summoned by bar owner sis Edie. When the rich bitch looks around her sister’s modest little abode, Edie asks rhetorically, "A dump?" Unlike Bette's mild mutter of “What a dump!” in Beyond the Forest, here Davis gives it that Virginia Woolf over-emphasis!

Davis was directed in 'Dead Ringer' by Paul Henreid, one of Bette's favorite co-stars.

Neither movie makes any sense as to why the "good" sister would want to take the bad sister's place. In A Stolen Life, Kate could just wait and win Bill back, once Pat has accidentally drowned. Kate, who has survived, wakes up with her sister’s wedding ring. So, she decides to go for it—and finds out that her sexy sister wasn’t exactly good wife material. In Dead Ringer, Edie's cop beau adores her and wants to marry her, and start a chicken ranch. I guess the struggling bar owner wants to be rich more? And walking in her sister’s shoes is even more troublesome than in A Stolen Life.

Bette pleads her case in plaid in 'Dead Ringer.' Designer Donfeld's lucky The Fashion Police weren't around then!

Dead Ringer's costume designer, "Donfeld," whipped up designs for Davis in Ringer are baggy, boxy, and just plain bad.

Time magazine was acidic but accurate about Bette's latter day attempt at glamour: "Exuberantly uncorseted, Davis' torso looks like a gunnysack full of galoshes. Coarsely “cosmeticked,” her face looks like a U-2 map of Utah."

George Macready: "Bette, is that gown from the Helena Cassadine collection?"

Despite the strenuous efforts of Edith Head, favorite cinematographer Ernest Haller, and Gene Hibbs' embalming glamour makeup, Bette as a glamour girl looks like drag queen Charles Pierce. I never thought Hibbs' face lift tapes and "painting" makeup were flattering. However, if you see candid shots of stars like Davis, who lived hard, this was about the only solution at the time. Plastic surgery had come in to vogue, but Bette, like some other old-school stars, held out until much later, when such procedures became common place.

Sadly, Peter Lawford didn't get the Gene Hibbs "contouring" and skin tape treatment like Bette!

Then there was the age game. Davis' characters were young adults, who came to blows over the same man 18 years ago, near the end of WWII. This puts Edie and Maggie at 40ish in '63, the time of the filming. Also odd is the painting of Frank DeLorca, the stolen deceased husband. One might assume he'd be about the same age as Edie and Margaret. But the painting looks like an old man.

This sums up Bette's glamour regime in a nutshell: cigarette in one hand, lipstick in the other!

Davis was 55 during filming, pretending to be a woman just past 40. The big problem was Davis looked a decade older. I always thought it absurd when Bette claimed to be the perfect Martha for 1966’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Imagine Davis dirty dancing with George Segal. Or flinging her boobs in his face—first Bette would have to put on a bra—or they’d be hitting Segal’s kneecaps!

The last time Davis looked great on film: 'A Stolen Life.' After that, Bette seemed to age prematurely.

Interestingly, A Stolen Life is the last time Bette Davis looked great on film. In Bette’s next movie, Deception, 38-year-old Davis was pregnant, ill, and stressed out over her violent artist husband. And her looks never recovered. Davis seldom played younger, but when she did, as in Beyond the Forest and Dead Ringer, when she couldn't pull off a facsimile of youth. This wouldn’t have stopped Crawford, who still had the bone structure and trim figure to slightly suspend disbelief. The right age actress, Lana Turner, then in her early 40s, turned this down, who was riding high in Ross Hunter glamour soaps.

Karl Malden as Edie’s Jim is a rock of reality and his Columbo-esque doggedness is delightful to watch. You keep waiting for Bette to belt him one!

Peter Lawford was only 40 when he appeared in 'Dead Ringer,' and this is a flattering picture!

More eye-opening than Bette’s aged appearance is Peter Lawford’s as Maggie’s gigolo. The ‘40s teen heartthrob was more famous in the early ‘60s as a Kennedy brother-in-law. Shockingly, Lawford was only 40 when he played Tony. Puffy, paunchy, and jowly, his heavy drinking and smoking is sorely evident here. Two years later, in The Oscar, Peter played a washed up actor, reduced to working as a restaurant host.

Jean Hagen is a long way from Singin’ in the Rain as the caricature of a shallow society pal to Margaret. Hagen’s a whirling dervish of deviled ham here. And Estelle Winwood, Cyril Delevanti, George Macready, all offer solid support.

Caption this picture! Karl Malden is solid as true blue cop in 'Dead Ringer.'

Paul Henreid, one of Bette’s favorite co-stars, directed Davis with care, and Dead Ringer as a tight, entertaining melodrama. Davis drives Dead Ringer as a star vehicle and convincingly creates two distinct characters once again. Davis uses her old vocal trick of raising her voice to suggest youth and vanity as diva Margaret DeLorca. Unlike Joan Crawford or Lana Turner, Bette Davis was more concerned about characterization than looking glamorous. So it’s admirable that as Edie—while Bette has Hibbs-lite makeup—Davis wears her own hair, frumpy clothes, and lets it all hang out. That morgue shot with the dead sister is startling, as it presents Davis cosmetically au naturale.

You can't say Bette Davis didn't have guts, allowing herself to be seen this way, as the dead sister.

As underdog Edie, Davis actually makes you care, with a real performance. As Margaret, Bette gives the “big” performance that Davis felt fans wanted. Dead Ringer gives you the best of both Bettes—good and bad.

My blogger friend Poseidon has often penned pieces on the ‘80s and ‘90s many bad TV remakes of movie classics. Well, Dead Ringer is no classic, but compared to the ridiculous Ann Jillian remake Killer in the Mirror, it’s Oscar material! Which you can watch on YouTube, if you dare. Check out Poseidon's take on TV remakes:

https://neptsdepths.blogspot.com/2017/12/sorry-wrong-movie.html

What’s your best Bette for Davis as twins? Watch A Stolen Life for romance and Bette looking her best. And see Davis work the diva routine like nobody’s business in Dead Ringer.

Love this shot of Glenn and Bette, looking great on the set of 'A Stolen Life.'

Now, Voyager 1942

Bette Davis in her greatest sympathetic role, as Charlotte Vale, in 1942's 'Now, Voyager.'

Warner Brothers’ most famous slogan for their top star, Bette Davis, stuck with her: “Nobody’s as good as Bette when she’s bad!” However, Now, Voyager is proof that nobody’s as good as Bette when she’s “good,” as well.

Bette's critics claim that Davis only shines when playing showy villainesses. True, some of Bette’s very best roles were bad to the bone, like Of Human Bondage, Jezebel, The Letter, The Little Foxes, and Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

Bette Davis as browbeaten and beetle-browed old maid Charlotte Vale.

Now, Voyager shows that Davis could be just as brilliant playing a sympathetic, complex role. Bette’s Charlotte Vale goes from a neurotic spinster to a stylish but insecure socialite to finally, a self-assured, independent woman. Davis takes Vale through an emotional minefield: a monster mother, a kind but married lover, and a rich but dull fiancée. And Davis’ character evolves every step of the way. Even after her “cure,” Charlotte is still uncertain, a voyager in uncharted waters. Had this been a MGM production, with Joan Crawford or Norma Shearer, Charlotte Vale would have been fine and dandy after her therapy and makeover!

Paul Henreid as Jerry meets Bette Davis' Charlotte Vale on an ocean cruise. Yes, their journey becomes romantic!

Though Now, Voyager’s plot is pure soap, the story still resonates with emotional truth and empathy. Bette Davis once wrote that she never received as much fan mail as she did for Now, Voyager, with people writing about their own tyrannical family members.

Now, Voyager is classic '40s cinema, yet certain attitudes are forward-thinking. Though some critics at the time complained that the finale reeked of soapy self-sacrifice, Charlotte’s decision to remain a single woman, instead of marrying for convenience, and enjoy what happiness she can, seems smart to me. Most significant is that Now, Voyager may be the first film to deal with psychiatry in a serious way.

Gladys Cooper is great as monstrous mother Mrs. Vale, to Bette's daughter.

At the core of Now, Voyager are two great performances, by Bette as the oppressed daughter Charlotte, and Gladys Cooper as the overbearing matriarch, Mrs. Vale. Davis, never afraid to look bad for a role, is an overweight, frumpy, beetle-browed old maid at the film’s beginning. Davis makes the metamorphosis from spinster Charlotte to stylish social butterfly, with the help of her great WB crew: Orry-Kelly’s brilliant costumes; Sol Polito’s beautiful cinematography; Perc Westmore’s expert makeup; and Maggie Donovan’s hairstyles.  

The other classic performance is by Gladys Cooper, as the monstrous mother, Mrs. Vale. Cooper was 54 at the time, but plays the aged Boston society woman with malice and occasional high-handed humor. I’m always riveted by Cooper’s Mrs. Vale, especially in the scenes where she browbeats poor Charlotte. Gladys Cooper gives a fully-dimensional performance, and is a great foil to Davis’ beleaguered heroine. No surprise then that Davis and Cooper were both Oscar-nominated.

Claude Rains, superb as always, as no-nonsense Doctor Jaquith.

However, the entire cast of Now, Voyager is terrific. Claude Rains as Doctor Jaquith is another one of his great star character roles. In an era of typecasting, Rains was so lucky to have reigned with the complex roles he got to play. His Doctor Jaquith is sympathetic but strong-minded, speaking his mind to the bully mother, while gently keeping the daughter on course. Paul Henreid earned his leading man stripes in Now, Voyager as Jerry, the married man saddled with a witch of a wife. Henreid has never been as warm and appealing as he is here—Paul and Bette make a memorably mature couple. I recall reading that Davis said she thought Charlotte would continue working with Doctor Jaquith, a lovely thought.

Ilka Chase and Bonita Granville are bright spots as always, as Vale family members who watch Charlotte's transformation with amazement.

Bette Davis with scene-stealer Mary Wickes as wickedly funny nurse, Dora.

A special shout out to Mary Wickes, who made her film debut in 1942, in six movies! The classic character comedienne plays Dora, the no-nonsense, sassy nurse who expertly deals with the cranky Mrs. Vale. Wickes' trademark humor took off from here, working all the way to her death in 1995, in Postcards from the Edge, Little Women, and the Sister Act movies. This is also one of three films she made with Davis—The Man Who Came to Dinner and June Bride, as well as Now, Voyager. Charlotte’s classic line to the crafty nurse, who runs interference: “Dora, I suspect you’re a treasure.”

And on a Michigan note, a nod to one-time Detroit TV 50 movie host, Bill Kennedy, who had a bit role as Hamilton Hunneker. He’s the polo player who escorts Davis' Charlotte off the cruise ship. Kennedy looks handsome in a Robert Taylor type of way, charming in his cameo role—certainly more appealing than wooden John Loder, who plays Bette’s prospective groom.

Now, Voyager is of the most romantic movies of the ‘40s, helped immeasurably by Max Steiner’s lovely score. The refrain became the hit song, ‘It Can’t Be Wrong,’ a wartime favorite. Steiner won an Oscar for his work here. Irving Rapper directs stylishly and Casey Robinson’s screenplay is filled with memorable lines. Now, Voyager is Warner Brothers’ studio era filmmaking cooking on all burners.

After the cinematic Cinderella makeover: Bette rarely appeared more beautiful on film.

The final scene of Now, Voyager is one of the most memorable in movies: Jerry lights two cigarettes, for both Charlotte and himself, while musing over their romantic dilemma. Charlotte replies, as the camera sweeps out the window, into the night sky: “Oh, Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

No matter how many times I watch that scene, my heart always melts. Now, Voyager is a movie trip well worth taking.

The stars shine brightly in 'Now, Voyager.'

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Deception 1946

1946 'Deception' recap: Bette with gun & shoulderpads, conductor Claude killed, & Paul Henreid as a jealous cellist!

I often watched 1946’s Deception, a twisted triangle set to classical music, on the afternoon movies while growing up. This Warner Brothers melodrama seemed very grownup to a ‘70s high school kid.

After not seeing Deception for decades, I re-watched the sudsy drama recently, and managed to make it half way through, before giving up in exasperation.

Claude Rains steals 'Deception' as the catty conductor, Alexander Hollenius.

Deception has a dazzling cast—Bette Davis, Paul Henreid, and especially Claude Rains—tangling with one another in a jealous triangle that leads to murder. The acting is fine, but the trio is done in by a premise that is patently unbelievable.

Bette Davis is Christine Radcliffe, a struggling pianist who lost her lover, cellist Karel Novak (Paul Henreid), in Europe five years ago to a concentration camp. Relocated in post-war NYC, Christine rediscovers Karel after the war, when she sees his name in a concert review. Speaking of names, Christine tells Karel that she took Radcliffe as her “professional name.” I guess Christine Sarah Lawrence sounded too pretentious!

Bette Davis and Paul Henreid as musical lovers reunited in post-war NYC.

Christine’s first line is as declarative as only Davis can be: “I thought you were dead!” Equally subtle is when Karel takes her hand, and Christine holds both up: “No rings.” Reunited, they return to her apartment. On the way up the stairs, Christine tells Karel that she struggles to make ends meet as a pianist, by giving lessons. Unfortunately, once they walk through the door, her apartment is actually a luxurious loft. Hanging up his jacket, Karel notices several fur coats in the closet. Looking around the loft, the cellist sees lots of lovely paintings and sculptures. Christine soft pedals all this obvious luxury. However, Karel is not just a cellist, but a jealous cellist! He attempts to choke her to stop her barrage of non-stop lies. 

After apologies, Henreid’s Karel decides the best thing for them to do is marry as quickly as possible. Bette turns her big eyes away from Henreid, and pops them for the camera…uh-oh.

The deadly...dull triangle that is 'Decption.'

You see, Bette’s been living large due to a beau, egomaniacal maestro Alexander Hollenius. And the maestro is mad as hell about getting dumped by Christine, on her impromptu wedding day, practically. Despite Karel telling her that it tortures him when he feels she’s not telling the truth, and with numerous opportunities to do so, Christine refuses to fess up.

What transpires is a prolonged cat and mouse game: Can Christine keep piling on lies to pacify jealous and insecure Karel? Can she keep equally jealous and self-centered Hollenius from spilling the beans? Can Christine keep the cellist and the conductor from killing each other as they collaborate? About half way through, I decided I didn’t care anymore and ditched Deception.

The most fascinating part of 'Deception' is the loft, that Bette's pianist tries to tell Henreid is paid for by giving lessons!

I’m pretty good at suspending disbelief and not imposing today’s social mores onto old movie conventions and morality. Here’s the big problem I have with Deception: the premise makes ZERO sense. This was also the critics’ problem with Deception over 70 years ago. Why should Christine try to hide a lover from Karel? They weren’t married when the war separated them. She thought he was dead—for five years! Was she supposed to become a nun? First off, Christine’s living situation is suspect. Also, all the people that she invited to her and Karel’s wedding know…because they were her and Hollenius’ friends! What’s to keep any of them from spilling? Plus, the maestro crashes the couple’s reception and acts absurdly jealous. Finally, Hollenius threatens to tell Karel from the get-go.

Paul's Karel is constantly jealous; Bette's Christine endlessly lies!

Most importantly, Bette’s character has NOTHING to feel guilty about, even by 1940s standards. Still, many film write-ups I’ve read about Deception refer to Christine as the conductor’s mistress. According to good old Merriam-Webster, a mistress is a woman who is having extra-marital relations, usually with a married man. Neither character was married during their affair. Yet Davis’ Christine lies her head off, just to keep two hot-headed men appeased. 

Specifically, I gave up after Deception’s famous “dinner scene.” Claude Rains as Hollenius has a field day here. The conductor treats the couple to dine at a fancy French restaurant and proceeds in taking great delight in showing off his talents as a gourmand. The maestro’s game becomes so protracted that Karel becomes unglued—perhaps he was just “hangry.” Though devilishly performed by Rains, and with increased agitation by Davis and Henreid, the whole scene feels as forced as the film’s premise. There’s no story to go forward, so Deception is just all snarky cocktail party chat.

Joan loved to talk about Bette's B.O.! 'Deception' was Davis' first 'disappointment'for WB, and the beginning of her box office slide.

If you can get past the major plot obstacles—there’s fun to be had. The three leads, who all worked together in far better films, do well with the rather unappealing characters they’re playing. The dialogue is sharp—especially the digs by the catty conductor. The sets that depict upscale NYC life are marvelous, especially Bette’s loft with a skylight that covers the entire living room. The classical music and film’s score, by Erich Wolfgang Korngold, set the mood.

Bette's character tries everything to soothe Claude's maestro...even grovelling!

Claude Rains does a delicious turn as Alexander Hollenius: childlike, sexy, jealous, devilish, sarcastic, egotistical, spiteful, and funny. Despite an intense performance by Paul Henreid, his character frequently comes off as peevish. Even with fits of violent jealousy, he ultimately just stews. In the original play, the Henreid’s character rises to the occasion and kills Hollenius. Wait just one minute! Since this a Bette Davis movie, where nobody is as good as Bette when she’s bad, Davis gets to do the dirty deed. Even so, Christine is a thankless character and Davis can’t do much more than to work herself up in a dither of denial.

Irving Rapper, who always seemed good with actors, does what he can with his collaborators, and gives Deception a smart visual style. The screenplay moves heaven and earth to compensate with occasional sharp dialogue to make up for the lack of story. My favorite credit for Deception is Jack Daniels listed as dialogue director—indeed!

Bette Davis as Christine, with a Rita Hayworth pompadour!

Bette Davis often played older and in period pictures. But when Bette essayed modern roles, she kept her look simple. Here, for the only time in her career, Davis sported shoulder pads, a hugely popular but short-lived trend. In fact, in the climactic scene, Bette sports a white fur over her shoulders, and I thought of Carol Burnett’s “curtain dress” take-off on Scarlett O’Hara. And through most of the movie, Bette sports a WWII-era pompadour, with an uncharacteristically lush mane that Rita Hayworth would have envied.

Bette Davis prays that Ernest Haller's noir-style lighting hides all that's going on off-camera!

Perhaps Bette overcompensated because she wasn’t looking her best. Davis’ character is amusingly described as a music student when she met the maestro four years earlier—struggling and taking “rich, untalented students” to get by…and pushing 40! Pregnant and ill during Deception, plus her new marriage was to jealous, violent artist William Grant Sherry—life imitating art? Davis’ favorite cinematographer, Ernest Haller, did what he could. Note that in certain scenes, especially evening shots, Bette’s face is totally surrounded by shadow. Bette admitted later that she wasn’t at her best here. Perhaps driving Davis was that Joan Crawford was following up her Mildred Pierce comeback in a romantic melodrama with a classical music backdrop, Humoresque. Neither films were smash hits, but Joan’s came off better and also turned a better profit, since Bette ran up her film’s budget by her pregnancy, plus emotional and health issues.

Deception isn’t a dud, just an exercise in style—great style, for sure—but no substance. 

The happy newlyweds are taken out for dinner by the maestro, not realizing they're the main course!

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We'll Always Have 'Casablanca' 1942

'Casablanca' still casts its classic spell nearly 80 years later.

Critics and audiences still like to argue whether Casablanca is great art or merely great entertainment—let them, I say. Casablanca still captivates, no matter how you define the 1942 Warner Brothers’ war-time romance.

Bill Kennedy, movie host with the most!

I was junior high age when I first watched Casablanca on the late show. From where I sat on my plaid sofa, in 1970s Upper Michigan, it was just another dated war time romance: lots of air sirens, police whistles, patriotism, sneering Nazis, and brave Bogie and Bergman clutching one another in the face of danger.

A few years later, I watched Casablanca again on Detroit TV 50’s Bill Kennedy at the Movies. By then, I was hooked on classic Hollywood and much more impressed. Kennedy was as proud as a peacock whenever the one-time actor got to show and chat about a true blue classic like Casablanca. By high school graduation, I felt like Bill had been my favorite teacher—in film.

What set Casablanca apart from other exotic romances, especially the many cinema copycats to come, was the classic melodrama captured a time and place vital in American and world history. The U.S. had avoided getting into WWII, much like Rick/Bogart: “I stick my neck out for nobody.” 

Everyone comes to Rick's movie blog!

However, Pearl Harbor changed all that on Dec. 7, 1941. Casablanca was filmed the following year, in an atmosphere of uncertainty. Many of the supporting cast members were ex-pats and refugees from all over Europe, who had already suffered in varying degrees from the bulldozing Nazi regime. S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall, who played Rick’s head waiter—and memorably taught Barbara Stanwyck to flip pancakes in Christmas in Connecticut—lost three sisters to the concentration camps. Cast member Helmut Dantine spent time in a concentration camp before escaping to the U.S.

The plot of Casablanca is a cliché: Resistance fighters are trying to move through Casablanca and not get caught in the occupied city’s Nazi web. It’s a serviceable but straight-forward framework.

The rest, however, is memorable. The studio system was at its peak and Warner Brothers’ best was rolled out for Casablanca: Michael Curtiz, the studio’s # 1 director; Hal Wallis, their most artistic producer; Humphrey Bogart, emerging as WB’s top actor; promising newcomer Ingrid Bergman, “borrowed” from David Selznick; the pick of the studio’s stock company of great character actors; a polished script with some of movies’ most memorable lines; cinematography that was both crisp and dreamlike, a dramatic Max Steiner score, and of course, the ultimate movie love song, As Time Goes By.

Bogart & Bergman in a flashback of happiness as Rick & Ilsa. They'll always have Paris & we'll always have 'Casablanca.'

 Casablanca was a hit, making a leading man out of character actor/movie villain Humphrey Bogart, at age 43. The following year, his new status was confirmed when 19-year-old Lauren Bacall became Bogie’s baby, onscreen and off, in To Have and Have Not. Casablanca cemented Swedish star Ingrid Bergman’s status as a Hollywood leading lady. Three Oscars were to come later for other performances, yet Ilsa is still Bergman’s signature role.

Bogart and Bergman as Rick and Ilsa (two-thirds of a triangle) are genuinely moving because their performances are realistic, as well as romantic. Can you imagine if MGM had made this with Clark Gable and Joan Crawford, with Gable’s bluster and Crawford’s posturing? They might have made Casablanca popular but not an enduring classic.

Some of the great WB cast of 'Casablanca.' Bogart & Bergman with Claude Rains & Paul Henreid.

For those who think Casablanca is just high-grade Hollywood fluff, watch To Have and Have Not. WB was hoping lightning would strike twice. While it was just as well-made and entertaining as Casablanca, To Have has none of its emotional resonance or depth.

Casablanca became Hollywood’s greatest wartime romance, with its notion of sacrifice in an uncertain world. The film and its classic love theme became a touchstone of a time and place, but also as a symbol of true romance.

Luminous Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa, her signature role IMO.

I recently watched Casablanca four decades later, on yet another plaid U.P. sofa. I was knocked out anew by the film’s genuine romanticism, since movies are typically filled with phony romance. Casablanca is fascinating because of its perfect counterpoints: Bergman’s dreamy close-ups to Bogart’s sharp tongue; the stars’ chemistry to a scene-stealing supporting cast; great dialogue to classic cinematic images; the booming Warners’ soundtrack to Wilson softly crooning As Time Goes By; and most of all, the genuinely romantic versus traditional happy ending.

At 43, Humphrey Bogart finally becomes a romantic leading man at Warner Brothers!

Casablanca proves that, to lift a lyric, audiences will always welcome lovers, like Rick and Ilsa, no matter how much time goes by.

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1942: The beginning of a beautiful friendship between "Casablanca" and audiences.