THE DUKE OBSERVES
CASABLANCA
CASABLANCA
As far as The Duke can tell, in so far as I could be arsed for
to explore, there seems to be something of a battle going on in
the field of web-net filmic criticism. Nobody’s gonna get their
arms cut off, most likely, and probably you don’t even have to
paint your face blue, but a man’s reputation could be fucked in
the guts if caught unawares in the crossfire.
What it is, is a race of sorts. Put your ear to the ground and
what you’ll hear are thousands of digital feet scurrying in and
out of festivals, hoping for to be the first voice that
proclaims “This flick what you never saw FUCKING RULES!!!! And
also, I saw it. And FIRST, you FUCKERS”
Folks are battering their laptops senseless as they queue up
for to view the latest offering on the festival circuit. The
one that made the waves in Tribal Dance or whatever the fuck
the one is that Robert DeNiro started. Sunnysides. The hell do
I know?
Well, far be it from The Duke to blow his own trumpet,
certainly not in public, but just last week I attended a
screening of a certain flick which, I feel confident in
assuming, will blow the sweet bejeesus out of audiences from
now till doomsday.
What it was, was a film by the name of Casablanca, some low-key
indie thing like Vincent Gallo Gets Sucked Off or Donnie Osmond
or whatever the one was with the rabbit. I already had terms
like Casawanka in store, should said picture suck like all
wretched Hades. “Casablanca fires Casablanks” I had intended to
note. “Casablanca – shite” was another one. But no. It turns
out this is nothing short of a fucking masterpiece.
I hardly made a note through the whole damn thing, is the point
to be made. This one’s gonna go far, man, mark my words like as
if they were bandits out to pillage your hole.
What Casablanca concerns is a fella by the name of Rick is
something of a big shot in the world of taverns. He’s probably
got his face on all sorts of magazines, like Bars Monthly or
Time Out – 100 Hottest Names In Licensed Establishments. We
know he’s important, since the first time we see him, it does
that thing like in the start of Commando when you just see
Arnie’s feet, and then his arms, and a bit of a tree, and
you're thinking about Oh my God, is it gonna be Arnie? Maybe
it's somebody else. Maybe it’s Chris Tucker. You’re all
suspenseful and then when you see that yeah, it’s Arnie all
right, you let a big sigh of relief. Thank fuck for that, you
muse. For a second I thought it might be Rita Hayworth.
Rick doesn’t carry any trees, but he’s sitting at a table, and
we see his hand, and then a bit of his shoulder, and then
eventually he’s revealed. Thank fuck it isn't Chris Tucker,
you'll say. Rick is played by a fella by the name of Humphrey
Bogart, who was also in some other shit like film noir classic
Falcon Crest, and The Caine Mutants. He's been pretty quiet in
the years gone by, though, although he may have done some STD
stuff. Maybe he was in a Pauly Shore film or two. I don’t know.
This here, though. This Bogart motherfucker is gonna make a
comeback the likes of which nobody could have envisioned since
way back when John Travolta made that film that everyone loved
and then all of a sudden he’s A-List again.
Look Who’s Talking Now, it was. The one with the dogs. The dogs
would talk, except it was just their thoughts, although now and
again they had their mouths move, as if to imply that no,
they're really speaking, which is weird, since the mouths were
moving in a manner that suggested they were speaking English,
rather than dog-speak, so really, there ain’t no reason in the
known universe why Kirstie Alley wouldn’t have heard them.
Maybe she was on crack at the time. We can only lie.
Anyhow, even though Rick owns this bar and so on, he’s all
lonely and heartbroken and snarky, on account of a woman done
bittered up his soul. Also, it’s the middle of World War II,
and Rick is on the run from the Nazi’s.
The War thing plays quite an important part in Casablanca.
Every couple scenes there’s someone popping up to shoot a
civilian, or arrest somebody for nothing, and there’s a
brilliant scene where pro-Nazi types sing the German national
anthem, only to be countered by other folks in the bar singing
the French one.
Free France, Bush!!
In fact, Rick might as well be called America. For most of the
film he’s unsure what he thinks about the War. Certainly he
doesn’t want to be involved in it. Go fuck yourself, he
implies, I just wanna hang around these drunks and maybe one
day invent a couple cool moves to impress the ladies a la
Cocktail. As the film progresses, he begins to see that really,
in these hectic times, a man just can’t sit on the fence like
that, all selfish and unconcerned. Sides need to be taken.
Causes need to be supported.
Before all that, though, there’s all the malarkey with the lady.
To be honest, it was this romantic malarkey that snared
The Duke. Casablanca is just beautiful, is what it is. You may
remember in GG Allin – Raw, Brutal, Rough And Bloody, when GG
jumps onto the floor and serenades a lady with an impassioned
Expose Yourself To Kids. You may have wiped a tear from your
eye right then. I’m guessing there’s stuff in Casablanca
that'll leave you similarly damp around the retina.
The lady, played by Ingmar Bergman, looking a damn site
prettier than he did when making The Silence, she can’t be with
Rick, and Rick knows this, but dear God, Ingmar, you got my
heart wrapped up in your Scandinavian fist right now.
I know how he feels, man. You spend all that time thinking
about this woman, this woman who seems to be filmed in soft-
focus at every opportunity, this woman who plays around and
around in your head all the live-long day, those conversations
from back one time still ringing out again and again in a
fellas brain-gunk. He can’t sleep, most likely, thinking about
if only, man, if only I could touch her one more time. Or seven
more times, in different parts, which would be even better.
But she’s already got a romance going on, and just think, Rick,
just think how you would feel if you had her, and my God you
would feel incredible, most likely, but then some motherfucker
with a fancy pub arrives and steals her. You’d feel like the
shit stuck to the back of GG’s legs, most likely.
You couldn’t bear it. And you couldn’t allow anyone else to
have to bear it neither.
There’s a whole ongoing thing in the narrative about this song
both of them loved back in the day, too. I forget what it was.
Possibly something by Cannibal Corpse. Maybe Entrails Ripped
From A Virgin’s Cunt. Whatever it was, Ingmar and Rick keep
requesting it from Sam, a fella who plays piano in the bar.
“Play that song, for fucks sakes” says Rick. It brings back all
kindsa memories.
I feel confident, man, in telling you that Casablanca is gonna
be huge. I would swear on it, but swearing just ain’t the kinda
thing a motherfucker like The Duke would stoop to. It’s got a
better aliens-in-love plot than Lost In Translation or, indeed,
Enemy Mine. It’s got a better score than The Rules Of
Attraction. It even starts with one of those maps that have the
animated arrows going across them. How often do you see that
nowadays? Maybe in I, Robot, but little else, I’m guessing.
And the dialogue, man. That dialogue is fantastic. There’s a
scene at the end where Rick spills his lovelorn guts all over
the road, and by the end I was punching the air. “You go,
Rick!” I was maybe saying. For sure, it’s lifted wholesale from
the end of Play It Again Sam starring Woody Allen, but I hear
Woody stole his glasses from Bosch, so, y’know, what goes
around and so on.
See it, man, that’s all The Duke can implore. It doesn’t have
any werewolves or Dracula’s, it doesn’t even have anyone
getting their eyes ripped out and eaten and barfed up into the
gaping skull-holes. But it’s got just about everything else you
would want, except Kirsten.
Kirsten, you’ll always be my Ingmar Bergman.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
to explore, there seems to be something of a battle going on in
the field of web-net filmic criticism. Nobody’s gonna get their
arms cut off, most likely, and probably you don’t even have to
paint your face blue, but a man’s reputation could be fucked in
the guts if caught unawares in the crossfire.
What it is, is a race of sorts. Put your ear to the ground and
what you’ll hear are thousands of digital feet scurrying in and
out of festivals, hoping for to be the first voice that
proclaims “This flick what you never saw FUCKING RULES!!!! And
also, I saw it. And FIRST, you FUCKERS”
Folks are battering their laptops senseless as they queue up
for to view the latest offering on the festival circuit. The
one that made the waves in Tribal Dance or whatever the fuck
the one is that Robert DeNiro started. Sunnysides. The hell do
I know?
Well, far be it from The Duke to blow his own trumpet,
certainly not in public, but just last week I attended a
screening of a certain flick which, I feel confident in
assuming, will blow the sweet bejeesus out of audiences from
now till doomsday.
What it was, was a film by the name of Casablanca, some low-key
indie thing like Vincent Gallo Gets Sucked Off or Donnie Osmond
or whatever the one was with the rabbit. I already had terms
like Casawanka in store, should said picture suck like all
wretched Hades. “Casablanca fires Casablanks” I had intended to
note. “Casablanca – shite” was another one. But no. It turns
out this is nothing short of a fucking masterpiece.
I hardly made a note through the whole damn thing, is the point
to be made. This one’s gonna go far, man, mark my words like as
if they were bandits out to pillage your hole.
What Casablanca concerns is a fella by the name of Rick is
something of a big shot in the world of taverns. He’s probably
got his face on all sorts of magazines, like Bars Monthly or
Time Out – 100 Hottest Names In Licensed Establishments. We
know he’s important, since the first time we see him, it does
that thing like in the start of Commando when you just see
Arnie’s feet, and then his arms, and a bit of a tree, and
you're thinking about Oh my God, is it gonna be Arnie? Maybe
it's somebody else. Maybe it’s Chris Tucker. You’re all
suspenseful and then when you see that yeah, it’s Arnie all
right, you let a big sigh of relief. Thank fuck for that, you
muse. For a second I thought it might be Rita Hayworth.
Rick doesn’t carry any trees, but he’s sitting at a table, and
we see his hand, and then a bit of his shoulder, and then
eventually he’s revealed. Thank fuck it isn't Chris Tucker,
you'll say. Rick is played by a fella by the name of Humphrey
Bogart, who was also in some other shit like film noir classic
Falcon Crest, and The Caine Mutants. He's been pretty quiet in
the years gone by, though, although he may have done some STD
stuff. Maybe he was in a Pauly Shore film or two. I don’t know.
This here, though. This Bogart motherfucker is gonna make a
comeback the likes of which nobody could have envisioned since
way back when John Travolta made that film that everyone loved
and then all of a sudden he’s A-List again.
Look Who’s Talking Now, it was. The one with the dogs. The dogs
would talk, except it was just their thoughts, although now and
again they had their mouths move, as if to imply that no,
they're really speaking, which is weird, since the mouths were
moving in a manner that suggested they were speaking English,
rather than dog-speak, so really, there ain’t no reason in the
known universe why Kirstie Alley wouldn’t have heard them.
Maybe she was on crack at the time. We can only lie.
Anyhow, even though Rick owns this bar and so on, he’s all
lonely and heartbroken and snarky, on account of a woman done
bittered up his soul. Also, it’s the middle of World War II,
and Rick is on the run from the Nazi’s.
The War thing plays quite an important part in Casablanca.
Every couple scenes there’s someone popping up to shoot a
civilian, or arrest somebody for nothing, and there’s a
brilliant scene where pro-Nazi types sing the German national
anthem, only to be countered by other folks in the bar singing
the French one.
Free France, Bush!!
In fact, Rick might as well be called America. For most of the
film he’s unsure what he thinks about the War. Certainly he
doesn’t want to be involved in it. Go fuck yourself, he
implies, I just wanna hang around these drunks and maybe one
day invent a couple cool moves to impress the ladies a la
Cocktail. As the film progresses, he begins to see that really,
in these hectic times, a man just can’t sit on the fence like
that, all selfish and unconcerned. Sides need to be taken.
Causes need to be supported.
Before all that, though, there’s all the malarkey with the lady.
To be honest, it was this romantic malarkey that snared
The Duke. Casablanca is just beautiful, is what it is. You may
remember in GG Allin – Raw, Brutal, Rough And Bloody, when GG
jumps onto the floor and serenades a lady with an impassioned
Expose Yourself To Kids. You may have wiped a tear from your
eye right then. I’m guessing there’s stuff in Casablanca
that'll leave you similarly damp around the retina.
The lady, played by Ingmar Bergman, looking a damn site
prettier than he did when making The Silence, she can’t be with
Rick, and Rick knows this, but dear God, Ingmar, you got my
heart wrapped up in your Scandinavian fist right now.
I know how he feels, man. You spend all that time thinking
about this woman, this woman who seems to be filmed in soft-
focus at every opportunity, this woman who plays around and
around in your head all the live-long day, those conversations
from back one time still ringing out again and again in a
fellas brain-gunk. He can’t sleep, most likely, thinking about
if only, man, if only I could touch her one more time. Or seven
more times, in different parts, which would be even better.
But she’s already got a romance going on, and just think, Rick,
just think how you would feel if you had her, and my God you
would feel incredible, most likely, but then some motherfucker
with a fancy pub arrives and steals her. You’d feel like the
shit stuck to the back of GG’s legs, most likely.
You couldn’t bear it. And you couldn’t allow anyone else to
have to bear it neither.
There’s a whole ongoing thing in the narrative about this song
both of them loved back in the day, too. I forget what it was.
Possibly something by Cannibal Corpse. Maybe Entrails Ripped
From A Virgin’s Cunt. Whatever it was, Ingmar and Rick keep
requesting it from Sam, a fella who plays piano in the bar.
“Play that song, for fucks sakes” says Rick. It brings back all
kindsa memories.
I feel confident, man, in telling you that Casablanca is gonna
be huge. I would swear on it, but swearing just ain’t the kinda
thing a motherfucker like The Duke would stoop to. It’s got a
better aliens-in-love plot than Lost In Translation or, indeed,
Enemy Mine. It’s got a better score than The Rules Of
Attraction. It even starts with one of those maps that have the
animated arrows going across them. How often do you see that
nowadays? Maybe in I, Robot, but little else, I’m guessing.
And the dialogue, man. That dialogue is fantastic. There’s a
scene at the end where Rick spills his lovelorn guts all over
the road, and by the end I was punching the air. “You go,
Rick!” I was maybe saying. For sure, it’s lifted wholesale from
the end of Play It Again Sam starring Woody Allen, but I hear
Woody stole his glasses from Bosch, so, y’know, what goes
around and so on.
See it, man, that’s all The Duke can implore. It doesn’t have
any werewolves or Dracula’s, it doesn’t even have anyone
getting their eyes ripped out and eaten and barfed up into the
gaping skull-holes. But it’s got just about everything else you
would want, except Kirsten.
Kirsten, you’ll always be my Ingmar Bergman.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
