Farewell to the Fifties

The Evolution of Annette

I owe it all, I’m afraid, to Jack Benny.

It was in discussion with a 30-something  that I learned that the 1950’s had officially died.

We were talking about comedy, and I mentioned my hero, the great skinflint, the perennial 39 year old, the “Oh, fella?” ~ “Yes-s-s-s-s-s” American institution and legend, Mr. Jack Benny. I expected smiles and nods and gushes of recognition, if not a personal homage in the form of her crossing arms, turning her head slowly aside, and exclaiming “W-e-e-l-l-l-!-!-!”

But what I got was “Yeah, I know who he is! That British comedian who was always doing those goofy chases!”

“Umm, Cheryl,” I choked, “that was …. Benny Hill. Comparing Benny Hill to Jack Benny is sort of like comparing Paris Hilton to Paris France!”

Though Jack Benny was active in show business for much of the 20th Century, on TV his heyday was the 1950’s. In that moment, I learned that Benny’s heyday had become a nayday. As a child of the 50’s, references and allusions from that period have tripped off my tongue “faster than a speeding bullet” and “like a fiery horse at the speed of light.”

But no more. As a source of reference, comparison, or commentary, I come to bury the 50’s…. and to praise them:

Taking leave, Leave it to Beaver! Growing up 50’s, Beaver, I measured my life against yours and consistently found it wanting. You got in and out of trouble in 30 minutes, learned well your parental lessons, and made life within the confines of a picket fence look copacetic and cool. But as I leave, Beav, please do me one favor: tell Ward and June to stop dressing for dinner,  for Pete's sake,  as if they’re headed out for a job interview with Halliburton!

Au revoir, Annette! As the Mickey Mousketeer with the prematurely developing bust line, Annette Funicello, you morphed into the most seismic force for male sexual awakening since the invention of masturbation. Though a millennial hearing your name would most likely presume you an Italian desert, I’ll always think of you as the main course to a fantasy that had me glued to a show which was supposed to be about a mouse.

Hasta la vista, Howdy! Though your creators should have learned the meaning of the term “no strings attached,” Howdy Doody, you introduced us to an endearing ensemble that foreshadowed the generations-later Sesame Street. Buffalo Bob, Mayor Bluster, the Flub-a-Dub, Princess Winterfall Summerspring, Clarabell, Chief Thunderthud, Heidi Doody, and more …. Hey, thank you, guys! The Peanut Gallery is closed.

Happy Trails, Roy! Happy trails to you, Roy Rogers, until we meet again.  Happy Trails to you, which will be never, my friend!

Our paths diverge, Davy! You may have been King of the Wild Frontier, Davy Crockett, but on the Web Frontier, you’re not even a pawn. With coonskin cap aloft and “Born on a Mountaintop” playing in the breeze, it’s time for you to once again go down swinging --- this time not by the hands of Santa Anna’s men but by the Santa Anna winds of time.

Adios, Adlai! You, Adlai Stevenson, were my first political memory. Going with my father to vote for you for President in 1956, we knew you had as much chance to win as to set off a national craze of male babies named “Adlai.” You were beloved by liberals and everyone we knew, but the country liked Ike. Would I get a quick resonating response to your name in 2010? Sadly, think I’d have to wait until hell freezes over. 

Gotta roam, Lone Ranger! With a "hearty hi-ho, Silver!" and Tonto by your side, you, Lone Ranger, were the oddest of heroes. You started off with a handicap of your own making. You had no secret identity, you needed no mask, and everywhere you went the greeting was the same: "Look, it's an outlaw, kill him!" Your mask was on the side of the law, but it didn't need to be on your face at all!

Ciao, Raleigh Coupons! In the 1950’s Cigarette commercials on the air were as prevalent as cigarette smoke in the office. But amongst them all, Raleigh Cigarettes, you puffed supreme. Why? Because of the golf clubs, toasters, and manifold marvels one could obtain “Free for Raleigh Coupons!” The trick, of course, was to stay alive long enough to collect the coupons to get any of them.

Cheerio, Cherrios Kid! Along with Annette, my Cheerios Kid, you fueled a childhood fantasy. When you’d eat those “O’s,” you'd acquire a bulging bicep, powered by a colossal Cheerio! I ate your wares diligently, eagerly awaiting the muscle and the mighty “O.” Finally one night in a dream, there emblazoned upon my still spindly arm was a Cheerio indeed --- actual size and soggy from milk.

Sayonara, Superman! Many others have played the role, George Reeves, but nobody else ever inhabited it as fully as every 50’s kid once inhabited your cape. The stories were stupid, the production values atrocious, but when you flew, we did too. Greasy hair notwithstanding, you were the Man of Steel. If only Kryptonite had been all that could harm you ….

So fare thee well, Fifties!  You shall live on in memory and history, if not in my metaphor and simile.

Now, I’m off to drop in on the Sixties.

There's a 32 year old I know who thinks The Monkees --- OMG! --- are in the Philadelphia Zoo ....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm a bit nostalgic yet; it's the plight of the Boomer, I think.  So for one more time, here's  A Further Farewell to the Fifties.

Fromage-a-Phobia

The Attack of the Killer Cheeses!

Everyone has a certain food they don’t like, and for me that food happens to be cheese. I not only dislike the taste of cheese, I hate the look, smell, and feel of the greasy, gooey, god-awful stuff.

I call it “Fromage-a-Phobia.”

These are days of great tolerance in America. It’s perfectly acceptable to be an atheist, a socialist, or even a fan of ABBA.

But it’s not OK to hate cheese.

“So glad you could join us tonight” said Len Farbman the evening I dined at his home. “In honor of the occasion, Sheila has cooked her No. 1 specialty.  Ready, honey?”

“Here it comes!” called Sheila Farbman, foul smell preceding her as she emerged through the kitchen doors.

“It’s my very special Chicken a la Cheese, combining Parmesan, Muenster, and Limburger cheese blended in a tangy sauce!” exclaimed Sheila.

"Oh, my, how nice,” I sputtered. “But you see, I’m awfully sorry. I’m afraid I don’t eat cheese.”

“That’s crazy - everybody likes cheese!” croaked Farbman.

“Gee, I’m really, really sorry,” I stammered, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the toxic cheese fumes pervading the room. “I just don’t like cheese.”

“You’ll like this!” insisted unfazed Sheila as she cut a world-class size piece of Chicken a la Cheese and plopped it squarely on my plate. Cheese strings connected to the serving dish trailed the piece all the way over to my plate, a good foot and a half in length.

How truly appetizing, that quality of cooked cheese to behave like silly putty!

I really don’t know how I survived the evening though I suppose the ten minute gagging fit may inhibit future dinner invitations to the Farbman abode. Which is fine, because the prospect that I might be served cheese ice cream absolutely terrifies me.

I have a dream! 

I dream of a day when cheese-haters no longer face discrimination and oppression.  A day when we may proudly and freely and right out loud proclaim:

"I hate goddamn pizza!"

Until then, I search for others like me.

There!  Over there:  That woman at the seminar buffet, performing an emergency cheesectomy on a pre-made sandwich, delicately extricating that most execrable substance from its foul and unnatural points of forced contact with the edible meat, lettuce, and tomato. 

I approach, faint of breath but heart pounding with excitement.

“You too?” I murmur, looking nervously away.

“Yes,” she whispers, “I hate the damn stuff!  But please, I’m married.  I have children.”

“I’m discrete. Meet me clandestinely for lunch this week. 

I want to not eat cheese with you! 

Fortunately for those like us there is one true haven. One oasis of sanity and liberation from noxious cheese fumes and obnoxious cheese lovers.

There are Asian restaurants.

And no one, except for maybe the Farbmans, has yet to find a way to make General Tso’s Cheddar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The above drawing by Brian Peters, 1988. 

That's me running from all the terrifying cheeses. 
I have nightmares just like that.

The Case of the Main Line Liar

"Tracy, time to put the house on the market.

Perry Block has moved next door!"

I admit it.   You’ve got me.

I am The Main Line Liar!

You see, I live in Havertown PA --- an unassuming little community not far from Philadelphia where you can acquire a home, live, work, raise children, and drop dead all very unpretentiously and without more or less placing yourself into involuntary servitude.

For many years now, I’ve casually advised out-of-towners and geographically naïve area residents that Havertown falls squarely in the midst of that internationally renowned enclave of blue-bloodedness and gentility known as the Philadelphia Main Line.

In truth, humble Havertown lies only a stone’s throw away.  A good earthquake and my Havertown backyard would be resting on a Main Line back porch!   

So why the Main Line Lie?  Let’s consult no less an authority than that 21st Century oracle known as Wikipedia:

“The Philadelphia Main Line,” it rhapsodizes, “is …. home to some of the wealthiest places in the United States …. the setting for the classic Hepburn/Grant/Stewart motion picture The Philadelphia Story .... (featuring) diverse topography, steep cliffs along the Schuylkill River, rolling hills, and open meadows …. known for its multimillion-dollar stone Colonial homes, exclusivity, and .... upscale shopping at celebrated destinations ....”

Alright, already!  Never knew an online encyclopedia was capable of falling so hopelessly in love with a plot of real estate, even if Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn do happen to be setting up housekeeping there.

Now let’s point and click our way across County Line Road to:

“Havertown --- widely referred to as H-Town,” Wikipedia mumbles, “is notable for being the birthplace of Swell Bubble Gum, which closed its doors in late 2004. Havertown is one of the few towns that have a Superfund site caused by a timber mill that finished telephone poles; the chemical that was used to coat the telephone poles was dumped into the ground.”

Gee, it’s kind of amazing how Wikipedia forgot to mention that Havertown is also home to the nation’s only work-release program for comic book arch-villains who’ve tried to kill Green Lantern!  No wonder the banner across the top of the entry reads “Please help improve this article by saying something nice!”

Yes, to Wikipedia, as well as to the rest of the world, life on the Main Line is to Havertown PA like spending a shimmering evening with the young Elizabeth Taylor is to Shelley Winters showing up positive EPT in hand.  (Sorry to mix movie metaphors.)

With cachet like that, it’s hard not to want to cash in.  So when the question turns to "where do you live?” my reply oft returns with 

“Havertown PA.  It’s ... umm ... on the Main Line.”

And then I'm treated to:

"The Main Line! You must be doing GREAT!”
   
        Well, actually fair to middling as always. But I’ll let the real estate where I don’t live do  the talking.

“The Main Line, by god! Is it as charming as they say?”

       Oh, yes indeed! I daily enjoy the rolling hills, open meadows,  and upscale shopping at celebrated destinations!  And hot-footing it back across County Line Road before nightfall before anyone's the wiser!

“The Main Line! I heard about that problem with the school district spying on children with school issued laptops! Were you incensed?!”

       Boy, was I!  Incensed that the school district in Havertown doesn’t hand out pencils, let  alone laptops!

To be frank, though, all this Main Line mendacity is taking its toll.  

It’s time to fess up.   

Main Line or not,  I love Havertown PA.   It’s friendly, welcoming, and affordable.  Which is a good thing,  because the money I’ve saved by living here has enabled me to buy myself a swell vacation home.

And as you know, the French Riviera is tres expensive!

~~~~~~~~~~

Return to Casablanca --- But Not for the Waters

"Yes, Ilsa, we'll always have Paris. And there'll be rude waiters for us wherever we go."


Directed by Perry Block 

                       

This highly “watered-down” version of Casablanca was taken from the original tweeted version of Casablanca I experimented with several months ago on my Twitter site. Y’know, the experiment which has since been come to be known as my own personal Gigli.

Here I have “de-tweeted” the tweets and turned Return to Casablanca --- But Not for the Waters into cinematic form. I’ve also added some extra dialogue and stage directions here and there, ostensibly to bridge originally disjointed tweets. So if you see some phrases or brief sequences clearly not from the actual movie or a bit out of order, please don’t get all hot and bothered that I’m not a Casablanca “purist!”

Hey, I live vicariously through this movie; you have a real life! So who’s the bigger Casablanca fan?! Huh?! Huh?!

Please be advised that this post is pretty long. You may want to bring your lunch and/or be prepared for a rest stop somewhere between Scene VI and Scene VIII.

So now, settle back, forget about all the constructive things you should be doing, and Return to Casablanca --- But Not for the Waters!

Cast of Characters:

Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) --- What can I say? Every guy on the planet wants to be either Bogey, Superman, or Bugs Bunny. In my case, all three!

Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) --- What can I say? I’ve seen the lady.

Inspector Louis Renault (Claude Rains) --- The quintessential oily opportunist who becomes a hero, as portrayed by one of the greatest character actors of all time!

Victor Lazlo (Paul Henreid) --- No, not Hans Conreid, Boomers. Paul Henreid!

Ugarte (Peter Lorre) --- Always so cool, off-beat, and one-of-a-kind. Here in his young, thin, and out of the picture too quickly days.

Ferrari (Sydney Greenstreet) --- Corpulent, inscrutable, and also out of the picture too quickly. Want to have fun? Catch him in Three Strangers, also with Peter Lorre.

Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt) --- Further proof that aging sucks. Twenty -three years earlier he’s the young sleepwalking murderer in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Here he’s already Nouveau Old!

Sam (Dooley Wilson): Probably the only sensible one in the bunch!
___________________________________________________

 Casablanca! 

Land of mystery .... intrigue .... romance.   I never been there, have you?

Scene I

Upstairs at Rick’s Café Américain. Richard Blaine, owner of Rick’s and American ex-patriot, and Inspector Louis Renault, corrupt but cute as all get out, are conversing.  

Louie: Rick, I've often speculated why you don't return to America. Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with a senator’s wife? I like to think you killed a man, it’s the romantic in me.

Rick: Actually, Louie, it had more to do with ripping a label off the bottom of a mattress!

Louie: Why did you come to Casablanca?

Rick:  I came to Casablanca for the waters.

Louie: What waters, we’re in the desert?

Rick: I was misinformed. That and I heard there was a great sale on Deer Park!

Louie: Last night, two German couriers were killed. They were carrying two Letters of Transit that were stolen. I tell you this because you should know that Victor Lazlo is in Casablanca.

Rick: Victor Lazlo?!

Louie: Rick, you seem impressed!

Rick: Victor Lazlo’s succeeded in impressing half of the world. Too bad it’s the same half that thinks Bob Saget is funny. But why would you think I would help Lazlo?

Louie: Because, Ricky, I suspect at heart you’re a rank sentimentalist! I’m familiar with your record. In 1935, you ran guns to Ethiopia. In 1936, you fought in Spain, on the Loyalist side.

Rick: I got well paid for it on both occasions.

Louie: The winning side would have paid you much better.

Rick: Now you tell me!

Louie: Rick, there are many exit visas sold in Rick’s Café Américain, but we know that you've never sold one. That is the reason we permit you to remain open.

Rick: Oh? I thought it was because I let you win at roulette.

Louie: You let me win? Uh-oh! I just mortgaged my house to get in on Ferrari’s Wide World of Roulette Sweepstakes!

Rick: So what are your political sentiments, Louie?

Louie: I have no convictions.  I  blow with the wind, and the prevailing wind happens to be from Vichy.  Should the wind shift and start coming from Philadelphia, I’ll root for the Phillies. After all, they have Ryan Howard!

Rick: I see. So you think I might sell a Letter of Transit to Lazlo?

Louie: He’ll need two exit visas. He is traveling with a lady. 

Rick: He'll take one.

Louie: I think not. I have seen the lady. Actually he’ll need …. three! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Rick: Louie, your sense of humor …. Well, you’re no Claude Rains!


Scene II

Rick’s Café Américain later that evening. Stench of smoke and bourbon in the air, intrigue 'round every corner. (Actually I’m feeling kind of nauseous myself.) Rick is talking to Ugarte, who - like Inspector Renault - is kind of adorable in a sleazy, oily, disgusting way.

Ugarte: You despise me, don’t you, Rick? 

Rick: If I paid you any mind, I probably would.  Know what?  I actually  manage to despise you even without paying you any mind!

Ugarte: Rick, I hope you're more impressed with me now! 

Rick: You're right, Ugarte. I am more impressed now that I know you played Center for Duke on the 2001 NCAA winning team!

Ugarte: No, no, Rick! I’m talking about the dead German couriers, these two Letters of Transit.

Rick: Yeah, well, it’s Casablanca, life’s cheap. Tell me, what’s Mike Krzyzewski really like?

Ugarte: I know many people in Casablanca, but somehow because you despise me, you are the only one I trust!  Here, please hold these two Letters of Transit for me.

Rick: Yeah, swell, wonderful. Hey, ever meet Alan Iverson???

Police enter, looking for Ugarte.

Ugarte: Hide me, Rick, hide me!

Rick: Don’t be a fool, Ugarte! It’s my turn to hide and your turn to seek!

Ugarte is taken away and we hear a shot.

Concerned By-Stander: I hope when they come for me, Rick, you’ll be of more help!

Rick: I stick my neck out for nobody. Except Oprah!


Scene III

Rick's, even later that same evening.  Stench of smoke and bourbon still fill the air, intrigue still 'round every corner.  (And I'm still feeling nauseous ... as if you even care!) Inspector Renault is introducing Rick to Major Strasser of the Third Reich.

Major Strasser: Ah, Mr. Richard Blaine. Cannot return to his home country.

Rick: Yes, Major Strasser,  I have one lousy sense of direction.  I'm so bad, I make MapQuest look reliable!

Major Strasser: Are you one of those people who cannot imagine the Germans in their beloved Paris?

Rick:  It's not particularly my beloved Paris.  I 'belove' Vegas, baby!  What happens there stays there!

Major Strasser:  Can you imagine us in New York?

Rick:  Well, there are certain sections of New York I wouldn't advise you to try to  invade.  Those Yankees fans will eat you alive!

Rick leaves (a wee-wee?) and Victor Lazlo and Ilsa Lund enter.

Louie: (greeting them) Welcome to Casablanca, Mr. Lazlo! By the way, do you find Bob Saget funny?

Victor:  That is a nice welcome, thank you, Inspector Renault!  I have not seen this Bob Saget, but I have it on good authority from my friends in the Underground that he sucks.

Louie:  And you, Miss Lund, I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca.  That was a gross understatement!  As opposed to my girlfriend, who's more of a gross statement!

Ilsa:  You're very kind, Inspector Renault. Although the second part of your statement was very unkind.  However, if that's your girlfriend at your table, it was also very accurate!

Ilsa spots Sam and approaches him. 

Ilsa:  Hello, Sam.  It's been a long time.

Sam:   Hello, Miss Ilsa.  (to himself) Oh, crap!   Not only is the Boss about to go psycho on us,  it's gonna be that damn song again!

Ilsa:  Play it, Sam.  For old time's sake.

Sam:  I can't remember it, Miss Ilsa.  Yes, that's it.  I can't remember it. 

Ilsa:  Play 'As Time Goes By.'  I'll hum it for you.

Sam:  No, No!  I mean, no, Miss Ilsa, that's okay.

Ilsa:  Da-dy-da-dy-da-dum, da-dy-da-doo-da-dum .... diggle-dai-del-deedle-daidel-dumm!

Sam: Oh my God!   Stop it, Miss Ilsa, your singing is bad enough, now you’re mixing in 'If I were a Rich Man!'  Okay, I'll play it, I'LL PLAY IT!

Sam begins tentatively playing and singing  'As Time Goes By.'

Sam: "You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is still a sigh ...."    Oh, Miss Ilsa, please!  Compared to this, ABBA  is like the Beatles!

Rick enters,  incensed.

Rick:   I thought I told you never to play it again, Sam!   That putt is a gimmee.  Pick it up Sam.  You don't need to play it again! 

Rick spots Ilsa and does a double-take.  Actually it's more of a triple-take. Even if there isn't such a thing, if anybody could do it, it'd be Bogart!

Ilsa: Rick, I wasn't sure you were the same.  Let's see, the last time we met ....

Rick:  .... was La Belle Aurore!  Sort of a cross between Olive Garden and Applebee's , only without the great food!

Ilsa:  How nice, you remembered!  But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris. 

Rick:  I remember that day in every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.  I wore a little pink thing with ribbons --- I was very uspet about the Germans!

Victor Lazlo enters and Ilsa introduces him to Rick.

Rick:  Mr. Lazlo, I congratulate you on your work.

Victor:  Thank you.  I try.

Rick:  All of us try, you succeed!  What is it --- the Cliff's Notes?

Victor:  Yes, Monsieur Blaine, I always use Cliff's Notes.

Shortly, Victor and Ilsa leave Rick's.

Victor: Ilsa, I think this time the Nazis really mean to stop me!

Ilsa: What did you think they were trying to do before, Victor? Give you a five minute time out?

Scene IV

Hours later in Rick's, now closed and darkened.  Only Rick and Sam remain. (Me, I'm still nauseous.  In fact, I think I'm gonna be sick ....)

Rick: You played it for her, you can play it for me!  Play it, Sam!

Sam:  Oh, no, not again!   Tell you what, Boss:  I'll pay you 'Feelings' as sung by Mr. Glenn Campbell.  "Feelings, nothing more than feelings ...."

Rick:  No, no, Sam!  Haven't I suffered enough?

Sam begins playing 'As Time Goes By' again.

Rick:  Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.  And she's a contractor too!  Sam, let's get a quote to paint the place! 

Sam has a long flashback about the happy days in which he fell in love with Ilsa in Paris.  You and I should only have such flashbacks  instead of the ones in which we're being yelled at by the ninth grade gym teacher for not being able to touch our toes!

Ilsa furtively enters Rick's. (Hope you know what furtive means.  I have no clue.)

Ilsa: Rick, I have to talk to you!

Rick:  Ilsa!  Well, Sam, you can go! 

Sam:  If Miss Ilsa's going to sing again, Boss, you better believe I'm going!

Rick: Why did you have to come to Casablanca?  There are other places.  Havertown PA, for example.  It has two --- count 'em --- two Wawa Convenience Stores!

Ilsa: Can I tell you a story, Rick?

Rick:  I know a story too, one with a wild finish.  A guy standing on a station platform in the rain whose insides had been kicked out!  Even worse, after my insides were kicked out, they went wide of the goal posts and we lost by two points.

Ilsa: I know.  I bet on your team too.  But Rick, please let me tell you this story!

Rick:  Okay. But first I want to jump in my jammies and grab Rupert Bear.  Can you get me a drink of water?  Deer Park?

Ilsa:  It's about a girl who at the house of some friends met a man about whom she’d heard her whole life. A very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshiped him… with a feeling she supposed was love.

Rick: And then?

Ilsa: And then he got her drunk on Ripple, and the rest is history!

Rick: Tell me, who was it you left me for?  Was it Lazlo, or were there others in between?  Or aren't you the kind that tells?

Ilsa:  Oh, I'm the kind, Rick.  Others in between.  Ever hear of the Philadelphia Eagles?


Scene V

Rick's, the next evening.  Rick, sitting alone, is approached by an attractive young woman (Annina).  Rick is about to show his benevolent side.  Even if I had a benevolent side, I'm sure it would  photograph just as badly as all my other sides!

Annina:  Monsieur Rick, what kind of man is Inspector Renault?

Rick:  Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so.

Annina: More so?!!!  W-e-e-l-l-l, maybe this won't be so bad after all!

Rick:  I beg your pardon, young lady?

Annina:  Oh, no, no, no, I was ... um ... kidding!  What I meant to say is oh, Monsieur Rick, you are a man.  If someone loved you so much your happiness was everything to her, but she did a bad thing, could you forgive her?

Rick:  Nobody ever loved me that much! Well, there was that tattooed skank who's now boffing Jesse James.

Annina: My husband is trying to make money for our exit visas by playing Scissors, Paper, Stone.  Of course, he's losing.  He's got a mean Paper, but he has trouble moving effectively to his left with Scissors.

Rick:  You want my advice?

Annina:  Oh yes, please.

Rick: Go back to Bulgaria!

Annina:  We came from Detroit, Monsieur Rick.

Rick:  I know. Bulgaria's nicer!  Well, everybody in Casablanca has problems,  yours may work out.

Annina:  (a bit crestfallen)   Thank you, Monsieur Rick.

Rick gets up and walks over to the Scissors, Paper, Stone table to where  Annina's husband  is sitting.

Rick:  Buddy, have you tried Stone today?

Croupier:  And the House puts out Scissors, the Monsieur wins with Stone!

Rick: Now put it all on Paper.

Croupier:  And the House puts out Stone. The Monsieur wins again!

Rick:  Cash those winnings and don't come back!  On second thought, you can come back for our special 'Thursday All-You-Can-Eat Wings Night!"

Annina runs over to Rick.

Annina:  Oh, Monsieur Rick, I don't know how to thank ....

Rick:  Ahh, he's just a lucky guy!  But he's GOT to work on moving effectively to his left with Scissors!

Inspector Renault saunters over to Rick with a "naughty-naughty" look.

Louie:  Just as I thought!   A rank sentimentalist!    I'll forgive you this time but I'll be in tomorrow night with a breathtaking blonde, and it'll make me very happy if she loses!  So tomorrow night please:

 RICKY, DON’T LOSE ME THAT NUMBER!

Scene VI

Upstairs at Rick’s. Rick and Victor Lazlo are chewing the fat about, oh, any old thing.

Rick:  Do you sometimes wonder if it's worth all this?  I mean what you're fighting for.

Victor: Know how you sound, Monsieur Blaine? Like a man who's trying to convince himself of something he doesn't believe in his heart.

Rick: Well, if not in my heart -- which is my second favorite organ -- my first favorite organ believes it!

Victor: You might as well question why we breathe. If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world will die.

Rick: Well, sounds like I’ll soon be sitting shiva with the world’s mishpocha then! Got the address?  Should I pick up some cold cuts from Murray's for everyone?

Germanic music begins playing from the café, and Victor storms downstairs and addresses the band.

Victor: Play the 'La Marseilleise!'  Play it!!! Oh, you don’t know it!  Okay, 'Frere Jacques' will do! 
  

Rick nods the OK and the band begins to play. Following the song, the entire café erupts in patriotic fervor! Ilsa looks fondly at Victor,  just as you are probably looking not so fondly at me  wondering when this damn parody will end!

Major Strasser: You see, Inspector Renault? If Lazlo’s presence here can cause such a disruption, can you imagine the damage from ‘Victor Lazlo, the Home Game?’ I order you to close Rick’s!

Louie: But I have no excuse to close it. My mommy forgot to write me one  before I came to school.

Major Strasser:  Find one!

Louie:  (announcing to all) This restaurant is now closed!  Thank you very much and don't forget to tip your bartenders and servers!

Rick: How can you close me up, Louie? On what grounds?

Louie: I'm shocked .... shocked to find that gambling is going on in here! Although not as shocked as I was to find gambling going on in a place like Chester PA, but still pretty shocked!

Croupier: Your winnings, sir.

Louie: Oh, thank you very much!

Nobody can ever improve on that classic exchange. I won’t even try!

Scene VII

Later that night at Rick’s apartment.  As Rick enters the apartment, he finds Ilsa also there.  She has previously entered  furtively. (What! You haven’t looked up “furtive” yet?)

Rick: Your unexpected visit isn't connected by any chance with the Letters of Transit.   It seems as long as I have those letters, I'll never be lonely.

Ilsa: No, I'm here for Phillies tickets.  Of course, it's the Letters of Transit!

 Rick: Sorry, Ilsa, it's no deal!  Or is it "Deal or No Deal?" Say, Howie Mandel might be perfect for a show with a name something like that!

Ilsa: I know how you feel about me, but I'm asking you to put your feelings aide for a cause far more important. It was once your cause too.

Rick: I'm the only Cause I'm interested in!  By the way, care to make a donation to my Cause? Or co-host my telethon?  Y'know, I just fired Jerry Lewis.

At the end of her rope, Ilsa pulls a gun on Rick.

Ilsa: All right, I tried to reason with you. I tried everything. Now I want those letters!

Rick:  Go ahead and shoot.  You'll be doing me a favor!

Ilsa:  Really?  Well, if you put it that way ....

Rick: Wait! Wait!  Can't you take a little joke, Ilsa?

Ilsa drops the gun.

Ilsa: Rick, I can't fight it anymore!  I tried to stay away.  You see,  Rick, Victor is my husband and was even when you knew me in Paris!

Ilsa throws herself passionately into Rick's arms.
  

Rick:  Well, okay.   If you put in that way....

Ilsa: I ran away from you once.  I can't do it again.  Oh, I don't know what's right any longer! You have to think for the four of us! I mean the three of us, counting Victor.  Or is it the two of us? Yes, in addition to not knowing what's right any longer, I have no math skills either!

Rick: All right, I will.

Rick:  (turning to audience) You see, folks, it’s 1942, and it’s SOP to have women in the movies - even Ingrid Bergman - act like they’re dependent morons. The only flaw in this otherwise great movie!

Rick tenderly kisses Ilsa, and then ....
Thank God Casablanca wasn’t made in 2010, because as much as I love Bogart, we'd have seen a lot more of him next than even I ever wanted to!  Ingrid Bergman --- well, that would have been an offsetting factor. But I will follow the discretionary tastes of the 40's and show you nada!

Rick: Here’s lookin’ at you, kid! Yes, you’re right, Ilsa: I am one of the men who stare at goats!  

Scene VIII

At the Blue Parrot, another Casablanca nightclub, Rick and Senor Ferrari, the proprietor, are having a pow-wow. How’s that for a totally inappropriate expression under the circumstances?

Ferrari: As leader of all illegal activities in Casablanca, I am an influential and respected man.  Just think, if I were 375 pounds lighter, watch out, Brad Pitt!

Rick:  Well, 'Brad,' let's conclude our business then.  I wouldn't want you to keep 'Angelina' waiting!

Ferrari:  I assume a handshake is satisfactory for our deal on Rick's?

Rick:  It certainly is not!   But given the time we've got,  let's just make it a pinkie shake! 

Ferrari: Oh, yes, I like a good pinkie shake!

Rick:   Now,  Sam, Sasha, and Karl stay with the place or I don't sell!

Ferrari:  Of course they do, it wouldn't be Rick's without them.  What do you think, I'm buying your dump for the veal cordon bleu?

Rick:  And Sam gets  25% of the profits.

Ferrari:  I happen to know he gets 10%, but he's worth 25%.  And for the iconic star of a classic movie, Rick, you are one hell of a cheapskate!


Scene IX

Having discussed with Inspector Renault his supposed plan to entrap Victor into arrest for attempting to purchase the Letters of Transit and take off with Ilsa for America, Rick and Inspector Renault lay in wait for Victor and Ilsa in the closed, darkened Rick's.

Louie: Still not sure why you’re doing this, Ricky. Miss Lund is very beautiful, but you were never interested in any woman.

Rick: You’re forgetting that tattooed skank who’s boffing Jesse James.

Louie: Ricky, I'm going to miss you. Apparently you're the only one in Casablanca with less scruples than I.

Rick: Yes, Louie, but today they had a deal on scruples at Staples. I’ve stocked up! Hmm, "stocked up on Scruples at Staples!" Say that fast five times!

As Victor and Ilsa enter and receive the Letters of Transit from Rick, Inspector Renault attempts to arrest Victor, but Rick pulls a gun on him instead.

Boy is this getting good!

Louie: Rick, have you lost your mind? 

Rick: I have.  Sit down.

Louie:  Put that gun down!

Rick: I wouldn't like to shoot you, Louie, but I will if you take one more step! And certainly if you take several steps and do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around!
Louie:  Under the circumstances, I will sit down.  And I'm  sure as hell not going to do the hokey-pokey, even if it's ladies choice!

Rick: Louie, remember this gun is pointed right at your heart.

Louie: That is my least vulnerable spot.

Rick: Well, then I’ll just re-direct it due south!

Off to the Airport for the denouement (finally!)  At the airport, Rick tells Inspector Renault to put Victor and Ilsa’s names on the Letters of Transit, ensuring their safe departure.

Ilsa: Richard, no! I want to go with you! You’re a much bigger star than Hans Conreid.

Louie: (interjecting) Ingrid, that’s Paul Henreid!

Rick: Ah, shut up, Louie! Only Boomers will get that joke anyway!

Ilsa:  But Richard, please ....

Rick: Look, Ilsa, you’re getting on that plane! Someone has to sit next to Kevin Smith!

Ilsa: But I love you, Rick! More even than the Philadelphia Eagles!

Rick: If you’re not on that plane, someday you’ll regret it, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life - definitely no later than Hump Day! Look, Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble. But the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. (Actually maybe they do, considering the stink beans produce!) Someday you’ll understand that.

Rick: (turning to audience) Yes, folks, it’s still 1942 and it’s still SOP to talk to women – even Ingrid Bergman – like they’re dependent morons!

Rick: (to Ilsa) We’ll always have Paris. And there’ll be rude waiters for us wherever we go.

Ilsa: And I said I would never leave you.  Well, okay, I’ll leave you.  Here’s the number where I’ll be, make sure the sitter gets it!

Rick: Here’s lookin’ at you, kid! I’m saying it again because the stupid goat movie sort of tanked and I’m using up any excess dialogue!

Victor approaches to squire Ilsa onto the plane.

Rick: (to Victor) There's something you should know.  Ilsa was at my place last night.  She did everything she could to try to get the letters of transit. She even pretended to still be in love with me.   For my sake, I let her pretend.

Victor:  I understand. Since no one is to blame I ask for no explanations.

Rick:  Geez, are you easy!  If I'd have known that, we would have done a hell of a lot more pretending, including the one where I pretend to be the Orthodox Rabbi and she's the humongous pig roast!  

Victor: Welcome back to the fight! This time I know our side will win --- or at least finish in the money!

Victor and Ilsa board the plane as Rick and Inspector Renauld look on.

Louie: I suppose you realize this isn't going to be very pretty for either of us. Especially you.

Rick:  Yeah, but I do plan to do my bunk at the concentration camp in a light mauve with pinkish overtones.

Louie:  You know I'll have to arrest you.

Rick:  As soon as the plane leaves, Louie.  Maybe also wait until the boring in-flight movie with Nicholas Cage starts.

As the plane taxis down the runway, Major Strasser arrives and tries to stop it. He reaches for a nearby phone to order it halted.

Rick:  Step away from that phone!  You know it's too expensive to call Information.  Look up the number instead!

Major Strasser persists.

Rick:  I said stop!  I was willing to shoot Inspector Renault and I'm willing to shoot you.  I kind of want to see if when I hit you it makes a clanging noise and you turn about and start immediately going in the opposite direction.

Major Strasser pulls a gun and  BANG! BANG! BANG! (I am so juvenile!)  Rick shoots Major Strasser and he falls dead to the ground. Louie's deputies drive up in a jeep.

Louie: Major Strasser’s been shot!

There follows a pregnant pause as Rick and Inspector Renault cautiously regard each other.   No, they're not literally pregnant, you idiot!

Louie: (to his men) Round up the usual suspects!

Rick, quite relieved, half smiles knowingly at Inspector Renauld.

Louie:  What?!!   Who took Rick's name off the “Usual Suspects List?"   Ha-ha-ha, just a little joke, Ricky!

Rick: You’re still no Claude Rains, Louie.

Louie: You know, Rick, you’re not only a sentimentalist, you've become a great patriot!

Rick: Seemed like a good time to start.

Louie: I think perhaps you’re right.

Inspector Renault drops a bottle of Vichy water into a trash can and kicks it. And it goes through the uprights for a winning three point conversion, unlike Rick’s guts earlier in the movie!

Rick and Louie walk off together into the dense airport fog.

Rick: You know, Louie, this looks like the start of a beautiful friendship!

Louie: You're right, Rick! You follow me on Twitter, and I follow you back.

Rick: And you’d better ….. or I’ll unfollow your ass!              

THE END 

Return to Casablanca --- But Not For the Waters

 With that, our classic tale of heroism, intrigue, and romance concludes! I hope you enjoyed it. I personally am sick to death of it!

Let’s return now to our own crappy little lives, OK folks?

~~~~~~~~~~~