Ingrid Bergman Tribute: Casablanca

Director Michael Curtiz

Curtiz with Ingrid Bergman

Bogart and Bergman 

CASABLANCA                    A                                                                                                    USA  (102 mi)  1942  d: Michael Curtiz

You must remember this
A kiss is still a kiss
A sigh is just a sigh
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.

—As Time Goes By, written by Herman Hupfield, 1931

Any list of the most beloved films etched into American culture must incude this one, along with Frank Capra’s IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946) and Victor Fleming’s THE WIZARD OF OZ (1939), all made before, during, or in the immediate aftermath of WWII, the epitome of the Golden Age of Hollywood, becoming synonymous with the best of who and what we are, as they all represent a piece of the American experience, where viewing these films during different stages of our lives is never less than memorable.  Listed at #3 on the American Film Institute’s list of greatest American films of all time, AFI'S 100 YEARS…100 MOVIES — 10TH ANNIVERSARY ..., and while it had an A-list of actors, it didn’t have a huge budget and was rushed out to coincide with the allied invasion of North Africa, released just eighteen days after the General Dwight D. Eisenhower-led Allied forces landed in Morocco and liberated Algiers, Oran, and Casablanca.  Arguably the most beloved Academy Award Best Picture winner ever, nominated for eight Academy Awards, winning three for Best Picture, Best Director (Michael Curtiz), and Best Screenplay (brothers Julius J. Epstein and Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch), the film may be most remembered for the romantic pairing of Humphrey Bogart with Ingrid Bergman, who was borrowed from David O. Selznick’s Paramount studio.  With this film, Bogart, better known for playing tough-guy gangster roles or playing a hardened detective, made the transition to becoming a romantic hero in every movie afterwards, while Ingrid Bergman was barely known in America until this film, which remains her best-known role, with both quickly becoming the darlings of the silver screen, the picture of bravery and moral conviction, showing how to fight through adversity.  The war was on, after all, and people were struggling in all facets of their lives, with this couple blazing a trail for how to survive with your freedom and dignity intact, where you can still stand for something even during the worst of times when all appears lost.  CASABLANCA is the ultimate war melodrama, a movie about political resistance, where the ongoing war is the backdrop to the film, making effective use of current historical events, transformed into a North African setting in French Morocco, where it’s important to remember that this was a film that took a heroic stand in the middle of a war, where the outcome was by no means certain, which may explain why the film resonates on so many levels, but the quotable dialogue may be the crown jewel, one of the most quoted movies of all time, where so much of it remains etched into the American consciousness, memorable enough that viewers still have much of it memorized.  Jukeboxes even incorporated the dialogue spoken over the equally memorable songs, none greater than pianist Dooley Wilson as Sam singing “As Time Goes By,” Dooley Wilson - As Time Goes By (HD) "Play it, Sam. Play As ... YouTube (1:29), voted the second best song in American film history in AFI's 100 YEARS…100 SONGS, trailing only Judy Garland’s version of “Over the Rainbow” from THE WIZARD OF OZ.  Of interest, Dooley couldn’t even play the piano, as he was a professional singing drummer, where the music, originally written for the 1931 Broadway musical comedy Everybody's Welcome, was dubbed into the scenes.  And that’s just one of the extraordinary aspects of the film, as this was Hollywood after all, makers of dreams and artificial realities.  While it's not a flawless film, with mostly one-dimensional secondary characters, some ludicrous rear projection shots in a flashback montage, while second unit director Don Siegel, the director of Clint Eastwood in DIRTY HARRY (1971), filmed the opening newsreel-style montage, yet the flaws are easily overlooked by the power of the performances and the wonderful way this film is stitched together, where it’s hard not to be lulled into the sentimental allure that includes Max Steiner’s superb musical score, as something tugs at your heartstrings throughout, drawing us into this exotic studio creation, transporting us back to a simpler life before the war tarnished everything. 

Legendary film critic Pauline Kael dismissed the film as “schlocky romanticism,” while director Billy Wilder described it as “wonderful claptrap,” and like hundreds of other Hollywood studio films churned out at this time, this is a propaganda film that reinforced the nation’s support for the Allied war effort, screened by President Roosevelt in the White House, coming at a time when most Americans still preferred to remain isolationist and neutral, even after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, yet no other film captured the American psyche as well as CASABLANCA, a movie that literally lives with us and becomes part of our lives, with the iconic figure of Humphrey Bogart standing at the center of the film’s popularity, featuring some of cinema’s most romantic scenes with Ingrid Bergman, while the secondary characters, nearly entirely drawn from an international cast, have become embedded in popular culture.  Actress Emma Stone’s character in Damien Chazelle’s film 2016 Top Ten List #10 La La Land is obsessed with the film, working in a Warner Bros. backlot coffee shop in Burbank opposite the CASABLANCA set, while sleeping underneath a giant poster of Ingrid Bergman in her bedroom, while opposite her Ryan Gosling’s Sebastian character opens his own jazz club named Seb’s, inspired by Bogart’s bar Rick’s, right down to the neon-lit signage.  Michael Curtiz was not the original choice of director, as that would be William Wyler, but he was busy with other projects, while Hedy Lamarr was the producer’s preference over Ingrid Bergman, and Bogart, curiously enough, was also not the original choice according to a Warner Bros. press release in 1942, claiming it was Ronald Reagan, but that was only a publicity stunt trying to build publicity for another one of the studio’s films starring Reagan, KING’S ROW (1942).  Adapted from Murray Burnett and Joan Allison’s unproduced play, Everybody Comes to Rick’s, a stage play allegedly inspired by Burnett’s trip across Europe in 1938, where he and his wife were surprised by the vehemence of the anti-Semitism in Austria after its 1938 annexation by Nazi Germany, a period characterized by the immediate implementation of Nazi racial laws, the violent persecution and forced emigration of its Jewish population, and the systematic destruction of Jewish property, while a visit to a nightclub in southern France, La Belle Aurore, transformed into the idea of Bogart’s character, the owner of Rick’s Café Américain, a nightclub that was the place to be in Casablanca.  While there are noirish elements to the film, including a cynical, existentialist anti-hero in a trench coat, a dangerous and corrupt environment, snappy dialogue, and the prominent use of low-key lighting, this would never be described as a film noir, largely due to the patriotic and propagandistic messages as well as an optimistic and upbeat ending.  Filmed during the war while history is still being shaped, a time when the Nazi’s are invading Europe, and the Europeans want to get out of their path as quickly as possible, where many in the cast were themselves refugees, it’s important to note that from 1939 to June 1942, nearly 20 million people moved from one part of Europe to safer terrain.  A native Hungarian, Curtiz, who himself was in the process of smuggling family members out of Hungary, was known for making concise films, with no wasted footage, where his lightning-fast pacing was the fastest on the studio lot, having a penchant for German Expressionistic lighting and using dark areas of shadows to create atmosphere, while also using high crane shots and unusual camera angles.  If this film has anything, it is drenched in stylish atmosphere, which may explain why it has passed the test of time, yet actress Ingrid Bergman initially found the plot confusing, thinking the film would do nothing for her career, believing the part wasn’t very demanding, yet Bogart, who would play opposite her, was on the verge of becoming a big star, and the studio insisted she would be dressed immaculately, while the extra dimension she provides is her luminous onscreen vulnerability, where she never looked more beautiful, luminously shot in soft focus for close-ups, making her appearance around the 30-minute mark, instantly turning her into a major international star.    

Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) is introduced as the owner of a bustling nightclub and gambling den operating in the German-occupied territory of Casablanca, defined by a seedy underworld and questionable morals, a place where espionage, war, and love exist simultaneously, where there’s a huge bottleneck for transits trying to get out of the country, stuck in limbo, waiting interminably in a desperate hope to escape the Nazis and reach neutral territory in Portugal.  Almost immediately we hear Rick is a cynical man who borders on selfishness, whose motto seems to be “I stick my neck out for nobody,” an American ex-pat with a mysterious, checkered past, like a man without a country who can never go home again, escaping to an exotic locale to reclaim a lost identity, yet it’s his cool demeanor that stands out, looking smart in a white dinner jacket, professing to be independently neutral in all matters, though we learn he ran guns for Ethiopia in 1935 and fought for the anti-fascist Republican side of the Spanish Civil War.  Newspaper reports two German couriers were murdered while carrying letters of transit, allowing the bearers free passage out of the country, documents that would be worth plenty of money, as everything in Casablanca is for sale, with Heinrich Strasser (Conrad Veidt), a German major, sent to Casablanca to investigate the killing of the two couriers.  Emblematic of that dark underside, Ugarte (Peter Lorre) hands off the letters to Rick for safe keeping, knowing the Germans will want him for questioning, Casablanca (1942) -- (Movie Clip) Letters Of Transit YouTube (3:51), while Signor Ferrari (Sydney Greenstreet), an underground figure, has cornered the black market, which he runs out of his Blue Parrot Café.  But Rick’s best friend and charming partner in crime is none other than Captain Louis Renault (Claude Rains in his most iconic role, where there’s even a tribute song written about him from a New Zealand musical duo, The Front Lawn - Claude Rains), the equally cynical yet thoroughly corrupt French Prefect of Police under the Vichy government, as they seem to have a secret code of understanding, where the beauty is as much about what’s left unsaid as what’s spoken aloud, much of which is pure poetry.  Rains is given some of the best lines, a wry observer of the absurdities of the time, always the opportunist, making the best of a tragic situation.  As he rounds up “all the usual suspects,” a show of force largely to impress the Germans, he’s also the one to arrest Ugarte, who is shot trying to escape, leaving the question of the undiscovered letters of transit a big mystery.  Then, in perhaps the biggest mystery of all, Rick’s former Norwegian lover Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman), enters the establishment accompanied by her husband Victor Laszlo (the uncharismatic yet super dignified Paul Henried), a renowned fugitive Czechoslovak Resistance leader.  When she asks a reluctant Sam to play “As Time Goes By,” it finally brings the two protagonists together in a moment of stunned surprise, where the two obviously have a history together that remains embedded in the unspoken drama.  While we learn Laszlo has broken out of a German concentration camp, his legendary reputation as a freedom fighter is well known and respected, making him an emphatically appealing character, providing much of the moral heft of the picture, as he’s a stark contrast to the Nazis.  Later that night Rick drinks his sorrows away, absolutely certain Ilsa will show up, eloquently summoning up what’s eating at him, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” which leads to a brilliant flashback sequence, Casablanca 4K Ultra HD - "All the gin joints in all the towns in ... YouTube (4:05).  When Ilsa does finally visit Rick later that night, we learn she is the biggest reason for his deep cynicism, having inexplicably disappeared from Rick’s life in Paris on the eve of the German occupation, leaving him emotionally devastated afterwards, having never forgotten or forgiven her, drowning himself in liquor and self-loathing, Casablanca (3/6) Movie CLIP - I Don't Know the Finish (1942 ... YouTube (2:42).

The letters of transit everyone needs to get out of Casablanca are a kind of Hitchcockian MacGuffin, as in real life they never actually existed.  Yet everybody wants them, but nobody knows quite what they are, only that they are highly desirable.  No one is troubled by their irrational nature.  This is part of the cinematic magic that has drawn audiences into the film’s unreal ambience since 1942.  A perfect example is how easily the black market uses and exploits people, literally spitting them out on a daily basis, like a merry-go-round of refugees, as the entire story revolves around these letters, allowing anyone to escape from the hell of Nazi occupation, like a fictitious open door to freedom, leaving desperate people in a permanent state of anxiety and unease trying to get them, Casablanca (1942) -- (Movie Clip) You're A Fat Hypocrite YouTube (3:31), yet the underlying message is being oppressed against one’s will, which is always the flipside of war, where there are winners and losers, because in the real world, the good guys don’t always come out on top.  Imagine, for instance, if the losers actually won the war, and what a substantially different world this would be.  Both Laszlo and Ilsa want to get their hands on these letters of transit, believing it’s their only way out, yet going through Rick seems to be the only way, suspecting he knows where they are, making him a unique person of interest, elevating his level of importance in this story, where no one knows how it will end.  Will Rick or Laszlo get the girl?  That’s the open question in this love triangle, where even the writers were unsure, which kept the actors in the dark as well, especially Bergman who was openly frustrated and confused over the fact that no one would tell her who she was really supposed to be in love with.  That’s all part of the fun of this film, as it could have any number of multiple endings.  The film quickly pivots from Rick’s self-absorbed self-pity to rousing patriotism, where the patrons of Rick’s establishment are forced to hear Nazi officers sing their rendition of Die Wacht am Rhein, only to be countered by Laszlo, joined by Corinna Mura, the uncredited café singer and guitar player, and Madeleine Lebeau as Yvonne, a real-life 19-year old French refugee, who can be seen with tears in her eyes as they all collectively sing a spirited rendition of the French national anthem, La Marseillaise (still the greatest national anthem ever written), that drowns out the Nazis, an emphatic punctuation of the film’s moral high ground, Victor Laszlo Gets a Crowd To Sing "La Marseillaise" (Clip ... YouTube (3:02), shifting the film into a morality play with a fierce antifascist message.  As if to emphasize that intoxicating allure of freedom, Ilsa reveals just how desparate they are to get out of Casablanca, and begs Rick for the letters, adding love and romance to the mysterious ingredients of the story, all fueled by the radiant presence of Ingrid Bergman, who could make you believe just about anything, Casablanca (4/6) Movie CLIP - I Still Love You (1942) HD YouTube (2:36).  One of the best things though about Rick's character is that as the film progresses, we watch him do his best to overcome the cynical side of his personality, and actually help others when they need it.  As if on cue, Rick agrees to help Laszlo escape to Lisbon, gaining Captain Renault’s cooperation by telling him that he and Ilsa plan to leave, and promising Laszlo’s arrest at the airport.  Suspecting Laszlo, not Rick, will board the plane at the last moment, Renault phones Strasser, who rushes to the airport.  It all comes to a maddening conclusion, with a melodramatic whirlwind rush of sentiment that envelops the screen like the low-lying fog, with the director never informing Bergman who she would leave with until the day of the shooting, as Strasser is shot and killed by Rick when he attempts to stop the flight, and Ilsa and Victor escape together, with Rick sacrificing love for a higher purpose.  When the police arrive, rather than point out the man responsible, Renault tells them to “round up the usual suspects,” which leads to a fitting epitaph, with Rick eloquently remarking “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Humphrey Bogart Parts Ways With Ingrid Bergman ... YouTube (6:33).  The film made both Bogart and Bergman into living legends afterwards, with CASABLANCA added to the Library of Congress National Film Registry in 1989, one of the first 25 films added in the Registry’s inaugural year.

Carrotblanca (1995) Looney Tunes take on Casablanca, YouTube (8:59)

In a Lonely Place

Nicholas Ray (left) on the set with Bogart

Ray on the set with Bogart and Grahame

Nicholas Ray and Gloria Grahame

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IN A LONELY PLACE         A                                                                                                      USA  (94 mi)  1950  d:  Nicholas Ray

I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.     — Dixon Steele (Humphrey Bogart)

As the era of McCarthyism gained momentum in 1950, Hollywood had an opportunity to reexamine itself by churning out lurid, anti-Hollywood melodramas that cast a cynical light on the movie industry as an unsavory business, where in the same year that Nicholas Ray’s film reflected a world-weary uneasiness with a self-loathing Tinseltown, two other releases followed suit, Billy Wilder’s SUNSET BOULEVARD (1950), revealing the downside of fame and illusion, and Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s ALL ABOUT EVE (1950), which dissects the cutthroat nature of the business, all exposing a cruel underbelly of show business.  Not sure these films can be separated from the Cold War Hollywood blacklist dividing the industry against its own artists, as instead they are reflective of the times, revealing the impermanence of fame and acclaim as well as the disintegration of the all-powerful studio system.  In this backdrop, Ray produced what might be his most personal film, with the wrenching agony of his personal life intruding into the depths of the remarkably sculpted Humphrey Bogart lead character, a violent and wounded soul always on the precipice of disaster, yet clinging to his craft as a screenwriter as the lifesaver of a sinking career, the only shred of pride and dignity left in an industry that creates has-beens as quickly as it worships new faces.  Bogart unleashes what may arguably be his best career performance, struggling with the demons of his past in much the same way as the director is examining the disintegration of his own marriage, casting his soon-to-be separated wife Gloria Grahame opposite Bogart, creating an ungodly amount of tension on the set, yet the frayed nerves seem to electrify the two lead performances that dominate this film.  Adapted from a Dorothy B. Hughes noirish crime novel by the same name, with the title aptly describing the protagonist’s deep and crippling alienation from the movie industry and its inner workings, offering a less than flattering view, very much ahead of its time, becoming an existential exposé on the art of screenwriting, as Bogart plays Dixon “Dix” Steele, a washed-up Hollywood screenwriter with a hair-trigger temper who has not had a hit “since before the war.”  Hiding behind the veneer that he’s writing a novel, Dix routinely castigates his fellow colleagues in the business for selling out, producing hackwork in the “popcorn business,” getting all worked up into a lather when a young, well-connected hotshot producer takes pot shots at one of his friends, a down-on-his-luck, out of work actor, Robert Warwick as Charlie Waterman, an old pro, a dapper, poetry-reciting antique with a flair for the dramatic who is drowning himself in brandy at the bar.  Dix is so incensed at what he views as callous ingratitude that he punches out the privileged young producer, who is quickly carried out, leading to a confrontation on the road where he nearly comes to blows with another motorist, so right from the outset viewers see Dix as a hard-driving man with an explosive temper.  But he’s also a charming guy, sophisticated and well-versed with words, socially engaging, handling himself with ease in difficult situations, never buckling under pressure, a man’s man who has a gift of sizing up any situation, rarely surprised by unforeseen events.  Eliminating the inner voice of the novel, where a narrator offers an omniscient vantage point, voicing the protagonist’s inner thoughts and feelings, much like SUNSET BOULEVARD, but instead Ray offers a conventional storyline that actually subverts the book’s original intent with film noir elements, expanding the influence of the film industry itself and the injurious effects it has on Dix, where an unseen factor felt throughout is the pressure to remain relevant in this business, where success is often fleeting.  By eliminating access to Dix’s inner realm, Ray creates an aura of ambiguity surrounding his character, whose true motivations viewers can never be sure of.  His emotional detachment is also reflected in the world around him, where the opening shots driving down the street at night in the city of Los Angeles that draw us into his subjective point of view are reminiscent of the God’s Lonely Man portrait in Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976), especially the garishly lit street views passing by that offer such a “lonely” vantage point. 

The entire picture is steeped in Hollywood atmosphere, from autograph seekers to restaurants that cater to industry insiders, where Hollywood as an imaginary fulfillment is synonymous with the American Dream, with its promise of wealth, success, and fame.  When Dix is awarded the assignment of adapting a book to a Hollywood screenplay, viewed by his agent Mel Lippmann (Art Smith, blacklisted after director Elia Kazan named him) that it might be his “last chance,” he’s loath to actually read the book, believing it’s dreadfully superficial, preferring instead to invite a young hatcheck girl, Mildred Atkinson (Martha Stewart), who’s actually read the book to describe it to him instead, as she’s obviously enthused by the contents, describing it as an epic.  Asking her to break her date with a boyfriend, he drives her home to his snazzy Beverly Hills apartment (actually using Ray’s first Hollywood apartment), running into a new neighbor Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame) purely by chance, getting more sidetracked by viewing her on a balcony across the courtyard instead of listening to the story, but he pays the young girl for her services, giving her cab fare home, claiming he’s tired, suggesting there’s a cab stand just around the corner.  Nothing out of the ordinary happens until he’s awoken at the crack of dawn by a police detective, an old friend and army buddy Brub (Frank Lovejoy) who brings him down to the station for questioning, as Mildred Atkinson never made it home last night, the victim of a brutal murder, dumped from a moving car after being strangulated to death.  According to Captain Lochner (Carl Benton Reid), Dix is at the top of the suspect’s list until a young starlet named Laurel Gray is hauled in as well, offering an airtight alibi, as she saw the young girl leave the apartment on her own accord from her balcony, claiming she was eying Dix at the time, concluding “he looked interesting, and I like his face.”  Bogart’s screen charisma comes from identifying with male loners who are up against the wall yet insist on going their own way, ignoring all safe havens, yet here he’s more than a little troubled, edgy, overly defensive, with a streak of violence hiding his mannered politeness, where it’s clear he’s exceedingly smart, but also full of self-loathing, the spitting image, apparently, of a Hollywood screenwriter.  A torrid affair develops between the jaded Hollywood screenwriter and the beautiful aspiring actress, and, you guessed it, like clockwork, his decade-long writer’s block is placed in the rear view window, as he’s up all night with continuous writing, which she is transcribing, where a budding screenplay is a sexual metaphor for their passionate romance, never out of one’s sight for days on end, becoming the kind of love affair one can only dream of while also developing an inspired script.  Though she’s fallen under Dix’s spell, Laurel has some lingering doubts, exacerbated by the continuing suspicions of Captain Lochner, Dix’s history of Hollywood brawls, and the broken nose of a former girlfriend, leaving a dark suspicion in the back of her mind, wondering when this side of the man will become evident in her own dealings with him, as everyone has warned her about him, none more powerfully and more provocatively than her masseuse Martha (Ruth Gillette), with suggestions of sexual overprotection, as she keeps calling her “Angel,” telling her things like “You can’t be a nurse-maid and a sweetheart, a cook and a secretary.  You have to think of yourself,” then literally scaring the bejezus out of her before being summarily dismissed.  But her fears grow out of control after witnessing Dix take a dramatic turn from a romantic, oceanside dinner with Brub and his wife Sylvia (Jeff Donnell), stunned by the knowledge that Laurel was re-interviewed by the police without his knowledge, hightailing out of there in a cloud of dust, driving like a man possessed, running repeated stop signs until finally making an illegal turn directly into another car, causing a fender bender where he was clearly at fault, yet Dix’s reaction is to pulverize the young kid driving for having the audacity to blame him, beating him to a pulp, nearly killing him before Laurel intervenes. 

Bogart, of course, wanted Lauren Bacall for the role, which would have been a completely different picture, but Jack Warner insisted upon Grahame, who had a wide range and an edgy sense of humor, viewed as both tough and vulnerable, highly appealing throughout, right from the initial police questioning, exerting her own fierce independence, matching Bogart frame for frame, considered one of her finest performances.  After her divorce to Ray in 1952, she later married his son Anthony, her former stepson, allegedly caught with him in bed together in 1950, a scandalous revelation that effectively ended her marriage with Nicholas Ray.  Imagine making this film with her after that discovery and you have some idea of just how extraordinarily personal this film actually is.  Dix in this film is a stand-in for Ray, as he and Grahame were on the brink of divorce during the shooting (intentionally kept secret on the set or the actress would undoubtedly have been replaced), with Dix continually showing signs of bitterness, rapid mood changes, and internal resentment, becoming over controlling, where his treatment of Laurel reflects a lack of trust that was very apparent in the director’s own marriage.  The film sends out all the warning signals of domestic violence, rare in its day and age, where Steele’s agent Mel Lippmann was concerned his client may have had something to do with the young girl’s murder, which remains unsolved, though he is thrilled at the upturn of events with Dix writing again, never really seeing him this happy before, thinking a good script is the answer to everyone’s problem.  When Dix makes suggestions of marriage, presuming Laurel is on the same wavelength, he starts charting their future together, which leaves Grahame stunned and paralyzed like a cornered animal, never more isolated and alone, as she’s too afraid to reveal her actual fears, thinking that might set him off, afraid he may actually kill her, so she begrudgingly goes along with whatever he plans, even agreeing to marry him while secretly making her own plans to disappear on the first flight out of town, but she’s constantly smothered by Dix, needing her own space, afraid of being confined in a toxic atmosphere of lingering paranoia and fear.  It’s an abrupt shift in storyline, as the two were obviously very much in love, but this seismic shift is perfectly expressed by a doomed line of dialogue that Dix has been trying to work into the screenplay, the personification of romantic fatalism, “I was born when she kissed me.  I died when she left me.  I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”  Guided by this noirish turn, dreadful uncertainty lies behind every move, tainting any possibility of success, where parallel stories of romance and a developing screenplay are happening simultaneously, beautifully reflected at an intimate piano bar sequence with black jazz singer Hadda Brooks singing a sultry version of “I Hadn’t Anyone Till You,” sigfrid monleon on Twitter: "I hadn't anyone 'till you, I was a ...  YouTube (2:01), reminiscent of an eerily similar scene in Ray’s They Live By Night (1948), both enthralled by the sheer romanticism of the moment which quickly comes to an abrupt end (with Brooks notable for being the first black woman to host a TV show).  Also, significantly, the earlier focus on Bogart’s character subtly shifts to a growing interest in Grahame, a revelation who dominates the final scenes, where fear and jealousy intrude into every aspect of their lives, poisoned by their alarming mistrust, extinguishing all that’s left of their relationship which literally disintegrates before our eyes.  It’s a magnificent tribute to both Bogart and Grahame for pulling this off, shot extemporaneously, with the director having the confidence in them both, basically improvising the finale on the set to achieve those last chilling moments.  It’s a devastating picture that leaves an emotional impact, no longer feeling like a Hollywood motion picture but resembling the aching horrors of real life, capturing the essence of Dix’s inadvertent farewell message ending it all.  This murky portrait of Hollywood steeped in a disturbing atmosphere of paranoia reflects the darkened state of Hollywood just prior to the House Un-American Activities Committee hearings, with the industry exhibiting bad faith by turning on its own artists.  Dix’s psychological disintegration mirrors the broken voices who were censored and silenced by the Hollywood blacklist, ultimately reflecting Ray’s own view of Hollywood, where the corrosive effects of suspicion destroyed many people’s lives.