Marchons!

Casablanca was on television last night.
I didn't intend to watch it, really I didn't. Mike had it on as a place holder while we looked through the channel guide for something else. He slid the remote over to me and kept urging me to "find whatever you like. We don't have to watch this." After all, we've seen it numerous times.
I was too tired to even pick up the remote, so I left it. And as Ilsa and Rick battled over those letters of transit, we both became more and more sucked in. It was as if, having come through five months of the worst recession in my lifetime, I was suddenly seeing the movie through my parents' eyes.
Imagine years of making clothes from gunny sacks and eating cornmeal mush. Just when things had started to turn around and you were beginning to have hope, just as it looked like you might have a new start, someone says you have to bid your children farewell and prepare to make even more sacrifices.
Yeah, I can see why people resisted that idea. But by the time Casablanca came out (1942) we were already in it. There was nothing left to be done, nothing to bear you up but your own sense of resolve.
That recurring theme--personal resolve--is what I think makes this movie so appealing so many years later.
In a way, the high point is that corny scene I used to make fun of. The one where a tavern beatdown is narrowly avoided by a sing-off of German and French anthems. France's La Marseillaise wins, of course.
I always wondered what was in that song that upset the Germans so much that they felt it necessary to close Rick's. Despite a couple of years of required French, I could only make out a couple of the lyrics. So this morning I looked them up. Here are the French and English words, side by side., of the first verse:

Allons enfants de la Patrie,	Come, children of the Fatherland,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !	The day of glory has arrived!
Contre nous de la tyrannie,	Against us, tyranny
L'étendard sanglant est levé, (bis)	The bloodied banner is raised, (repeat)
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes	Do you hear in the countryside
Mugir ces féroces soldats ?	Those ferocious soldiers roaring?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras	They come up to your arms
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes !	To slit the throats of your sons and wives!
Aux armes, citoyens,	To arms, citizens,
Formez vos bataillons,	Form your battalions,
Marchons, marchons !	Let's march, let's march!
Qu'un sang impur	May an impure blood
Abreuve nos sillons !	Water our furrows!

No musings over the beautiful countryside or the heroic past. This was a call to action, straight out.
Time to quit being complacent. The devil has the people by the throat. Either a thing is worth fighting for or it's not.
Suddenly, I feel pretty good.
Aux armes, citoyens. Marchons.

Here's Mireille Mathieu: