Was She, or Wasn't She?

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"The poor have only one advantage; they know when they are loved for themselves."

Anastasia (Ingrid Bergman)

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Of all the women who have graced the silver screen, few have combined great beauty with great talent the way Ingrid Bergman did.

In the '30s and '40s, she shared billing with some of the top actors in Hollywood and was directed by some of Hollywood's top directors. Many of her movies are still regarded as being among the best ever made.

But Bergman did not always live a charmed life. From 1949 until this day in 1956, Bergman was essentially — and hypocritically — blacklisted in Hollywood for having an affair with director Roberto Rossellini — and eventually giving birth to his child — while she and Rossellini were married to other people. The fact that Bergman and Rossellini married in 1950 and had two more children together apparently made little difference.

For more than half of the '50s, Bergman collaborated with Rossellini on foreign films while living in exile after being denounced by Colorado Democrat Edwin Johnson on the floor of the U.S. Senate. Bergman made eight movies during her exile; most have been seldom seen by Western audiences.

Then Bergman made her triumphant return to the American silver screen with "Anastasia," which premiered on this day in 1956. Her performance in the title role won her an Oscar, her second.

For such an actress, only an extraordinary role would do for such a comeback, and the subject matter truly was extraordinary. It was one of history's intriguing mysteries.

History contains many mysteries. Who was Jack the Ripper? What happened to Amelia Earhart? Or Jimmy Hoffa? Did Lee Harvey Oswald act alone? Did he even act at all?

And Bergman's comeback subject was — and, to an extent, remains — one of the 20th century's greatest mysteries. What became of Anastasia, the 17–year–old grand duchess of Russia who supposedly perished with the rest of the Romanov family in 1918? For years there were rumors that she escaped the executions that her family suffered after the Bolshevik revolution.

Did she?

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That was the question facing some of the characters in the story, but that was not a question the movie sought to answer. "Anastasia" was about a criminal plot to collect money being held in a trust for the real Anastasia.

The ringleader of the plot, a manipulative Russian businessman, was played by Yul Brynner, and he knew Anastasia didn't have to be perfect, merely convincing. As he presented his case to his fellow conspirators, Brynner asked, "Would you recognize the smile of a girl you knew 10 years ago?"

He went on to observe, "You're examining her as if she was the real Anastasia. There is no Anastasia! She was shot to death 10 years ago by a firing squad. We're not looking for her, gentlemen. We're seeking only a reasonable facsimile."

His mission was to persuade Helen Hayes, who played the sole surviving Romanov, that Bergman was legitimate. And she wasn't easy to convince. She had known the real Anastasia as a girl, and her memory was keen.

"I like the past," she said at one point. "It's sweet and familiar."

At the Oscars, Bergman received the Best Actress award. Brynner received Best Actor that night — but for his performance in "The King and I."

Spellbound by Hitchcock and Salvador Dali

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"Women make the best psychoanalysts until they fall in love. After that they make the best patients."

Alex (Michael Chekhov)

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I know that many movie aficionados regard "Spellbound," an Alfred Hitchcock psychological thriller that premiered on this day in 1945, as a classic, but probably the majority of modern movie watchers wouldn't know anything about it.

And that makes me wonder if, even with its reputation among those in the know, perhaps "Spellbound" is Hitchcock's most underrated movie. It is even underrated with some who are in the know. The American Film Institute, for example, did not include "Spellbound" in its list of the Top 100 movies of all time.

Even in its own time, "Spellbound" was overlooked by its peers. To be fair, it did achieve something that comparatively few Hitchcock movies achieved. It was nominated for several Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director, but it only won one — for its music. The music for "Spellbound" was appropriate, as it almost always was, for a Hitchcock movie, but the only on–screen work that was recognized with a nomination was Michael Chekhov in a supporting role.

That wouldn't have been nearly as egregious if, as was frequently the case with a Hitchcock movie, the stars weren't A–listers of their time — but "Spellbound" starred Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck. Now they weren't the A–Lister's A–listers. There were stars in Hollywood who probably rated a little higher than Bergman and Peck on the A–list scale — but not many.

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And both were nominated for Oscars that year — but for performances in other movies.

Bergman played a psychoanalyst at a mental hospital, where the director was being forced to retire after an extended absence for exhaustion. His replacement was played by Peck — who, it was observed by his colleagues, brought little baggage with him. Physical baggage, that is — although that distinction was not made by any of the characters, and only in hindsight could it be correctly interpreted.

That assumes, of course, that the viewer would remember a snippet of dialogue in the first 15 minutes of a two–hour Hitchcock movie. Verbal clues were tossed into Hitchcock movies so casually that such details could be missed even after several viewings, and that was especially true of "Spellbound," which was not only psychological in its nature but was about the study of psychology and evaluation of mental disorders. Listening to psychoanalysts speak in such a movie can reach a point where it's all white noise for the ordinary viewer.

I don't remember how many times I saw "Spellbound" before I made that connection about the baggage. I had probably seen "Spellbound" at least three or four times by then, and I consider myself reasonably intelligent.

Speaking of connections, Bergman and Peck apparently made a connection of their own when the movie was being made. They were both married — to other people — when they made "Spellbound," yet they had a brief affair during that production. Their relationship may have been known to their relatives and/or friends, but the public had only its own suspicions, whatever they may have been, until 1987, five years after Bergman's death, when Peck confessed in an interview.

That answered some questions about the obvious chemistry between the two on screen.

There was obviously something strange about Peck's character — or at least it seemed strange to his colleagues, who embarked on waves of psychobabble about whether Peck's character was really who he claimed to be. In true Hitchcockian fashion, it was suggested that Peck had murdered the doctor he claimed to be and had assumed his identity. That turned out to be correct. Bergman's diagnosis, that Peck was an amnesiac, also turned out to be true.

And there was always the tiniest sliver of doubt that couldn't be easily explained, not matter how many psychoanalysts contributed ideas.

That is what made "Spellbound" such a good movie. It was what succeeded in all of Hitchcock's works — the element of what some would call plausible deniability.

Sure, Peck might well be guilty, but what about ...?

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The crowning touch may have been a dream sequence designed by Salvador Dali that was just loaded with psychiatric symbols.

Too bad Hitchcock wasn't making color movies at the time. A Salvador Dali–inspired dream sequence was just meant to be done in color — kind of like the imagery from "Vertigo."

That alone would have been hypnotic, a unique experience for moviegoers in 1945. The mystery, on the other hand, wound up being rather routine, I thought. It wasn't one of Hitchcock's best — but the performances of the actors deserved more recognition.

A 'Cactus Flower' in Full Bloom

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Stephanie (Ingrid Bergman): Mr. Greenfield, please don't handle the instruments.

Harvey (Jack Weston): I was reading the other day, a dentist in New Jersey has topless nurses.

Stephanie: I didn't know you were interested in reading.

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It was simply impossible to not like Goldie Hawn's character in "Cactus Flower," which premiered on this date in 1969.

She was so sweetly earnest, almost naive. There wasn't a deceitful bone in her body — which is probably why her relationship with Walter Matthau, playing a deceitful dentist, became so distasteful for her. That wasn't clear at first. Hawn and Matthau were having an affair. Hawn was led to believe Matthau was married with children. Turned out, though, that he was a bachelor; he just told women he had a family to avoid becoming too involved with them.

But Hawn's character had a strong sense of ethics. She wanted to be married, but she would not take another woman's man and she would not stand between a man and his children. If the relationship with Matthau continued, she would eventually violate those ethics so Matthau had to go.

But it was Hawn who apparently was on the way out when the movie began. She tried to kill herself, but a neighbor intervened — and it was when Matthau learned of the aborted suicide attempt that he realized how much he really cared for Hawn.

To save the relationship, Matthau needed a temporary wife so he turned to his dental assistant, played by Ingrid Bergman, who, as it turned out, had been nursing an infatuation with her boss for quite some time. Matthau told her he needed someone to pose as his wife and assure Hawn that the relationship was over and had been for awhile. Bergman resisted at first but eventually agreed to do it.

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Bergman brought two little boys with her (I think they were her nephews in the story) to her meeting with Hawn and did everything she could to sell the idea that her "marriage" to Matthau was over, but Hawn was a tough interrogator. She had to see Bergman with the boyfriend she claimed to have — he was played by Jack Weston, one of Matthau's patients — before she was convinced.

You know, even though Bergman was in her 50s when she made "Cactus Flower," it seems ironic that someone as beautiful as Bergman was a few decades earlier — in "Casablanca" and "Gaslight" and "Joan of Arc" — and was still beautiful when she made "Cactus Flower" ended up portraying a presumably plain dental assistant. But she did it well.

Perhaps so well that she was inspired to insist, five years later, that she play possibly the plainest character in "Murder on the Orient Express" — for which she was rewarded with an Oscar.

Hawn did win an Oscar (Best Supporting Actress) for her performance in "Cactus Flower" — which, as I recall, surprised some people. Perhaps not so much because of the caliber of her competition — as always, the nominees were good but none seemed to strike observers as particularly inevitable — but because the public memory knew Hawn as the ditzy blonde on TV's Laugh–In.

Stereotypes can be powerful things, and sometimes they distract from the truth — in this case, that Hawn deserved the Oscar she received. Fortunately, the Academy's voters weren't distracted from the truth.

And the truth — as it so often is — was complicated.

Hawn has never been the greatest actress who walked the earth. But she was convincing — and she was not nominated for Best Actress Who Ever Lived. She was so convincing that observers struggled to differentiate between Goldie Hawn the person and the airhead she played on Laugh–In. Like Suzanne Somers a decade later, she was much smarter than the characters she played.

"Cactus Flower" was filled with unexpected surprises — not unlike the cactus that Bergman kept on her desk.

One infrequently sees a flowering cactus, but it does happen, even in the most inhospitable of environments. The cactus that Bergman's character kept on her desk didn't bloom often, but, when it did, it was a sight to see.

Bringing Agatha Christie to the Big Screen

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Bianchi (Martin Balsam): You mean you saw the man? You can identify the murderer?

Mrs. Hubbard (Lauren Bacall): I mean nothing of the kind. I mean there was a man in my compartment last night. It was pitch dark, of course, and my eyes were closed in terror ...

Bianchi: Then how did you know it was a man?

Mrs. Hubbard: Because I've enjoyed very warm relations with both my husbands.

Bianchi: With your eyes closed?

Mrs. Hubbard: That helped.

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I remember the night my father took our family from our central Arkansas hometown to Little Rock to see "Murder on the Orient Express," which premiered on this day in 1974. I have read many Agatha Christie books in my life, and I have read the one upon which the movie was based, but I had not read it before I saw the movie.

So I was completely fished in by the solution — which I won't give away, in case someone reading this would like to read the book (which I recommend) or see the movie (which I also recommend). In his review of the movie, Roger Ebert reminded readers that "nothing is as it seems (and you knew that already about a movie based on an Agatha Christie book)."

"Murder on the Orient Express" wasn't the first Agatha Christie book to be brought to the big screen, but, to my knowledge, it was the first to do so with such a heavyweight cast.

My parents were Agatha Christie fans. They read most, if not all, of her books — and my memory of that night is that they were almost giddy with anticipation. Looking back, I realize they must have read articles about the movie — reviews, features about the cast members, that sort of thing — but my brother and I had not, and we were bewildered; we knew some of the stars in the movie, but we had no idea what to expect from the plot.

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I had seen Ingrid Bergman in movies on TV, but she was young and beautiful in those movies. She was nearly 60 when she made "Murder on the Orient Express" — still beautiful, as I found out later, but the role she played required her to look even frumpier than many women look at that age.

Bergman actually chose the role she played, an old Swedish missionary, even though director Sidney Lumet wanted to give her a better role, a still older yet prettier and wittier character than the missionary, a more graceful role with which he felt she could win another Oscar. But Bergman was "sweetly stubborn" about the role she wanted to play, Lumet said, and he couldn't deny her. After all, she was Ingrid Bergman.

In the end, she won an Oscar, anyway. After all, she was Ingrid Bergman.

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Hercule Poirot (Albert Finney): Mr. Ratchett, I have made enough money to satisfy both my needs and my caprices. I take only such cases now as interest me, and to be frank, my interest in your case is ... dwindling.

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Really, it was an all–star cast, befitting a story that seemed to have randomly thrown together a dozen colorful characters — until a rather tenuous link between them all and the victim was established.

Personally, I found the story's solution to be a clever twist, the kind of thing that only Agatha Christie could conceive. She put all the characters on a train that had been stopped by a snowdrift. They were confined to the train, where Poirot interrogated them all and then revealed the two conclusions he had reached about how the victim had been killed.

Must have been a delight to be on the set with all those talented people.

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Hercule Poirot: You never smile, madame la princesse?

Princess Dragomiroff (Wendy Hiller): My doctor has advised against it.

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For the quality of its production, "Murder on the Orient Express" was rewarded with half a dozen Oscar nominations — and one victory, Bergman's Best Supporting Actress Oscar.

But Bergman, when she accepted the award, apologized to the actresses she had beaten, especially Valentina Cortese, who was nominated for her performance in a film that was made in 1973. Bergman thought Cortese's performance was better.

"She gave the most beautiful performance," Bergman said admiringly as applause erupted from the audience.

Granted, but Bergman was pretty good, too. After all, she was Ingrid Bergman.

Pay No Attention to Those Flickering Lights

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gas·light [gas-lahyt]

noun
1. light produced by the combustion of illuminating gas.
2. a gas burner or gas jet for producing this kind of light.

adjective
3.gaslit ( def 2 ) .

verb (used with object), gas·light·ed or gas·lit, gas·light·ing.
4. to cause (a person) to doubt his or her sanity through the use of psychological manipulation: How do you know if your partner is gaslighting you?

Origin: 1800–10; gas + light1 ; def 4 in reference to the 1944 movie Gaslight, in which an abusive husband secretly and repeatedly dims and brightens the gaslights in the house while accusing his wife of imagining the flickering

Random House Dictionary

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Ingrid Bergman won her first Oscar for George Cukor's "Gaslight," which premiered 70 years ago today. That movie also earned the rare distinction of serving as the illustration for a term in the dictionary — in this case, a verb.

I don't know if gaslight is used frequently anymore, but, surely, everyone can understand the concept. Bergman's character was driven to the very brink of madness through the psychological manipulation of her husband (Charles Boyer).

"I think [Bergman]'s my favorite movie actress," wrote Roger Ebert, and I think many people would agree. Bergman was still young in 1944, but she already had a reputation and a following. She was pretty well known by the time she won her Oscar for "Gaslight."

See, Bergman played a turn–of–the–century young singer who fell for a dashing older man (Boyer). They got married and set up their home in a house Bergman's character had inherited from her aunt, also a singer who had been murdered there a decade earlier.

The man who had murdered her aunt had been searching for her jewels, but he was interrupted by Bergman as a child and fled. He was never identified.

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"If it was I who took that picture down ... if it was I who took it down the other times, if I do all these senseless, meaningless things, so meaningless, why should I take a picture down? But then, I don't know what I do anymore. ... But then, if that's true, then you must be gentle with me. You must bear with me, please."

Paula (Ingrid Bergman)

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It was all part of Boyer's character's plan. You see, he was the one who had killed Bergman's aunt, and he tried to manipulate her psychologically. When he moved around in the attic, looking for the jewels he left behind all those years ago, his footsteps could be heard, and the gaslights in the house flickered when he switched on the lights in the attic because that reduced the gas supply to the rest of the house.

He systematically attempted to drive her insane. If she were certified insane and put in an institution, he would be free to search for the jewels whenever he pleased.

As her paranoia increased, Bergman's character became convinced that her maid (Angela Lansbury, a real spitfire in her first movie role) detested her.

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It was Joseph Cotten, as an inspector from Scotland Yard, who provided the alliance Bergman needed to convince herself that all the odd things really were happening, that they weren't her imagination — and, most importantly, that she was not responsible for them. There was a reasonable explanation for what had been happening.

The movie got seven Oscar nominations, but only the mesmerizing Bergman and four others (for Art Direction) took home the statuette. Boyer and Lansbury were nominated for their acting, the movie was nominated for Best Picture, and John Balderston, Walter Reisch and John Van Druten were nominated for their adapted screenplay, but Cukor was not nominated for his direction.

There were some heavyweights in that category that year, though (Billy Wilder, Otto Preminger, Alfred Hitchcock, Henry King and the winner, Leo McCarey), and it is hard to imagine how Cukor could have been wedged in.

Paying Attention to the Voices

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The Dauphin (Jose Ferrer): A ruler must compromise and bargain with the lowest kind of people, even the enemy. Men are governed by corruption, they like it.

Joan of Arc (Ingrid Bergman): Men hate corruption, and God hates it!

The Dauphin: I don't know about God, but men take to it very naturally.

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I think most people would agree that Ingrid Bergman was an exceptionally beautiful woman.

But I also suspect that, if you conducted a poll on the word or concept that defined that beauty — or which of her movie roles epitomized it — you would receive a wide range of responses.

Of the latter, I would say there might be considerable support for her role as Ilse Lund in "Casablanca." That wouldn't be surprising. It's probably her most famous role, even though Bergman didn't win an Oscar for her performance.

Bergman did win Oscars for her performances in "Gaslight," "Anastasia," and "Murder on the Orient Express." Only Katharine Hepburn's acting was honored more often with Oscars.

All of those roles were reflections of what I think was truly special about Bergman's beauty, but I've always believed that the greatest example was her role in a film that made its debut on this day in 1948 — "Joan of Arc."

Bergman's beautiful exterior hid an interior of reinforced steel. She was, in other words, tough.

And she was smart, too.

The really intriguing part of Bergman's beauty was her tendency to appear at once both vulnerable and hesitant to allow that vulnerability to be exposed for very long. But that was also a trap.

"Bergman's Joan is a strong and spiritual figure," writes Paul Brenner of AllMovie.com.

Historically, it was a stretch for Bergman to play Joan of Arc. The real Joan was a teenager; at 33, Bergman was more than twice as old as the girl she portrayed.

But Bergman pulled it off, in large part, I have always suspected, because of the ageless quality of her beauty. She was nearly 60 when she won her last Oscar, but she looked younger somehow, even though that last Oscar was for playing an aging Swedish missionary.

She did so well in her portrayal of Joan, in fact, that she was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar. She didn't win — Jane Wyman did — but it was Bergman's fourth Best Actress nomination in six years.

In "Joan of Arc," she played a 15th–century farm girl who was persuaded by the voices in her head to lead the revival of a France that had been demoralized in the One Hundred Years War.

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Bergman was striking, even when wearing the plain clothes in which audiences of "Joan of Arc" first saw her, but she was really something else when clad in her warrior's garb. As co–star Jose Ferrer observed at one point, "she's a very pretty girl in armor and exciting to look at."

Indeed she was.

But Bergman was so much more, as she was in all her other movie roles. Bergman's Joan really was "strong and spiritual," a powerful ally in Ferrer's Dauphin's rise to the French throne.

Bringing a Hemingway Novel to the Screen

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"A man fights for what he believes in."

Robert Jordan (Gary Cooper)

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I've always felt a bit torn by some of the works of Ernest Hemingway.

On the one hand, there are times when his writing is inspiring to someone like me. I have been writing all my life, but I am little more than a scribbler compared to Hemingway.

But, on the other hand, I find myself concluding that Hemingway had too much fondness for war. He saw it as a great adventure, not the waste of humanity that it really is — or, at least, as I see it.

There are times when it is necessary to fight, and there are foes who must be fought, but that is not a cause for rejoicing.

That doesn't change the fact that I admire Hemingway's writing ability, and I will recommend just about everything he ever wrote to anyone — with that caveat.

When it comes to film versions of his books, that's a different matter. Bringing books to the silver screen almost always seems to require a certain amount of adaptation by the director. Reading the book and seeing the movie are really two different experiences, and sometimes they vary wildly.

In the case of "For Whom the Bell Tolls," which made its big–screen debut 70 years ago today, the book and the movie differed primarily because the film did not have much of the political content of the book — a point that reportedly bothered Hemingway a great deal. That isn't really surprising. The novel was Hemingway's opportunity to make his case on the issues that influenced the Spanish Civil War, and he was clearly disappointed when the movie was far more interested in the love story.

(Other than the absence of the political content, I felt the movie was mostly faithful to the original story, which was a romantic drama set against the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War.)

Nevertheless, Hemingway had enormous influence on the production. He chose the movie's stars, Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman, and both were nominated for Academy Awards for their acting, but only supporting actress Katina Paxinou's acting was rewarded with an Oscar.

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Cooper played an American mercenary, an explosives expert on a mission to blow up a bridge. He became involved with Bergman, playing a peasant girl who had been abused by the enemy. Sometimes it was a little hard to imagine that Bergman could be as inexperienced as her character was. "I do not know how to kiss, or I would kiss you," she told Cooper at one point. "Where do the noses go?"

In Hemingway's spirit, I suppose, the action sequences were quite good. They may not seem so polished when compared to more modern action movies, but when the action scenes are compared to movies from their own period, "For Whom the Bell Tolls" is better than any of its contemporaries.

The acting was great — which one would just about expect from a movie that co–starred Cooper and Bergman — even though only Paxinou was rewarded on Oscar night. Cooper and Bergman had some steamy love scenes for a 1943 production, and I have often wondered if they were a little too much for the Oscar voters of that time.

I suppose Hemingway should have been tipped off about the emphasis of the movie when almost no one in the cast was close to being Spanish. A more Spanish cast might have suggested more dedication to the war and less to the love story.

It was the supporting cast that probably did most of the heavy lifting, but Cooper and Bergman certainly had their moments — like when Cooper asked Bergman if she was afraid.

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Maria (Ingrid Bergman): Not now. I love you, Roberto. Always remember. I love you as I loved my father and mother, as I love our unborn children, as I love what I love most in the world, and I love you more. Always remember.

Robert Jordan (Gary Cooper): I'll remember.

Maria: Nothing can ever part us now, can it?

Robert Jordan: Nothing, Maria.

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In real life, there was a 14–year difference in their ages, but Cooper and Bergman were plausible screen lovers. At times, Bergman's character seemed to idolize Cooper in a way that usually is seen in the reverence of little girls toward their fathers.

American movie audiences had been watching the 27–year–old Bergman for a few years, going back to her 1939 appearance in the American remake of "Intermezzo" with Leslie Howard.

But this was the first time moviegoers anywhere could see her in color.

She was appealing in black and white. I mean, who could forget her in "Casablanca?" Or "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?"

She made some black–and–white movies after "For Whom the Bell Tolls," too. And she was beautiful in all of them.

But she was stunning in color. In my mind, only a handful of actresses could compare to her, even in her later years.

Maybe it was that Swedish accent. Nah, that was only part of the package. It had a seductive sound to it, but that only went so far if the rest of her didn't live up to expectations.

Ingrid Bergman not only lived up to expectations, she exceeded them — which is why I've always felt she was denied an Oscar she deserved.

The Academy gave her the Oscar the next year for "Gaslight," but, for several reasons, I've long thought that was virtually an apology for not rewarding her the year before. Bergman gave many Oscar–worthy performances in her life, but the one she gave in "For Whom the Bell Tolls" may have been her most deserving.

Casablanca is 70? I'm Shocked!

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There are some lines from "Casablanca" that I heard so often when I was growing up that it sometimes seems as if I have always known them.

Those lines have become cliches, I suppose.

And it tends to make me lose my perspective a little, to forget when I first saw "Casablanca" — but, in the end, I always remember.

I'm not sure of my age — must've been about 12 or 13, I guess — but I remember the night. It was a Friday night in late autumn, and the local PBS channel was showing "Casablanca" with no interruptions.

The night was cool and kind of damp. My father built a fire in the fireplace, and my mother made some popcorn, and I settled in, wrapped in a warm blanket, to watch the movie with my parents.

I've seen it many times since, and I like it. I also like Humphrey Bogart, but I would pick two, maybe three, of his movies as my favorites before I would pick "Casablanca."

But "Casablanca," which premiered on this date in 1942, is often mentioned as one of Bogart's best. (OK, it was only released on a limited basis on this date — the more general release came the following spring — but I like to observe this date as the debut because, you see, this is my birthday — and God knows how little has happened on this date of which I can be proud).

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In fact, I have a friend (whose opinions about movies are generally spot on) who says "Casablanca" is his favorite Bogart movie, and I can understand why. It's got it all — established stars, wartime intrigue, romance, even a dash or two of comedy.

There can be no doubt that many lines from "Casablanca" have become familiar cliches:

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"Here's looking at you, kid."

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"Play it, Sam."

"Round up the usual suspects."

"We'll always have Paris."

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Without a doubt, those are some of the great lines in filmmaking history.

They still resonate because they speak to universal truths and emotions.

But there were other telling moments in the movie that were just as true and just as filled with human emotion.

Like when Bogart's character, feeling hurt and betrayed by Ingrid Bergman (but not yet knowing the whole story), says bitterly — and with more than a little help from the booze he'd been drinking — "Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Laszlo, or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind that tells?"

I'm sure that many people, both men and women, who have watched that movie could sympathize. Been there, done that.

And there were more subtle lines that you almost have to see the movie two or three times to catch.

For example, when Nazi toady Claude Rains tells Bogart he might make a play for a young woman Bogart has just jilted, Bogart says, "When it comes to women, you're a true democrat."

During the same conversation, Rains asks Bogart what brought him to Casablanca.

"My health," Bogart replies. "I came here for the waters."

Bewildered, Rains says, "Waters? What waters? We're in the desert."

Bogart shrugs and takes a drag on his cigarette. "I was misinformed."

(The irony of that probably wasn't clear to audiences in 1942 and 1943. Cigarette smoking had not yet been linked to numerous health issues.)

Or later in the movie when Rains, who has been permitted to win at roulette at Bogart's place, nevertheless is ordered by his Nazi superiors to shut the place down.

When Bogart insists on knowing the reason, Rains replies, "I'm shocked – shocked! — to find that gambling is going on here."

One of the casino employees approaches him a second or two later and hands him a wad of cash, saying, "Your winnings, sir."

(That's probably my favorite scene in the movie.)

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It really is a delightful movie, and if I stumble on to it in progress, even if it is already half over, I'll probably watch it to its conclusion. I'm that way about many movies, though.

I'm also that way about certain stars. "Casablanca" had the good fortune of having a good story (albeit one that was still being written after filming had already begun) and a great cast.

No wonder it won three Oscars — including Best Picture.

Bergman: A Special Talent, a Special Treat

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If I have a complaint about Turner Classic Movies' "31 Days of Oscar" this year, it would be that many of the very best movies in the lineup are being shown at times that are hardly convenient.

I have already written about some of these movies, but they came on at times that were much more convenient than the time slot that was given to 1974's "Murder on the Orient Express."

It was shown at 3 a.m. (Central) this morning. Unless you work nights — or live in Hawaii — you probably weren't awake when it was on.

I hope you set your VCR or your DVR to record it. It is worth seeing.

I've heard it called the best film version of an Agatha Christie novel that has ever been made. I haven't seen every movie that was based on her novels, but my parents were big fans of hers and, as a result, I have read many of her books.

And I can say that "Murder on the Orient Express" truly was a remarkable film. The story was inspired by the kidnapping and murder of Charles Lindbergh's son in 1932, an event that undoubtedly was remembered by many of the people who saw the movie when it came out.

Today, of course, the Lindbergh case is nearly 80 years old, and there are few living people who still remember it. But things were different 36 years ago.

As I say, my parents were huge Agatha Christie fans, and I remember seeing the movie with them. After I saw it, I read Christie's original novel upon which the story was based. And I marveled again at what I had seen.

The film was nominated for half a dozen Academy Awards, but it won only one — Best Supporting Actress. That was kind of a surprise, considering that the winner, Ingrid Bergman, had been considered for a larger role by director Sidney Lumet but insisted on a smaller role.

"I couldn't persuade her to change her mind," Lumet said. "She was sweetly stubborn. But stubborn she was. ... Since her part was so small, I decided to film her one big scene, where she talks for almost five minutes, straight, all in one long take. A lot of actresses would have hesitated over that. She loved the idea and made the most of it. She ran the gamut of emotions. I've never seen anything like it."

Bergman was a class act. She always seemed so humble about her talent, even when she received her Oscar for "Murder on the Orient Express." She said nothing about her performance or the people with whom she worked. Instead, she apologized to fellow actress Valentina Cortese for beating her.

"It's always very nice to get an Oscar," she said to scattered laughter, "but in the past he has shown that he is very forgetful and also has the wrong timing because last year, when 'Day for Night' won for the Best Picture, I couldn't believe it that Valentina Cortese was not nominated because she gave the most beautiful performance. ... It's so ironic that this year she is nominated when the picture won last year. I don't quite understand that, but here I am and I'm her rival. And I don't like it at all. Please forgive me, Valentina! I didn't mean to."

And she left the stage without saying anything about Lumet or Albert Finney (who did a great job of playing detective Hercule Poirot but was beaten by Art Carney for Best Actor) or any of the other talented people in the cast — or the cinematographer, the costume designer, the composer or the writer who adapted the screenplay, all of whom were nominated for Oscars as well.

Increasingly in recent years, actresses are expected to be young and beautiful. Only select actresses continue to receive great acting roles as they get older.

Bergman was quite beautiful when she was young, and she was always talented. You can see ample evidence of that tonight. Turner Classic Movies will show her in "Casablanca" at 7 p.m. (Central), when she was still in her 20s.

But if you have never seen "Murder on the Orient Express," which she made in her late 50s, rent it and watch it.

And marvel at Bergman's talent.