Henry: It was about self-knowledge through pain.
Debbie: No, it was about did she have it off or didn't she. As if having it off is infidelity.
Henry: Most people think it is.
Debbie: Most people think not havingit off is fidelity. They think all relationships hinge in the middle. What a fantastic range of possibilities. Sex or no sex. . . Why would you want to make it such a crisis?

The Real Thing-- Tom Stoppard

It wasn't clear to me when the censor was worried that Rick and Ilsa might have been unchaste together, but it seems to me that there are two major possibilities-- the first is during their love affair in Paris, the second is during the night when Ilsa comes to see Rick above the cafe and ends up confessing her love for him.

It seems clear to me that if they didn't sleep together in Paris, they surely didn't start in Casablanca, once they had only one incomplete night and Ilsa had her husband back. But I also think it's obvious that they did in Paris. Ilsa thought that she was a widow, and even if she was the kind of girl that would save herself for marriage the first time around, I don't think she would have the second time. (And Rick's opinion of her character, especially at the beginning of the movie, seems to match.)

But this still leaves us with the interesting question-- what about in Casablanca? One could see why the implication would bother the censor-- an unfaithful kiss is one thing, a flashback to a love affair another, but realtime sexual infidelity tossed off so casually might have stood his hair up.

The evidence against:

Ilsa and Rick don't have that long; she doesn't spend the night, as she has to get back before her husband does.

Their clothes don't seem particularly rumpled or dishevelled when we see them later that scene.

She is, after all, married.

The evidence for:

She does tell Rick that she's not going back to her husband.

There is a highly suspicious time lapse.

This would make much more sense of the "gentleman's explanation" at the end of the film-- Rick explains to Victor, just before he and Ilsa leave, that Ilsa came to the cafe to try to get the letters, and even went so far as to "pretend" she still loved him. This is a lie, and both Rick and Ilsa know it (and so, probably, does Victor) but Rick's having described the scene releives some of the pressure Ilsa would otherwise feel to confess the incident to her husband later, a burden Rick would like to relieve her of for several reasons. Once he's framed the encounter, she's likely to simply go along with his story. But he wouldn't feel nearly as much of a need to do this if their encounter had been as innocent as the one the censor let us see.

Of course, there's some perfectly logical sense in which it doesn't make sense to ask what fictional characters do "off-screen." But as I've written before, I don't always subscribe to such limited logic.

Be careful and don't be stupid.

In reply to my hypothetical about a West Coast secession, Alan Robinson emails "some thoughts ... (too bad y'all don't have comments or I would have posted them there)" and a Ulysses S. Grant quote (below).

As far as concerns the situation you discuss, I find it hard to imagine Left Coasters saying something like, "We don't like your regulation of our 'medical' marijuana, and if you come after us we will strike you with nuclear weapons." You are certainly correct that "[t]he thought of American soldiers heading off to shoot other Americans (and be shot by them) in a battle raged on American soil isn't likely to attract much public support." But this street runs both ways; the thought of Oregonian soldiers heading off to shoot Federal troops isn't likely to attract too much support within the state of Oregon, either. An issue creating that kind of mentality would have to be so enormous that I can't imagine what it could be (and I don't think in fact that any such issue could exist).

Besides, in the days of the Civil War, Southerners were Southerners and Yankees were Yankees, and by and large there was little migration and people lived where they were born and identified with their region. But today's America is extremely mobile; Oregonians and Washingtonians and Californians live all over the country, and countless numbers of people from elsewhere have moved to the West Coast. Secession is necessarily a regional issue, but I don't think that the sort of regionalism which is a necessary condition for it does or could ever again exist in America.

I'm not sure how much ingratitude applies to questions of modern secession because I'm not sure how much gratitude should (or does) transfer across the generations (see the Grant quote). Should the descendents of the original settlers bear gratitude towards the descendents of whomever helpful was in Washington in the 1840s? What of newer immigrants -- do arguments based on blood shed in wars with Mexico apply to them (and should immigrants from Mexico feel gratitude towards America for acquiring California a century and a half ago?

I wonder if also, as borders become open and travel across them more frequent (as in the European Union), the threshold might actually be lowered for how much regional pride is required to secede. Living in a different country would mainly be a symbolic act. California would still provide the continent's advocados and Wisconsin still the continent's cheese. This outcome probably presumes a relatively bloodless secession.

And yet, I can't picture a war coming, can't picture soldier doing any more than standing off at each other without firing a gun (I'm told, though, that I'm too pacifist to make accurate predictions of what situations do lead to war, so perhaps others are less skeptical of this outcome than I am).

Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant, 145-6:

"Doubtless the founders of our government, the majority of them at least, regarded the confederation of the colonies as an experiment. Each colony considered itself a separate government; that the confederation was for mutual protection against a foreign foe, and the prevention of strife and war among themselves. If there had been a desire on the part of any single State to withdraw from the compact at any time while the number of States was limited to the original thirteen, I do not suppose there would have been any to contest the right, no matter how much the determination might have been regretted. The problem changed on the ratification of the Constitution by all the colonies; it changed still more when amendments were added; and if the right of any one State to withdraw continued to exist at all after the ratification of the Constitution, it certainly ceased on the formation of new States, at least so far as the new States themselves were concerned. It was never possessed at all by Florida or the States west of the Mississippi, all of which were purchased by the treasury of the entire nation. Texas and the territory brought into the Union in consequence of annexation, were purchased with both blood and treasure; and Texas, with a domain greater than that of any European state except Russia, was permitted to retain as state property all the public lands within its borders. It would have been ingratitude and injustice of the most flagrant sort for this State to withdraw from the Union after all that had been spent and done to introduce her; yet, if separation had actually occurred, Texas must necessarily have gone with the South, both on account of her institutions and her geographical position. Secession was illogical as well as impracticable; it was revolution.

"Now, the right of revolution is an inherent one. When people are oppressed by their government, it is a natural right they enjoy to relieve themselves of the oppression, if they are strong enough, either by withdrawal from it, or by overthrowing it and substituting a government more acceptable. But any people or part of a people who resort to this remedy, stake their lives, their property, and every claim for protection given by citizenship on the issue. Victory, or the conditions imposed by the conqueror must be the result."

Perhaps I should have considered whether this was a prudent time to guest-blog. But no. How was I supposed to know that my professors had assigned, independently, huge reading assignments for Thursday? Nevertheless, I have thwarted them and returned, to you, to tell you bits and pieces in the five minutes remaining to me before I have to return to Angel.

Number one: Never fake an orgasm. It's just a really bad idea. Because you're sending certain signals and one of those is "you're doing the right things." A better way to send those signals is to tell him what to do. He'll get the message. And then he'll figure out you're faking.

Number two: Never trust a cell phone, regardless of what it's shaped like. They will always go off when you're trying to write a blog entry.

Number three: Never imagine that chickens are irrelevant. They are relevant. Very.

I will be a better guest-blogger tomorrow.

I had thought I wanted to see The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (and based on this recommendation, I still do). But based on Michael Ondaatje's Anil's Ghost, it's Point Blank I've been meaning to see (another movie also starring Lee Marvin).

the discussion from Anil's Ghost that interested me in the movie:

'You know, Leaf, we should do a book. A Forensic Doctor Looks at the Movies.'

'The film noir ones are tough. There clothes are baggy, it's too dark.'

'I'm doing Spartacus.'

In Sri Lankan movie theaters, Anil told Leaf, if there was a great scene—usually a musical number or an extravagant fight—the crowd would yell out 'Replay! Replay!' or 'Rewind! Rewind!' till the theatre manager and projectionist were forced to comply. Now, on a smaller scale, the films staggered backwards and forwards, in Leaf's yard, until the actions became clear to them.

The film they worried over most was Point Blank. At the start of the movie, Lee Marvin (who once played Liberty Valance, no relation) is shot by a double-crossing friend in the abandoned Alcatraz prison. The friend leaves him for dead and steals his girl and his share of the money. Vengeance results. Anil and Leaf composed a letter to the director of the film, asking if he remembered, all those years later, where on the torso Lee Marvin was shot so that he could get to his feet, stagger through the prison while the opening credits came up and swim the treacherous waters between the island and San Francisco.

They told the director that it was one of their favourite films, they were simply inquiring as forensic specialists. When they looked at the scene closely they saw Lee Marvin's hand leap up to his chest. 'See, he has difficulty on his right side When he swims later in the bay he uses his left arm.' 'God, it's a great movie. Very little music. Lots of silence.'

. . .

Dear John Boorman,

Sincerely,
Anil Tissera

Via both Jeremy Blachman and Another Rice Grad simultaneously, I see that Harvard is starting a pornographic magazine. Really. No word yet, on whether they'll fulfill mail-order subscriptions.

Some people can make you feel horrifically unaccomplished even many years in advance.

Seriously, I always thought Jubal Harshaw's J.D./M.D. in Stranger in a Strange Land was impressive. But this is just ridiculous.

...the things people would rather have than money.

Anyway, I've been trying to figure out for the past week or so why anybody would want a gun that was shaped like a cell phone. I guess it would be good to get through metal detectors to hijack very small planes or assassinate Federal officials. Anything else?

Dear Miss Manners:

Please advise my daughter on how to respond to adults who ask her nosy and/or personal questions, such as what her dress size is, what she made on the SAT, and what colleges she is applying to.
These individuals have no interest other than to compare my daughter to their children. They would never pose such questions to another adult. They only ask my daughter such things when I am not around. My daughter doesn't want to say, "That's personal." Nor does she want to lie.

I instructed her to say that she did well and, if pressed, to say that she does not remember her scores (they were excellent). Or, to tell them that her mom said that she could not reveal her scores. What does a young lady say to a nosy adult?

Miss Manners believes that young ladies should appear modest and differential to adults. It sets them a good example. You might therefore suggest that she look at the floor for a minute and then fix her interlocutors with a steady eye as she says, "I'm a little shy. You go first. What's your dress size? What was your grade point average?"

But once people answer those questions, you're stuck having to reply. I'm not sure shame works with people who figure the answers should be public information. There's a sizable number of people who willingly share their GPAs, SATs, or LSAT scores. I tend to know that they've got. No where is it worse than in high school. For me and the LSAT question, the reply "I haven't even told my parents what I made on that test" has worked well [true, they don't know; only two people (outside of admissions) ever knew the answer to this question, and I think at least one's probably forgotten]. For the young lady above, I'd suggest a reply of "Sorry, that's between me and the admissions officers." If faced with someone who would probably answer the dress size question, "Oh, I don't really remember, I just wear what fits."

What if California, Oregon, and Washington all decided together that the rest of the country was hopelessly, irrevocably, mistaken on too many issues to be worth staying with? Fed up with federal government and other states' opinions on marijuana /same-sex marriage /technology regulation /immigration /the environment /more tax $ flowing out of their states than in /whatever, they decide they no longer want to be a part of the United States. They want to form the Republic of the West Coast. This opinion is resoundedly endorsed by the states' legislatures and popular referendums. They're even willing to return all the computers and paperclips in the federal buildings in their states, and pay the federal government the appraised value of federal property that can't practically be returned.

The first reaction: the Civil War made it clear that states don't have a right to secede from the union.

Yes, but what are you going to do about it? Send in the army?

The thought of American soldiers heading off to shoot other Americans (and be shot by them) in a battle raged on American soil isn't likely to attract much public support. Nor would bombing the West Coast civilians. [We could even assume that the army stored some nuclear weapons in territory that's now part of the West Coast, so both sides to this conflict are armed with WMDs. Everyone's also got biological and chemical labs. It could get very messy, but for the fact that few/no Americans would want that future.] At what point is keeping these reluctant people's allegiances as part of the United States no longer worth fighting for?

Could the United States even fight against seccession at all? What kind of credibility would we have on the world stage, what kind of sanctions and punishments could (and would?) other countries inpose on us?

UPDATE: Thanks, but I'm thinking of a more serious separation than the Conch Republic's "We seceded where others failed."

This Vice Squad post sent me reading through Board of Ed. of Independent School District v. Earls (a school drug-testing case), which in turn sent me reading through Vernonia School District v. Acton (an earlier school drug-testing case).

In the course of reading through O'Connor's dissent in Vernonia, (her dissent makes her one of the most privacy-protecting Justices, in this context) I came across this:

It is hard to think of a more compelling government interest than the need to fight the scourge of drugs on our streets and in our neighborhoods.

Did Sara Butler and I just agree on a question about love?

I've watched Casablanca twice now in the past week (in the course of writing my paper on Casablanca and the Rule of Law), and I can now affirm that Terry Teachout is simply wrong to think To Have and Have Not is better than Casablanca. It's true that TH&HN doesn't take itself too seriously, and that Lauren Bacall is the perfect match for Bogart, but the former is precisely the problem-- there simply isn't enough there there. There's no scene to match the singing of the Marseillaise in Rick's. Every time, it goes through me like a spear.

Another observation-- To Have and Have Not has aged more obviously and less well. Casablanca attracts new devotees even now. The people I know who like TH&HN are only those who have already liked it a long time. I suspect they're a dying breed. But maybe that is what Mr. Teachout meant when he called it "Casablanca for grownups."

At any rate, if growing up means trading Sam in for Eddie, count me out.