(Lights up on RICK and ILSA.  We hear
                                   the "La Marseillaise" scene from
                                   Casablanca.  They silently play out
                                   their namesake roles as the soundtrack
                                   plays.  When the song plays, RICK jumps
                                   to his feet and plays Victor's role,
                                   switching to mimic the various extras
                                   singing the French National Anthem.)

                                   (When the song ends, RICK wipes away a
                                   tear and ILSA immediately turns her
                                   attention to a magazine.)

                                   RICK
            That scene!  It's the only thing that makes me cry anymore. 
            The only thing.  I mean, what makes anyone cry anymore?

                                   (He turns to ILSA for an answer.  Only
                                   gets a page turn.)

                                   RICK
            I'll give you Clarence getting his wings.  Maybe.  I even
            understand guys getting teared up in Die Hard when Alexander
            Goudenov gets shot.  But when you cry at the La Marseillaise
            scene, you're crying not because somebody has jerked your
            tears out with sentimental nonsense, but because history is
            demanding tears!
            I'm not overstating that, right?
            The first thing to understand about that scene is that it was
            shot in the summer of 1942.  World War II is just getting
            good, but half the country doesn't know what to think of it. 
            The Hollywood studios are way behind because they've spent so
            much time painting pretty pictures that they aren't ready to
            prepare the country for all-out combat.
            But not the Warner Brothers, baby.  Oh, no.  They recognized
            the murdering Huns before the first bullets were fired and
            had no problem green-lighting a picture that told everyone
            what was going on.  Were they worried about pissing off the
            Nazis?  Hell, no!  They aren't buying tickets anyway.
            So, here we are in the summer of 1942 on a hot soundstage on
            the Warners lot.  All of our stars are there.  Bogart. 
            Bergman.  Henreid.  Conrad Veidt.  And Claude God-fucking
            love-him Rains.  But here's the thing.  Everyone else in the
            room.  All the extras?  You know who they were?  Guess. 
            Refugees from Europe.  No kidding.  This whole set is jumping
            with people who got the hell out of Europe before all the
            shit went down.
            And that's what gives the scene its kick. 
            I mean, without that, you could just chalk the whole thing up
            to nationalistic sentiment.  But the real drama is taking
            place on the sidelines, away from the main action.  Watch the
            extras.  That's what I'm saying.  Those guys aren't just
            singing the French National Anthem.  No.  Those guys are
            crying out for justice.  They want their homeland back.  They
            want Hitler's head on a fucking plate!
            Watch it again and you'll see.

                                   (ILSA puts down the magazine and stares
                                   at RICK, who has almost stopped
                                   referring to her altogether.)

                                   RICK
            See, it's things like that that make that the classic that
            that is.  I know, everyone will tell you it's the timeless
            love story.  The witty dialogue.  The performances. 
            Whatever.  And I'm not saying those things are not important. 
            They are.  BUT!  It's the incidentals.  The things you can't
            put your finger on that are the most important.  And that's
            the difference between a classic and a movie-of-the-week.  A
            classic gives you all the window dressing with a lot of stuff
            hidden behind it that you pick up through osmosis.  A movie
            of-the-week is just window dressing.  And with this movie,
            man, you pull back the window dressing and a whole fucking
            war falls out on top of you.  Try to ignore that!
            And it's not like they set out to do it.  Not really.  I
            mean, sure, Jack Warner hated the Nazis.  The Epstein
            Brothers sure couldn't stand them.  But no one was out to win
            the war with a movie.  I mean, Paul friggin' Henreid was an
            Austrian nobleman for God's sake!  He didn't know what all
            this fuss with the Germans was all about.  He just wanted a
            paycheck.  Bogart couldn't have cared less.  Not that he
            wasn't patriotic, but he had booze and a marriage falling
            apart to worry about.  Ingrid Bergman?  She was just glad to
            have another job that would keep her out of Pennsylvania and
            away from her loveless marriage.  Everyone's doing the
            picture to distract themselves from trouble at home.  Even
            Henreid was trying to keep from being sent back to Austria. 
            You think a guy with cheekbones like that wants to fight in a
            war?  I think not.

                                   (RICK pauses.  Something echoes in his
                                   head.  He brushes it away.)

                                   (ILSA unbuttons and takes off her suit
                                   jacket.)