Casablanca Page #2

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With him are HERR HEINZE, the German consul, CAPTAIN TONELLI,

an Italian officer, and LIEUTENANT CASSELLE, Renault's aide.

When the plane door opens, the first passenger to step out

is a tall, middle-aged, pale German with a smile that seems

more the result of a frozen face muscle than a cheerful

disposition. On any occasion when MAJOR STRASSER is crossed,

his expression hardens into iron.

Herr Heinze steps up to him with upraised arm.

HEINZE:

Heil Hitler.

STRASSER:

Heil Hitler.

They shake hands .

HEINZE:

It is very good to see you again,

Major Strasser.

STRASSER:

Thank you. Thank you.

Heinze introduces Strasser to Renault.

HEINZE:

May I present Captain Renault,

Police Prefect of Casablanca.

Major Strasser.

Renault salutes.

RENAULT:

Unoccupied France welcomes you to

Casablanca .

STRASSER:

(in perfect English, smiling)

Thank you, Captain. It's very good

to be here.

RENAULT:

Major Strasser, my aide, Lieutenant

Casselle .

As they acknowledge each other, Captain Tonelli barges in

front of Casselle and salutes Strasser.

TONELLI:

Captain Tonelli, the Italian

service, at your command, Major.

STRASSER:

That is kind of you.

But Tonelli gets no further than that as Strasser turns

again to Renault. They walk away from the plane, Heinze

following, with Casselle and Tonelli bringing up the rear,

engaged in a heated exchange of words.

RENAULT:

You may find the climate of

Casablanca a trifle warm, Major.

STRASSER:

Oh, we Germans must get used to all

climates, from Russia to the Sahara.

But perhaps you were not referring

to the weather.

RENAULT:

(sidesteps the implication

with a smile)

What else, my dear Major?

STRASSER:

(casually)

By the way, the murder of the

couriers, what has been done?

RENAULT:

Realizing the importance of the

case, my men are rounding up twice

the usual number of suspects.

HEINZE:

We already know who the murderer is.

STRASSER:

Good. Is he in custody?

RENAULT:

Oh, there is no hurry. Tonight

he'll be at Rick's. Everybody

comes to Rick's.

STRASSER:

I have already heard about this

cafe, and also about Mr. Rick

himself.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. RICK'S CAFE - NIGHT

The neon sign above the door is brightly lit. Customers

arrive and go in through the front door. From inside we

hear sounds of MUSIC and LAUGHTER. The song is "It Had

to Be You."

Again we isolate on the neon sign.

INSERT SIGN:
"Rick's Cafe Americain" .

We follow a group of customers inside.

INT. RICK'S CAFE - MAIN ROOM - NIGHT

Rick's is an expensive and chic nightclub which definitely

possesses an air of sophistication and intrigue.

SAM, a middle-aged Negro, sits on a stool before a small,

salmon-colored piano on wheels, playing and singing while

accompanied by a small orchestra.

All about him there is the HUM of voices, CHATTER and

LAUGHTER.

The occupants of the room are varied. There are Europeans

in their dinner jackets, their women beautifully begowned

and be jeweled. There are Moroccans in silk robes. Turks

wearing fezzes. Levantines. Naval officers. Members of

the Foreign Legion, distinguished by their kepis.

Two men sit at a table.

MAN:

Waiting, waiting, waiting. I'll

never get out of here. I'll die in

Casablanca .

His companion seems uninterested in his dilemma. Sympathy

is evidently in short supply in Casablanca.

At another table a very well-dressed WOMAN talks to a

MOOR. She has a bracelet on her wrist. No other jewelry.

WOMAN:

But can't you make it just a little

more? Please.

MOOR:

I'm sorry, Madame, but diamonds are

a drug on the market . Everybody

sells diamonds. There are diamonds

everywhere. Two thousand, four

hundred.

WOMAN:

All right.

On to another table where two CONSPIRATORS talk.

CONSPIRATOR:

The trucks are waiting, the men are

waiting. Everything is...

He stops abruptly as two German officers walk by.

A REFUGEE and another MAN converse at another table.

MAN:

It's the fishing smack Santiago. It

leaves at one tomorrow night, here

from the end of La Medina. Third

boat .

REFUGEE:

Thank you, oh, thank you.

MAN:

And bring fifteen thousand francs in

cash. Remember, in cash.

On the way to the bar we pass several tables and hear a

Babel of foreign tongues. Here and there we catch a

scattered phrase or sentence in English.

SACHA, a friendly young Russian bartender, hands a drink to

a customer with the Russian equivalent of "Bottoms Up." The

customer answers with "Cheerio."

CARL, the waiter, is a fat, jovial German refugee with

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spectacles. He walks, tray in hand, to a private door,

over which ABDUL, a large, burly man, stands guard.

CARL:

Open up, Abdul.

ABDUL:

(respectfully)

Yes, Herr Professor.

Abdul opens the door and Carl goes into the gambling room.

INT. RICK'S CAFE - GAMBLING ROOM - NIGHT

Their is much activity at the various tables. At one table

TWO WOMEN and a MAN play cards. They glance at another table.

One of them calls to Carl.

FIRST WOMAN:

Uh, waiter.

CARL:

Yes, Madame?

FIRST WOMAN:

Will you ask Rick if he'll have a

drink with us?

CARL:

Madame, he never drinks with

customers. Never. I have never

seen him.

SECOND WOMAN:

(disappointedly)

What makes saloon-keepers so

snobbish?

MAN:

(to Carl)

Perhaps if you told him I ran the

second largest banking house in

Amsterdam.

CARL:

The second largest? That wouldn't

impress Rick. The leading banker in

Amsterdam is now the pastry chef in

our kitchen.

MAN:

We have something to look forward to.

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CARL:

And his father is the bell boy.

Carl laughs.

The overseer walks up to a table with a paper in his hand.

Then we see a drink and a man's hand, but nothing more. The

overseer places a check on the table. The hand picks up the

check and writes on it, in pencil, "Okay-Rick."

The overseer takes the check.

We now see RICK, sitting at a table alone playing solitary

chess. Rick is an American of indeterminate age. There is

no expression on his face -- complete deadpan.

There is a commotion at the door as people attempt to come

into the gambling room. He nods approval to Abdul.

Then a GERMAN appears in the doorway. Abdul looks to Rick

who glances back toward the open door and nods "no".

Abdul starts to close the door on the man.

ABDUL:

I'm sorry sir, this is a private room.

GERMAN:

Of all the nerve! Who do you

think... I know there's gambling

in there ! There ' s no secret . You

dare not keep me out of here!

The man tries to push his way through the door as Rick

walks up.

RICK:

(coldly)

Yes? What's the trouble?

ABDUL:

This gentleman --

The German interrupts and waves his card.

GERMAN:

I've been in every gambling room

between Honolulu and Berlin and if

you think I'm going to be kept out

of a saloon like this, you're very

much mistaken.

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