Une nuit à Casablanca

By 1946 the Marx Brothers considered themselves retired as a screen team--but brother Chico's on-going financial difficulties coaxed them back into the studio for a final film. The result is a film that will never compete with their sharp-edged comedies of the 1930s but which possesses considerable charm nonetheless.

Although the film began as a parody of the classic CASABLANCA, the plot changed quite a bit by the time it reached the screen. Groucho has been employed as the manager of the Hotel Casablanca--where three previous managers have met sudden death. Attempts on his life soon follow, and before too long the brothers stumble upon the tale of former Nazis in search of treasure hidden somewhere inside the resort.

Time, it seems, mellowed the brothers, and although they retain their sparkle they perform without the manic edge that characterized their earlier films; the result is a much friendlier, cozier style of comedy that feels as comfortable your bedroom slippers. All three have at least one opportunity to shine, with perhaps the most memorable moments being the ever-shrinking dancefloor and the hilarious packing scene, and it has tremendous charm--and is all the more welcome for following the several uninspired films the brothers made during the early 1940s.

Although the Marx Brothers would appear in one more film, LOVE HAPPY, it is uninspired--and rather curiously the three never appear together in the same scene! So it is perhaps best to regard A NIGHT IN CASABLANCA as their final appearance as a screen team. And while it isn't among their great films, it is indeed lots of fun.

Gary F. Taylor, aka GFT, Amazon Reviewer

The Marx Brothers came out of retirement to make this film in order to help the financially-strapped Chico, who was forever broke due to his gambling addiction.

The movie begins slowly, and there are some rather unfunny scenes featuring Harpo, but when Chico and Groucho arrive on the scene the film really picks up. There are some truly great scenes in this film. My favorite is Harpo desperately trying to convey important information to Chico via whistles and inspired charade.

The plot is rather silly, but who cares? While not on a par with their classics "Duck Soup" and "A Night at the Opera", this movie is very much worth seeing.

The Marx Brothers are the greatest comedy team of all time. Even in their later films, including this one, which weren't among their best efforts, they still manage to make you laugh. They filled their films with social commentary, sexual innuendo, and slapstick, all with effortless ease, and without being offending. The scenes of Groucho going from one hotel room to another, trying to get Annette alone, with brother Chico as his bodyguard thwarting his every attempt, are gems. I introduced the Marx Brothers to my son while he was very young, and he loves them. Now, more then ten years later he still pulls out the old videotapes occasionally. Then for the next week all we hear in the house is, ‘I once shot an elephant in my pajamas. How they got in my pajamas I'll never know.' Nothing compares to the Marx Brothers, before or since.

A Night in Casablanca does have a somewhat contrived plot about spies and hidden treasure, and it mayn't quite have the consistent genius of their earlier outings primarily Duck Soup, however it is still thoroughly enjoyable thanks to some of the gags and performances.

It does look striking and has a quirky score. And the dialogue is pretty darn hilarious and quotable, and I liked the cheeky comparisons with Casablanca, one of my all-time favourite movies. A Night in Casablanca is salvaged though by the gags, Groucho's attempts to get inside various hotel rooms in order to woo Annette and Chico thwarting him every time is a great gag that does not wear out its welcome, but Harpo has the best gag that happens in the opening minutes. The acting is great, Harpo and Chico are very funny and Lois Collier is a nice surprise too, but once again Groucho elevates this film, being as quick and witty as I've come to know him by and going into one-line overdrive.

In conclusion, not outstanding but a lot of fun. 8/10 Bethany Cox

This letter from Warners to the Marx Brothers threatening legal action over the name "A night in Casablanca" was just printed in the paper today.

Dear Warner Bros., Apparently there is more than one way of conquering a city and holding it as your own. For example, up to the time that we contemplated making this picture, I had no idea that the city of Casablanca belonged exclusively to Warner Brothers. However, it was only a few days after our announcement appeared that we received your long, ominous legal document warning us not to use the name Casablanca.

It seems that in 1471, Ferdinand Balboa Warner, your great-great-grandfather, while looking for a shortcut to the city of Burbank, had stumbled on the shores of Africa and, raising his alpenstock (which he later turned in for a 100 shares of common), named it Casablanca.

I just don't understand your attitude. Even if you plan on releasing your picture, I am sure that the average movie fan could learn in time to distinguish between Ingrid Bergman and Harpo. I don't know whether I could, but I certainly would like to try.

You claim that you own Casablanca and that no one else can use that name without permission. What about "Warner Brothers"? Do you own that too? You probably have the right to use the name Warner, but what about the name Brothers? Professionally, we were brothers long before you were. We were touring the sticks as the Marx Brothers when Vitaphone was still a gleam in the inventor's eye, and even before there had been other brothers - the Smith Brothers; the Brothers Karamazov; Dan Brothers, an outfielder with Detroit; and Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?. (This was originally "Brothers, Can You Spare a Dime?" but this was spreading a dime pretty thin, so they threw out one brother, gave all the money to the other one, and whittled it down to "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?") Now Jack, how about you? Do you maintain that yours is an original name? Well it's not. It was used long before you were born. Offhand, I can think of two Jacks - Jack of Jack and the Beanstalk, and Jack the Ripper, who cut quite a figure in his day.

As for you, Harry, you probably sign your checks sure in the belief that you are the first Harry of all time and that all other Harrys are impostors. I can think of two Harrys that preceded you. There was Lighthouse Harry of Revolutionary fame and a Harry Appelbaum who lived on the corner of 93rd Street and Lexington Avenue. Unfortunately, Appelbaum wasn't too well-known. The last I heard of him, he was selling neckties at Weber and Heilbroner.

Now about the Burbank studio. I believe this is what you brothers call your place. Old man Burbank is gone. Perhaps you remember him. He was a great man in a garden. His wife often said Luther had 10 green thumbs.

What a witty woman she must have been! Burbank was the wizard who crossed all those fruits and vegetables until he had the poor plants in such confused and jittery condition that they could never decide whether to enter the dining room on the meat platter or the dessert dish.

This is pure conjecture, of course, but who knows - perhaps Burbank's survivors aren't too happy with the fact that a plant that grinds out pictures on a quota settled in their town, appropriated Burbank's name and uses it as a front for their films.

It is even possible that the Burbank family is prouder of the potato produced by the old man than they are of the fact that your studio emerged Casablanca or even Gold Diggers of 1931.

This all seems to add up to a pretty bitter tirade, but I assure you it's not meant to. I love Warners. Some of my best friends are Warner Brothers. It is even possible that I am doing you an injustice and that you, yourselves, know nothing about this dog-in-the-Wanger attitude.

It wouldn't surprise me at all to discover that the heads of your legal department are unaware of this absurd dispute, for I am acquainted with many of them and they are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits and a love of their fellow man that out-Saroyans Saroyan.

I have a hunch that his attempt to prevent us from using the title is the brainchild of some ferret-faced shyster, serving a brief apprenticeship in your legal department. I know the type well - hot out of law school, hungry for success, and too ambitious to follow the natural laws of promotion. This bar sinister probably needled your attorneys, most of whom are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits, etc., into attempting to enjoin us.

Well, he won't get away with it! We'll fight him to the highest court! No pasty-faced legal adventurer is going to cause bad blood between the Warners and the Marxes.

We are all brothers under the skin, and we'll remain friends till the last reel of A Night in Casablanca goes tumbling over the spool.

Sincerely, Groucho Marx See The Oxford Book of Letters, edited by Frank Kermode and Anita Kermode, Oxford University Press, 1996.