Opinion
OPINION | TIM COCKEY
Don’t Bogart those cultural touchstones
AP PHOTO
A scene from the 1943 classic “Casablanca.”
Humphrey Bogart is dead.
No. I don’t mean that he died (which he did, quite some time ago). I mean he’s dead dead. Defunct. Done. Stick the olde fork in him. No one remembers him anymore. He gone.
Recently I was giving a talk to a roomful of reasonably educated 30-, 40-, and 50-somethings, and in the course of my disquisition I trotted out the phrase “round up the usual suspects,” from the movie “Casablanca.” I was making a point about . . . never mind. Not material. I said what I said, then sensing from the glassy gazes that my cinematic bon mot was not necessarily penetrating my audience, I paused. “Casablanca,” I said, using that obnoxious tone of voice that implies, “You do know what I’m talking about here.”
They didn’t. At least not nearly enough of them. I prodded. “The movie? Casablanca? A kiss is just a kiss?” Other than a few nodding heads, it was clear to me that I was not, as I’d assumed, referencing such a universally known cultural touchstone. Amazing but true: This crowd did not really know the movie “Casablanca.”
Okay, so not everyone watches old movies, or cares much about them one way or the other. Fair enough. My cup of tea is your vessel of bitter liquid. And truthfully, it’s not as if “Casablanca” is the greatest cinematic achievement of all time. Guy meets girl. Guy loses girl when World War II comes along and makes a mess of everything. Guy opens a bar and stays up after hours filling the ashtray. With two bombed references, I moved swiftly to bring the room together on a point of indisputably common – yet still related – knowledge. They might not all know the movie, but certainly they knew . . .
“Humphrey Bogart,” I said with confidence. Blank. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
There was a noticeable shifting in the seats. Who are you calling a kid? I was losing them. It was official. The majority of the room had no handle on Humphrey Bogart. The man with the basset hound face was zero to these folks. Humphrey’s 15 minutes are up.
Okay, so this is such an ancient story that I feel old even dragging it once more out into the light. Icons of the past are . . . icons of the past. Time moves on. Otherwise it would not be time (it would be something out of this thing that used to be called “The Twilight Zone”). And I do have to say, if I receive one more mass e-mail lamenting things from years ago that younger people have no clue about (“They’ve never used a paper map!!!!”), why, I might have to rap somebody’s knuckles. Doggone it. I can only pray that before I die, it will fully penetrate my head that what was once iconic or treasured or even really really gonzo famous eventually goes poof — and that that’s okay. No, more than okay. It’s normal. Why should I wish to shackle entire generations to the ephemera of mine?
It’s been noted that boomers in particular are having a difficult time saying goodbye to their past. Well sorry, guys. Humphrey is toast. And he’s not alone. Why should I be shocked, shocked that not everyone I encounter can identify the cultural genesis of “shocked, shocked”?
I have my stuff. You have your stuff. Sometimes it’s the same stuff, but just as often, it’s not. Where’s the problem? At least we’ll always have Paris.
Or so I once assumed.
Tim Cockey is a writer living in New York City.
Related:
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please leave a comment-- or suggestions, particularly of topics and places you'd like to see covered