I have two favourite films.
Yesterday, I took the afternoon off to watch Casablanca.
It is December 1941. The Germans have overrun Europe. Refugees flood Casablanca, desperate to obtain passes for neutral Portugal, and from there to America.
Casablanca is under the control of Vichy France, collaborating with the Germans. A world-famous freedom fighter, escaped from a concentration camp, has arrived seeking two passes to Lisbon for himself and his wife. Gestapo officers are in pursuit.
They collide at Rick’s Café Américain.
Drunken Gestapo officers demand that the band play a nationalist song, which they belt out loudly, cowing the petrified patrons. In a corner across the room, a tall man rises, rousing the packed bar to sing La Marseillaise, drowning out the Germans. It is the freedom fighter.
“See,” barks their leader, “such men are dangerous. They inspire nations. Clearly, they must be put away.”
In a year of war, famine, fire, and destruction — the seemingly unbearable pull of bullies — there still shines a star of hope, awaiting its delivery. In our hearts, we each carry the flag of righteousness, waiting to be unfurled.
Waiting to inspire.
Today, as at every Christmas, I watch the climax of Love Actually.
All the schools in London have come together to create and perform a Christmas play cum musical. They have watered down the nativity scene to trivia — introducing first-graders as lobsters at the manger. They sing:
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away.
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day.
I look out of my window.
It is pouring torrents.
