It is 1925 Damascus, and the Syrian insurrection is attempting to throw out the French. Harry Smith (Humphrey Bogart) sells weapons and feeds off the misery. In a restaurant, he meets the beautiful, shallow, and manipulative Violette (Märta Torén), the mistress of Col. Feroud (Lee J. Cobb), the only French representative who would like a peace treaty that doesn’t involve destroying the Syrians. In the days that follow, Smith tries to pick up Violette while Feroud tries to shut down Smith’s gun smuggling racket.
By 1951 both Film Noir and Humphrey Bogart had past their prime. Bogart would still have a few great moments (The Caine Mutiny, We’re No Angels), but his name on a marquee could no longer guarantee a good film. That’s more than could be said of Noir, which would be a feeble genre for another thirty years. Sirocco, is not a great film. But for a later Bogart vehicle and a ’50s Noir, it isn’t bad.
It is far too easy to draw comparisons between the old-fashioned-when-released Sirocco and Casablanca, with Colombia Pictures mentioning the classic in its advertising. It’s no surprise that Sirocco looks shabby in such company. Once again, Bogart is an American expatriate in an exotic war zone where he refuses to take sides. Tough and cynical, he has enough charisma to interest most people who cross his path. And once again a woman comes to town that interests the Bogart character. That woman is romantically connected to an idealist man who tends to spout noble sentiments wherever he goes. And the anti-hero must decide if he will change his life and do the right thing. Fill the town with morally ambiguous and cruel people, and it’s easy to see that this was a project developed in a boardroom to cash-in on a past success.
But this is not a remake of Casablanca and where it is best is in the differences. Harry Smith is no Rick. Harry has drifted from amoral to immoral, and unlike Rick, is easily frightened. He’ll abandon a woman and his associates (he has no friends) when there is trouble. Rick is a mythic character; Harry is so very human.
Nor is Feroud a reflection of Victor Lazlo. If he was, Sirocco’s tenuous hold of the Noir label would be broken. But Feroud is not so pure. His quest is less noble (he is one of the invaders after all). Perhaps most telling is that when emotionally pushed, he hits Violette. It’s easy to understand his frustration, but heroes don’t strike women, at least ones who are only threatening emotionally.
The most interesting variation is in the female lead. Played by Swedish beauty, Märta Torén, who was hyped as the next Ingrid Bergman, Violette has no redeeming qualities, nor does she learn a moral lessen as most Hollywood characters do. She’s not evil or an enemy or a threat to anyone. She’s just completely self-centered and unrepentant. And she is the one fresh element in the movie. Sexually desirable, she isn’t the stuff of normal movie romance. The film doesn’t take the easy way out with her. She is what she is, and quite a bit of fun to watch.
Unfortunately, it does take the easy way out with everyone else; late in the film, character’s act in whatever why will bring about a cinematically “satisfying” conclusion when the credits roll; motivation and personality play no part.
Sirocco earns its place in the long list of artistically bankrupt Hollywood productions. But I’ve had a lot worse times watching other repetitive and money-grubbing flicks. It’s best suited to Bogart fans (shouldn’t everyone be one?) looking for something beyond his masterpieces and anyone with a fondness for the 1940s silver screen.