Casablanca. Bogart. Why the Brattle brings this crowdpleaser back season in and season out I don't want to know. Why people pack the house I don't like, except on especially good days when nothing can phase me. Only then will the audience stock responses--"Play it, Sam", howls--rub off as some sort of togetherness high that is very very funny. On normal days the movie takes the most self-indulgent of campy spirits to be endured. Brattle 6, 7:50, 9:55.

Sleuth. with Laurence Olivier and Michael Caine. Games, games, games. Is that all the aristocracy has to do with its time? Olivier, your decadent last of the line, is a mastermind at them, but he goes too far when he stoops to play beneath his class. Because Caine, his scapegoat, is still an up and comer who hasn't learned not to take life so seriously. Central Cinema 9:20.

Citizen Cane. Orsen Welles, Joseph Cotton, Agnes Moorehead. Maybe the great American movie. Welles plays a tycoon, modelled after William Randolph Hearst, whose spiralling climb to wealth and power is paralleled by his decline into emotional paralysis. This takes shape cinematically in ever deeper focus shots that oppress Welles ever smaller, ever less impotent and more isolated within the frame. Don't waste your time wondering about Rosebud (it is the name of his sled. Lost innocence, get it. Right, the only woman he ever loved was his mother). Orson Welles.