The shadow of Casablanca loomed large over Hollywood in the mid-1940s. The radical success of that iconic film was frequently a source of a lot of active efforts to recapture the same spirit of the wartime romance between Rick Blaine and Ilse Lund, so much so that it became a minor genre all on its own for quite a while. Set in exotic locations (which ultimately means anything that is in neither the United States or the United Kingdom), featuring a large cast of characters plucked from many different parts of the world, some of whom are in love with others, while the rest of either aligned with the villains or the heroic efforts to squander their plot – and with the Second World War as a historical backdrop, and drawing from genres such as war dramas and crime thrillers, with themes such as espionage, international relations and cross-continental intrigue being regular motifs explored by these films. It was clearly a winning formula, and the one that seemingly inspired Storm Over Lisbon, which is perhaps the most blatantly obvious attempt to recapture the spirit of Casablanca we have seen, especially since it sometimes borrows entire ideas from it, with some shot-for-shot recreations and retreading similar narrative themes. This is a film that takes its time to reach a coherent and consistent understanding of its plot and the themes that it was all too eager to explore, by which time the viewer has likely grown restless and perhaps even slightly bored. You can’t truly blame a film like this for feeling somewhat lacklustre, since it was an era defined by studios being far less elegant in their attempts to mirror the success of other films – but when all you have is a pale imitation, or perhaps even just a dull facsimile, of previous films, it’s difficult to not see the major flaws, even if some clear merits accompany them and help make the film slightly less heinous.

Some may say that the premise and set-up of Storm Over Lisbon is almost offensively simple – a pair of lovers (one a mysterious dancer of European descent, the other a valiant American soldier), a malicious villain and a story of intrigue and deception set in an exotic club frequented by the rich and famous, and thus used as a front for their malicious dealings. There is certainly nothing in this film that feels all that original or complex in the traditional sense, and it does warrant some degree of criticism, especially since it was so liberal in how it borrowed from previous films, where it should have instead been more focused on establishing its own identity, which is ultimately the root of its downfall. The setting is moved to Lisbon, with the Portuguese capital being one of the rare major European cities from that region that had remained relatively immune to Hollywood’s gaze, and was therefore seen as a good candidate to be the setting for this story (which could have essentially been set anywhere – there is absolutely nothing in this plot that makes it seem like there was a reason for Lisbon to be chosen as the setting, with the complete lack of cultural references or details being quite glaring), with the main justification being that Portugal was neutral during this period, and likely far more familiar than other neutral or non-participating countries – although this does require prior knowledge, since it is never directly mentioned in the film. It’s not particularly entertaining, and it sometimes drags along at a laborious pace (despite being only 85 minutes in length), which is a surefire way to ensure that your film is not remembered as anything more than a misguided attempt to replicate the success of other works, without even an iota of the same complexity or captivating material.

The issue here is that Storm Over Lisbon really doesn’t have an inkling of what it wanted to be, and as we’ve seen on multiple occasions, if a film doesn’t have a strong connection to its genre or at least something of a consistent control over its narrative, it can spiral out of control and become nothing more than a work of pure self-indulgence. Unfortunately, George Sherman is not gifted enough as a director to make up for this (and his tendency towards low-budget genre films was extremely evident here – he defined the concept of “point-and-shoot”, with very little creative flourish or complexity in his direction, which works for some genres, but certainly not for a film that actively tries to convince us that it has promising ideas), and the screenplay by Doris Gilbert and Dane Lussier doesn’t have the strength to cover up the very clear narrative flaws. It’s hardly surprising that the best parts of this film are those in which it seems to be going in its own direction, which are sporadic but at least show that there was some thought put into these sequences, as opposed to those in which it was directly taking after several other thematically and conceptually similar films. Nothing about Storm Over Lisbon inspires much confidence, and its attempts to oscillate between bleak wartime drama and homely romantic melodrama feel very forced, especially since it doesn’t succeed in either individually, let alone when these two usually incompatible concepts are placed together. It doesn’t make for a particularly good film at all, and it sometimes feels like a chore to get through, which is not something that anyone necessarily would want to endure, especially when the message at the heart of the film isn’t worth the time and work to get there, making Storm Over Lisbon a severe disappointment for many reasons.

Even if we look at the performances, Storm Over Lisbon still feels like it is severely lacking. However, unlike the directorial approach or the people responsible for the screenplay, the actors in this film were proven to have talent, which was underutilised throughout this film, leading to an even more uneven and genuinely unpleasant work at times. The fault is surprisingly not with the actors – Vera Hruba Ralston and Richard Arlen are both terrific in general, but they aren’t given anything of value to do here; their performances feel like they were designed to be played by anyone who showed up to set, and nothing about these characters feels tailor-made to either character. This is even more egregious when we realise they are supposed to be romantic interests, even though they lack any form of chemistry, often feeling like two actors tasked to deliver the flowery and overwrought dialogue without any real attention to detail or meaningful contribution to the narrative. The only actor that feels like he was given anything to do was Erich Von Stroheim, who plays what appears to be a prototype for a James Bond villain, taking on the role of the sinister Portuguese businessman who holds court over Lisbon’s dealings with an iron fist, making it clear that he is not afraid to use the might and power he has harnessed to get his way. Even with a very good performance, Von Stroheim feels lost in this film – he is neither a hero nor a villain in the traditional sense, but yet the film is constantly trying to convince us that we must have strong feelings for his character, which makes for a very strange experience – and much like the two leads, the ambiguities in the construction of his character ultimately have a negative impact, since there are far too many character-based details that go entirely unexplored, impeding the power this performance has on the viewer.

Storm Over Lisbon is certainly not a bad film – it is well-made and has many gorgeous moments (the art direction and set design are absolutely wonderful, and it is a highlight of the entire film), and there is a genuine sense of suspense that lingers over this film. However, for every moment when we think it is approaching greatness, it goes hopelessly off the rails – and despite gorgeous visuals (the way they construct the club that is central to the film makes us wonder how much better the film would have been had this same effort been expended on actually doing something meaningful with the material. This film isn’t bad as it is just poorly conceived – it has good ideas and strong aspects, but they mean very little when everything else that surrounds them is so deeply mediocre, with not even the performances being able to salvage what is essentially nothing more than a flaccid, unimpressive attempt at intrigue and drama. There isn’t any sense of self-awareness to be found anywhere in this film, and it just plays as an impoverished version of Casablanca, trying to fashion itself after that iconic classic of Golden Age cinema, but being beyond pale in comparison. It doesn’t hit any emotional notes, and it is just generally a dour affair, the kind that we quietly wait to finish, just to see the resolution – but even doing so is just a laborious exercise, and makes it clear that not every classic era thriller had its merits, and even those that look gorgeous can suffer when it comes to actually finding a coherent point and keeping it there.