I thought he was a tool in Casablanca, but Paul Henreid, and his cigarettes, are irresistible in Now Voyager.
There is a possibility that I suffer from former-smokeritis, and the attraction is nostalgia for the halcyon days of indoor smoking. I prefer to believe it has more to do with his safely exotic accent and wavy hair.
Now, Voyager turns up every time I'm home alone or channel surfing after Chief crashes for the night. Each time I am enthralled as he towers over Bette Davis and her crisp diction.
This is the fantasy of every pudgy girl with glasses. Escape from the daily pain of existence in the form of a "nervous illness" which requires a trip to the country, away from your troublesome family. Ah, the lure of a sanatorium rest-cure.