Classic or Cringe? Two Critics Debate the Timelessness of Iconic Works

During the filming of Casablanca, nobody knew how it was going to end — because the script was still being written. Ingrid Bergman famously asked the director who her character, Ilsa, was supposed to be in love with. He told her, "I don't know... play it in-between." And that right there is the entire film in a nutshell! A beautiful, glorious accident that everyone has decided, after the fact, was a work of genius. I'll call it a masterpiece, accidental or not. It's the ultimate story of personal sacrifice for a greater cause. Rick Blaine gives up the love of his life to help the war effort. It’s romantic, it’s political, it’s perfect. Okay, but let's talk about the person at the center of that sacrifice. Ilsa. What does she want?

The entire movie, her fate is decided by two men—Rick and her husband, Victor Laszlo. She’s less a character and more a beautiful, tearful prize to be passed between them. I think that's a little unfair. She's torn! She's trapped between a past love and a present duty. That's the core of the drama. Her conflict is the engine of the whole story. Is it her conflict, though? Or is she just the object of their conflict? She begs Rick to "do the thinking for both of us." A modern screenplay would get torn apart for a line like that. She has almost no agency. But the film isn't about her agency! It's about Rick's moral awakening. He goes from "I stick my neck out for nobody" to putting Ilsa and Laszlo on that plane. That's the arc.

That's the point. I hear you, but that makes the film about the man's journey, using the woman as the catalyst. That's what feels dated. We can acknowledge it’s a brilliant performance by Bogart and still see that the structure is fundamentally imbalanced. Okay, but consider this—the scene in the bar. When the German officers are singing their anthem, and Laszlo tells the band to play "La Marseillaise." The whole room joins in, drowning out the Nazis. That moment is pure cinematic power. It still gives me chills. That has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with defiance. Alright, I'll give you that one. That scene is flawless. It’s an absolute all-timer, no question. But its power almost makes my point for me.

The film's politics, its anti-fascist soul, are so strong and timeless that it makes the gender politics feel even more creaky by comparison. So you're saying the things that work SO well make the things that don't, stick out more? Exactly! It's like a magnificent old building with some original plumbing. You can still admire the architecture, but you're also aware that some parts haven't aged as well. Rick tells her she'll regret it, "maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life." He's still making the decision for her. But it's the right decision! He knows it, and deep down, she knows it too. He's saving her from her own momentary weakness. It’s a noble lie. Or it’s a man telling a woman he knows what’s best for her.

Look, I'm not saying it's a bad movie. It's Casablanca! It's gorgeous, the dialogue is legendary, and "Here's looking at you, kid" is iconic for a reason. I just don't think it's the flawless, timeless romantic story everyone remembers. It's a brilliant political thriller with a romance plot that... shows its age. I suppose we can agree it’s brilliant. I just think its heart is bigger than its flaws. For me, the romance isn't just a plot—it's a metaphor for the choices we all have to make between what we want and what the world needs. And I think that's fair. The themes are definitely timeless. I guess the question is just... who gets to be the one to make those choices. Maybe that's the real tension then. Is it a perfect relic we should admire under glass, or is it a living story that we're allowed to argue with?

I think it has to be both.