Timeless or Tired: Debating the Enduring Power of the Classics

The final script for Casablanca wasn't finished until the very last day of shooting. Ingrid Bergman famously had no idea whether Ilsa would end up with Rick or Laszlo until they filmed the final scene. Oh, wow. It's completely chaotic, and it gets right to what we were debating last week on "Timeless or Tired" — is a classic made by perfect design, or is it just, uh, catching lightning in a bottle? Because for me, Casablanca is the ultimate proof of the latter. See, and for me, that chaos you mention is right there on the screen. I mean, it’s an icon, of course. But is it a truly great film by today’s standards?

I’m... not so sure. What? You can't be serious. The dialogue alone! "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." Every line is a knockout. It’s cynical, it's romantic, it's funny. It's got EVERYTHING. It's got some great one-liners, I will absolutely give you that. But the first act is... a slog. You spend twenty-five minutes just meeting a revolving door of indistinct European refugees before the plot even kicks in. The pacing is pure 1940s. That's called world-building! It establishes the stakes, the desperation. Rick's Café is this microcosm of a world on the brink of war.

You need to feel that atmosphere for his cynical detachment to mean anything. Okay, but let's talk about the characters inside that world. Specifically, Ilsa. I mean, her entire identity is just... which powerful man she's currently tied to. First Rick, then Victor Laszlo. She has almost no agency of her own. I think that’s a really ungenerous reading. She’s caught between a past love and a present duty to a cause she believes in. That's not a lack of agency, that’s a complex, impossible choice. That's the whole engine of the story. Is it her choice, though? I mean, really? Rick is the one who ultimately makes the decision for her at the airport.

He engineers the whole thing. He tells her what her future is going to be. Because he loves her! He’s sacrificing his own happiness for the greater good, and for her to be with her husband, the heroic resistance leader. It's the ultimate act of selfless love. Or—and hear me out—it's the ultimate act of paternalistic control. He decides that his moral redemption is more important than her stated desire, which was to stay with him. The entire climax is about Rick's journey back to idealism. Ilsa is just the beautiful instrument for his character development. Wow. Okay, so you're saying the most iconic noble gesture in cinema history is actually...

selfish? I’m saying it centers the man's journey. It’s his story. She’s a catalyst, not a co-protagonist. The film works beautifully if you see it as "The Redemption of Rick Blaine." It kind of falls apart if you expect Ilsa to be a person on the same level. Alright, I can see what you mean about Ilsa's agency. I really can. But I think you're letting that one aspect overshadow the film's central theme, which is more vital now than ever. Which is? "The problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world." It’s the idea of sacrificing your personal desires for a cause bigger than yourself.

In an age of, you know, radical individualism, that message feels profound, not dated. Okay, I'll give you that one. The political dimension, the anti-fascist stance, the feeling of a world on the edge where you have to pick a side... that part still lands. It absolutely does. So it's not a total loss for you. No, not a total loss. It's a gorgeous, brilliantly-acted film with some of the best dialogue ever written. It’s also a film where the female lead is treated more like a precious object to be passed between men than a person. Both things can be true. So it’s a flawed masterpiece. We can agree on that?

Let's call it an essential artifact. It’s like a stunning piece of antique furniture. I can admire its craftsmanship and its history, but I don't necessarily want it in my living room. Huh. I guess that leaves the real question, then. Do we need our classics to be perfect reflections of our modern values, or is their power in showing us just how far we've come?