Love, war, and the bittersweet art of letting go in the fog of history and the flicker of film.

Let’s be truthful. Your imagination most likely immediately conjures up one of those instantly identifiable scenes when someone says Casablanca: “Here’s looking at you, kid,” or maybe the sigh of “As Time Goes By” wafting from Sam’s piano. These days, more people reference this kind of movie than watch it, which is reasonable and rather depressing. When you sit down to watch Casablanca with fresh eyes, even in 2025, it's akin to walking into a pub at the end of the earth and discovering that everyone there has a narrative that still matters.

In my late teens, I saw Casablanca for the first time. I didn’t understand. It seemed to me like one of those antiquated black-and-white “classics” that you were meant to admire rather than savour. Instead of the action or epic romance I was expecting, I was met with a smokey bar, a guy with injured eyes, and a lady who enters like a dream and opens everything up. I didn’t realise what this movie was accomplishing until years later, when I was seeing it again after a painful heartbreak and in the midst of what seemed like the world was falling apart. Casablanca focuses equally on time and love. And that’s what makes it more than a last farewell or a sweeping kiss.

The Beautiful Bitterness of Right Person, Wrong Time: Humphrey Bogart’s character, Rick Blaine, is a guy who has had his idealism knocked out of him but hasn’t been able to eradicate it. He is stern, cynical, and determined to stay out of anyone's way. But we know that’s a lie—don’t we always know? He is the quintessential reluctant hero and the spiritual forebear of Tony Stark and Han Solo. And the entire façade breaks down when Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) enters his café, seeming as if she’s walked out of a dream he’s been trying to forget for years.

This is not a film that views romance as a panacea. It may even be one of the few outstanding love tales in movies that ends in separation—and not in a heartbreaking, sob-inducing fashion. Rick releases Ilsa because he loves her, not because he doesn’t. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Rick grasps the broader perspective.

The problem is that Casablanca was produced during World War II. When it was released in 1942, the globe was engulfed in a tumult of fascism, treachery, and fervent optimism, and American forces were about to enter combat. It seems unsettlingly pertinent to see now, with our political upheavals, migration problems, and ideological differences. This movie's characters find themselves trapped in a state of exile and conflict. People wait for letters of transit, answers, and a way out at Rick’s Café, which is similar to purgatory. Does it sound familiar?

A Bar at the Edge of the World: The central focus of the film is Rick’s Café Américain. It’s more than simply a bar; it’s a stage, a trap, and a haven. With its rotating cast of eccentrics and underlying sense of loss, it makes me think of the cantina in Star Wars (no coincidence—George Lucas was stealing the atmosphere) or maybe even The Grand Budapest Hotel. Everybody is fleeing from something. Everyone is acting. And what a cast of characters: the desperate immigrants, the cunning Nazi officers, the devoted Sam at the piano, and the corrupt but yet endearing Captain Renault. They depict even the smallest figures with love and careful attention to detail. The depiction of humankind in exile appears to be a vivid fantasy.

One of the most emotionally charged situations in the movie is when the bar bursts into “La Marseillaise,” overpowering the Nazi hymn. It’s a personal eruption as well as an eruption of resistance. If you look carefully, you can tell that the actors are crying. Many of them were real refugees from Europe during Nazi rule. That scene was cathartic, not only an act. This scene turns Casablanca into a myth rather than just a fantastic movie. It’s more than simply a narrative; it’s a moment preserved in amber, a live, breathing record of how people manage to survive while everything else goes crazy.

The Art of Less: Directorial Choices That Resonate:The filmmaker, Michael Curtiz, receives insufficient recognition these days. This may be because Casablanca appears to have been flawlessly crafted and simply exists without noticeable flaws. However, the film's flawless appearance is part of its magic. Despite its undetectable nature, the direction exhibits excellent execution. Curtiz wasn’t ostentatious. He didn't have to be ostentatious. In the last scene, he trusted his performers, his settings, and that constant fog that rolled over the airport. Oh, how beautiful the illumination is! Ilsa radiates like an angel, while darkness envelops Bogart. The close-ups are personal yet not obtrusive. There is a distinct cinematic quality to everything, as if the film adeptly navigates the balance between slowing down and making deep cuts.

In contrast, everything in today’s films is either overly explained, written out, or heavily reliant on computer graphics. Casablanca is exquisite, refined, and painful. The film allows us to experience emotions without needing to ask for them. When you rewatch it after viewing more recent films like Dune or Oppenheimer, you understand how potent suggestion can be. A trench coat and fog may sometimes say more than an explosion ever can.

Emotional Truth in a Time of Lies: Irony is the norm in our day and age. People nod or wink at everything. We no longer feel things correctly because we’re too cool. But emotion doesn’t make Casablanca wince. It acknowledges the pain of saying goodbye. It honors the courage of sacrificing oneself in the notion that doing the right thing might sometimes involve giving up what you most want.

It’s incredible how new this drama still seems. When was the last movie to have the courage to proclaim, “This is bigger than us”—and mean it? It doesn’t seem cheesy when Rick tells Ilsa that she must go because she will regret staying “maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon—and for the rest of your life.” Realizing that you can't always have your happy ending and still be at peace with yourself is a stark realization.

At this point, Casablanca transcends the realm of romance. It is an adult parable of maturing, of being aware that love exists but isn’t always sufficient. Although it's a challenging situation, the movie manages it so skillfully that it almost makes you feel grateful.

It’s Always the Right Time for Casablanca: A friend of mine recently told me that Casablanca is a film that you understand only after you have experienced heartbreak and have had to make a moral choice. There is some truth to this perspective, despite the theatrical tone. This film explores compromise and what you have to give up to be the person you need to be. That’s why it persists. Other movies have replicated its DNA. Consider films depicting fleeting, passionate relationships during times of emotional or historical upheaval, such as The English Patient, Cold War, or even Lost in Translation. However, Casablanca continues to serve as the model. In the smokey chamber, the original tune.

Additionally, there’s an implicit sadness that permeates everything. Although Rick and Ilsa don’t discuss politics directly, the conflict is all around them. There are no simple solutions or signs of peace. That’s why the conclusion seems so well-deserved. It’s hardly a tidy conclusion, as Rick and Renault walk out into the fog. In a time when there is no hope, it is a gesture of hope. Perhaps that’s all we can hope for.

As Time Goes By… and By… and Still:It’s fascinating how a film that seems so deeply anchored in a certain era—the Vichy regime, Nazi occupation, wartime Morocco—can simultaneously feel so contemporary. People are still attempting to flee repressive governments. In a society that appears to lean more toward the brutal, we continue to face moral dilemmas. And we continue to fall in and out of love at the most inconvenient times.

Each time I go back to Casablanca, I discover something new: a sentence I had missed, a silent glance, a need that wasn’t there before. The movie develops with you. You concentrate on the romance while you’re young. The sacrifice is what hurts the most as you get older.

Here is what I would advise. Don’t anticipate pyrotechnics when you see Casablanca. Watch it carefully, thoughtfully, with a little hope in your chest and a little pain in your heart, just as you would after a hard day. Allow it to do its subtle magic. And don’t be shocked if you end up saying, “We’ll always have Paris,” with a wry grin rather than remorse.

This movie truly embodies its genre. This movie not only represents its era but also mirrors our own. This movie serves as a poignant reminder that dignity persists in the face of loss, even in the most remote locations on the planet. There is bravery. There is also love. It persists even when it departs.