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Set in World War II, Casablanca takes place in the Moroccan port city where refugees from Nazi-occupied Europe wait and scheme for a way to freedom. The most famous spot in town is Rick’s Café Américain, a smoky nightclub run by Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart). Rick is cool, cynical, and insists he “sticks his neck out for nobody.” But the war-and an old love-are about to test that claim.
One night a small-time smuggler named Ugarte (Peter Lorre) rushes into the café with a prize: two “letters of transit” stolen from murdered German couriers. These papers, signed by Vichy authorities, guarantee the holder safe passage out of Casablanca to Lisbon-and from there to America. Ugarte hands the letters to Rick for safekeeping, planning to retrieve them later. Before he can, the police captain Louis Renault (Claude Rains), operating under the eye of Nazi Major Strasser (Conrad Veidt), arrests Ugarte in the café. Ugarte dies in custody. Only Rick knows the letters are hidden-tucked away inside Sam’s piano.
That same evening, Rick’s carefully controlled past walks in. Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman) arrives with her husband, Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), a legendary Czech resistance leader. Rick and Ilsa haven’t seen each other since Paris, where they fell deeply in love as the Nazis closed in. On the day they planned to flee together, Ilsa never showed up at the train station. Rick left France heartbroken and bitter, believing she betrayed him without a word.
Seeing Ilsa again cracks Rick’s icy shell. Sam, the pianist, plays “As Time Goes By,” their Paris song, and memories flood back. Through brief flashbacks, we learn that Ilsa vanished because she discovered her husband-whom she believed dead in a concentration camp-was actually alive and needed her. Duty pulled her away from Rick; she never got the chance to explain.
Meanwhile, Major Strasser pressures Captain Renault to keep Laszlo trapped in Casablanca. Without papers, Laszlo can’t leave. He searches every angle-black market dealer Ferrari (Sydney Greenstreet), underground contacts-but the letters of transit are the only sure escape. Laszlo doesn’t know Rick has them. Ilsa does, or at least senses Rick is the key.
At a tense late-night meeting inside the closed café, Ilsa begs Rick for the letters. When he refuses, she pulls a gun-then drops it, overcome by old feelings. They kiss. Ilsa admits she still loves him and confesses the truth about Paris: she left to save Victor, and she is torn between her love for Rick and her duty to her husband and the cause. Rick promises he’ll fix everything.
The next day, Laszlo leads one of the film’s most stirring moments. In Rick’s café, German officers belt out “Die Wacht am Rhein.” Laszlo orders the band to play “La Marseillaise.” With Rick’s nod, the music swells; refugees rise to their feet, singing the French anthem with tears in their eyes. It’s a public act of defiance-and it paints a target on Laszlo’s back. Strasser moves to have him arrested for political crimes.
Rick now has a plan. He plays a dangerous game with Captain Renault, pretending he’ll betray Laszlo. He arranges a trap at the airport: Rick will hand Laszlo the letters in exchange for cash, Renault will swoop in to arrest Laszlo, and Rick will stay in Renault’s good graces. That’s the cover story. The truth is more complicated-and more noble.
At the foggy runway outside Casablanca, the final pieces click into place. Rick produces the letters-but he doesn’t plan to use them for himself and Ilsa. Instead, he instructs Ilsa to get on the plane with Victor. He has already filled out the papers in their names. Ilsa protests-she thought Rick was coming with her, that their love finally had a second chance. Rick, steady and heartbreakingly clear, explains why it can’t be: “If that plane leaves and you’re not on it, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.” Victor needs Ilsa-her courage, her love-more than Rick does, and the fight against fascism needs Victor. Rick chooses the greater good over personal happiness.
Major Strasser races to the airfield to stop the escape. He reaches for the phone to block the plane. Rick draws a pistol and shoots Strasser. Police arrive, and Renault has a decision to make: expose Rick, or protect him. With a sly glance and a sudden turn toward decency, Renault tells his men the immortal line: “Round up the usual suspects.” He tosses a Vichy bottle of water into the trash, a quiet signal that he, too, is done looking the other way.
The plane disappears into the night sky, carrying Laszlo and Ilsa to safety. On the runway, wind whipping the fog, Rick and Renault walk off together. The cynic and the opportunist have both been changed by what they witnessed-by courage, by sacrifice, by love that refuses to be selfish. Rick’s closing words, almost a smile in them: “Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Why does this story still pull us in? Because Casablanca turns a simple love triangle into a moral test. Rick starts as a man who swears he’s neutral. But love-and the sight of people risking everything for freedom-pushes him to act. Ilsa’s conflict is not a melodrama; it’s the human cost of war. Victor stands for purpose larger than any one person. And Renault shows that even a cynic can choose courage when it counts.
In under two hours, the film gives us everything: romance that feels earned, suspense that tightens like a drum, dialogue you can quote forever, and a final choice that hurts-and means something. That’s why the café lights never really go out, the piano keeps playing “As Time Goes By,” and audiences keep returning to Casablanca, year after year, ready to fall in love with it all over again.
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