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Let’s start at the beginning, for all stories worth telling unfold from there. As an avid cinephile, it seemed about time to sit down and watch the beloved Dead Poets Society. Heck, even Hulu thought so as the film stared at me in my suggestions, oozing with all of its cultural glory. But what began as a hopeful adventure toward self-discovery ever-so-painfully turned into a blasphemous FaceTime conversation with my sister: ‘the movie sucked, the young men were twerps, and Robin Williams’s acting was mediocre.’ But you know what, folks? Sometimes things are always as they seem — but sometimes, despite this, dead poets inadvertently tug at your heartstrings the second time around.
I suppose you could think of my journey through Dead Poets Society like any trend to ever exist: after all of the build-up, you simply stare at the mirror hating your new middle part. Expectations, hype, and raves are a cruel game of smoke and mirrors, and this movie did not live up to them during the first viewing. Honestly, I was not too fond of this film — similar to my loathing of the middle part for my face shape — but like all 90s trends in a world obsessed with vintage and reboots, these young men and an inspiring teacher wore me down. But not the middle part. That never gets better for me.
“I Sound My Barbaric YAWP Over The Rooftops Of The World!”
I paused way too many times throughout the agonizing two hours of Dead Poets Society because I needed a light at the end of the tunnel. It was difficult to connect with (or even care about) the characters, and it seemed as though Neil Perry’s suicide was just serving as a plot device to make the audience feel something. It should also be noted that, at the end, it physically pained me to see all of Mr. Keating’s (Robin Williams) work go down the drain along with my understanding of cinematic masterpieces. As the kids stood on their desks, I clutched tighter to my phone to avoid chucking it at the screen.
In fact, one morning, I was watching re-runs of Friends on TBS, and I laughed out loud at the perfect coincidence unfolding before me. I had very similar feelings to those of “Monica Geller” in the episode of Friends, where her identity gets stolen. The “new” Monica is spontaneous with a thirst for life — and another adamant hater of Dead Poets Society (along with the much-esteemed Roger Ebert). I, too, wanted those two hours of my life back.
Yet, as people hastily pointed out on YouTube, “Fake Monica” is actually living the very essence of the film: carpe diem. She was inspired to make the most of her life, to make it extraordinary. Even I felt compelled to “suck out all of the marrow” (( Weir, Peter, director. Dead Poets Society. Touchstone Pictures, 1989. )) from this obnoxiously stale storyline. So director Peter Weir and I had another showdown as I cued up Hulu one last time, several weeks later, to hate-watch the film for this very piece.
But, not-so-unfortunately, the dust had settled, and the hype of a never-before-seen classic had dissipated. This time I knew what I was getting myself into, and this time, I was able to appreciate the extraordinary magic that is carpe diem. Once frustrated with the IMDb reviews gushing over how it’s one of the greatest films ever, or how it completely changed their lives, or even how the film inspired them to become a teacher, I now felt… less frustrated? Maybe even able to relate? Dare I say, moved?
Once you have the slow plot and awkward acting under your belt, one can actually tune in and appreciate the bigger picture, the grander messaging. Dead Poets Society isn’t fun, it isn’t action-packed, and the romance is pretty sketchy — but it’s probably the greatest film of all time when it comes to dismantling society, encouraging free thinkers, and sticking it to the man.
“Show me the heart unfettered by foolish dreams, and I’ll show you a happy man.” But only in their dreams can men be truly free. Twas always thus, and always thus will be. (( Weir, Peter, director. Dead Poets Society. Touchstone Pictures, 1989. ))
McAllister and Mr. Keating
To Stand Or Not To Stand: A Failed First Attempt
First, let’s discuss the issues of this film. Is it common to go from one end of the emotional spectrum to a much more medium position . . . probably not. But you have to understand, how on Pete’s green Earth could a movie about nonconformity end with 1.) the main character committing suicide because he sees no way out of his father’s control and expectations and 2.) all of the Dead Poets Society members (minus the expelled “Nuwanda”) signing Mr. Keating’s termination due to pressure and fear.
It truly felt as though when the biggest test to their lessons presented itself, they all failed epically. No amount of last-minute desk standing is going to save the career and reputation of the best thing to ever happen to both Welton Academy and the young men who all seem to hate it there. Once these lately defiant students sit back down in their tiny wooden seats, they’ll still have to deal with the aftermath of their irate headmaster — without the one person who was on their side the entire time.
If I were Mr. Keating in his final scene, the iconic and tearfully-proud farewell toward his lackluster students “Thank you, boys.” (( Weir, Peter, director. Dead Poets Society. Touchstone Pictures, 1989. )) would have sounded a lot more like “Go to hell.” Maybe I’m in the wrong, but I’m not forgiving enough to throw confetti at the very people who lied and lost me my dream job. But alas, the role went to the slightly more talented Williams, and the rest is movie history.
More importantly, in a movie all about men, the sexism is pretty appalling. Apparently, women are supposed to be impressed by a bunch of creepy robe-wearing high school boys in a cave who pass off Shakespeare as their own work — because women couldn’t possibly know who Shakespeare is. There’s also the use of a Playboy centerfold to write impassioned sonnets on, as well as the super-stalker vibes from Knox Overstreet as he tries to win over a girl he briefly met once because she’s — wait for it — pretty. This film exploits poetry as a means to woo women and ultimately treats their objects of affection as just that, objects. All the while, they’re twisting Mr. Keating’s teachings once more.
There’s also the scene when Knox touches Chris’s hair and kisses her forehead at a party as she’s passed out on the couch. Apparently, this is deemed romantic, as well as when he shows up at her school and doesn’t take no for an answer. In accordance with the laws of the Dead Poets Society, that right there will earn you a personal visit from her in front of all of your friends and a date to a play. So excuse me for not initially warming up to a film that perpetuates rape culture and encourages the audience to root for the stalker and the minor female character.
Dead Poets Society: A Second Chance At Redemption
Honestly, my Dead Poets Society “redemption” might actually stem from the numbness to all of the above offenses as Robin Williams spews beautiful words of inspiration and life advice for two hours. Granted, these fantastic lines are there each time you watch it, but they hit different for those of us who are more quick-to-opinionate — a.k.a. upset with the boring, sexist storyline. Thus, really, the only bright light in this film is Mr. Keating (and maybe, unashamedly, my growing attraction to “Nuwanda”).
I have a soft spot for Mr. Keating because he is constantly pushing back against the messaging that Welton Academy spins for its youth, ideas that say its students should blindly follow authority, social norms, and that the best way to live is to simply fall in line. He starts the film as the school’s new English teacher, and he immediately tells the students to rip out the introduction section of their books because of a formula that measures the quality of a poem. He insists that a poem, art, life is so much more than an x-and-y-axis or a riddle that only has one answer.
From having them walk against conformity in the courtyard all period, kicking balls and yelling famous sonnets, and standing on one’s desk to see the world a little differently, Mr. Keating isn’t just teaching poetry — he’s teaching these young men how to be their own person, to have enough passion for chasing their dreams. He’s even able to take his student with heightened social anxiety, Todd Anderson (Ethan Hawke), and spin him around and around in front of the class as Anderson spews arguably the best original poetry in the film.
The lessons from Dead Poets Society are tenfold, with quotes that are quintessential to both the world of cinema and for all of those fighting against the odds or simply trying to find themselves. I will forever refer people to this movie when they need a little help seeing that the crowd is rarely right or when someone just might be the Welton Academy in their own life. Society truly is the problem, people — except for those with dead poets, of course. There are so few films that go against the grain and tell us how humanity can fight against the realists and naysayers.
Due to the hyper-awareness of Mr. Keating’s words this time around, I teared up when Neil felt compelled to kill himself. It’s evident that he believed his fight against conformity — his love for acting versus medical school — was lost. It was also less infuriating (ever so slightly) to watch these young men puff their chests into Mr. Nolan’s office to only return several moments later with theoretical blood on their hands. They truly believed they were going to stick it to the man, saving Mr. Keating — yet they, too, broke under the unbearable pressure to fall in line.
A Tale Of Two Sides, But The Poets Survive
Finally, if I had to rate Dead Poet’s Society, I would give it a 7.5 out of 10. It truly is an extraordinary film that should be watched by everyone, at every age. Are there some shortcomings? Absolutely. In many ways, this film does not stand up to our modern times. The sexism is cast under the idea of normal male adolescence, where the women (with very few lines) serve solely as the receiving end of the male gaze. It’s cringey and toxic, without a doubt. It should never go unchecked when using this film for educational purposes — we can still love classics but also grow from them in strides for a much better tomorrow, in Hollywood, and our everyday lives.
But when it comes to the other issues I had with this film, a second viewing made me better appreciate the impact its life lessons have on a viewer. Mr. Keating should be everyone’s inspiration, and maybe we do need to stand on top of our theoretical desks more often to look at the world a little differently. However, I’m not 100% converted.
I still struggle with how the young men dropped the ball at the very end, causing their beloved teacher to be banished from Welton Academy. Perhaps this is a privilege of living in 2021, a time when I undoubtedly believe I would be free to stand up against the headmaster, against the system. Perhaps, it’s also necessary to show how free thinkers don’t have an easy path in life. Nevertheless, I have a little more empathy for the students who eventually found their voice and for a film that initially made me raise mine in disdain.
“Thoreau said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.’ Don’t be resigned to that. Break out!” (( Weir, Peter, director. Dead Poets Society. Touchstone Pictures, 1989. ))
Mr. Keating
