Stegall 1 Elliott Stegall Dr. Briggs HUM 6939/Critical Theory July 26, 2007

The Poetics of ―Dead Poets Society;‖ In Defense of the Sentimental

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, to discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and to be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

Walden; Or, Life in the Woods -

Henry David Thoreau (1817 – 1862)

The above passage is read by the boys—who’ve resurrected the Dead Poets Society— at the beginning of each midnight meeting in an appropriately primordial setting, a cave.

Stegall 2 Their ritualistic gathering is in honor of the film’s romantic notion that a return to nature, or rather one’s natural and individual self, is, ironically, best attained as a group. And while the film’s gentle encouragement to break free from conformity is met with other subtler contradictions, its heart is true to its goal: to live life to the fullest, one must internalize the mantra ―Carpe Diem,‖ seize the day. Director Peter Weir’s 1989 film is lovely and moving, but from an Aristotelian perspective, can this modern film drama— one frequently criticized for its sentimentality—be construed as tragic? Are the elements of tragedy—plot, character, diction, thought, spectacle, and melody—in accordance with its particular quality? Does the film adhere to and flow from an appropriately noble action; is the subject matter of a proper magnitude; is the action complete, that is, does it result from an inciting incident which itself is not caused; are the subsequent incidents linked by logical causation; does the language employ harmony and rhythm; and finally, are the elements of hamartia, mimesis, pity and fear, peripeteia and anagnorisis present, and do they result in catharsis? While not all of these elements will be addressed here at length, the main question—is Dead Poets Society ―an imitation of a noble and complete action, having the proper magnitude?‖ –will be. The goal then is to demonstrate that this gentle, male-centric weeper (perhaps it is worth noting that Aristotle believed women to be inferior to men) does indeed qualify as genuine tragedy, though not, admittedly, on the scale of a king’s fall, a hero’s demise, or a great city’s destruction. Aristotle’s insistence that action take precedence over character is well in keeping with the modern screenplay, at least in Hollywood, where action is king. Then again, while blockbusters are notoriously incident-driven and lacking humanity, incidents in other films are at least as frequently driven today by a

Stegall 3 character’s ―motivation,‖ though the distinction between incident and character can easily become muddled. Aristotle’s devotion to cause and effect admits of the possibility of infinite regress, thus his idea of the ―prime mover‖ or ―unmoved mover;‖ we have to begin somewhere. Is Oedipus a determined product of his prophecy, an incident that precedes his actual existence, or does the prophecy take place because of the incidents that follow from his actions? Does Oedipus become king of Thebes because he is smart enough (a character trait) to outwit the Sphinx, or is it the incident of outwitting the Sphinx of which we are to take note? In terms of plot, it seems clear that some events occur outside the realm of character (prophesies, weather, etc.) and that as a result of these events, characters respond. In terms of acting, this is considered a re-active character. Preferred is a character who acts of his own accord. In this respect, Aristotle’s insistence that ―without action tragedy would be impossible, but without character it would still be possible (64) may make Aristotle the first teacher of ―the method‖ approach to acting. In any case, in Dead Poets Society, it is the teacher’s, Mr. Keating’s, predisposition to teaching poetry from a romantic stance that incites the incidents of the film. It can then be argued that an un-caused cause—Mr. Keating’s romantic predisposition—is the first cause, an action which starts the movement of incidents which result in tragedy. The plot’s active beginning ―is not necessarily after anything else.‖ It effectively starts up by itself. An additional caveat must make note of the reader-response methodology. The film’s ability to be perceived as tragic rather than bathos resides in the viewer’s level of sensitivity to the particular emotions of angst-ridden teenaged boys. Film critic Roger Ebert, no sentimentalist he, derides Dead Poets Society as being

Stegall 4 a collection of pious platitudes masquerading as a courageous stand in favor of something: doing your own thing, I think. It's about an inspirational, unconventional English teacher and his students at "the best prep school in America" and how he challenges them to question conventional views by such techniques as standing on their desks. It is, of course, inevitable that the brilliant teacher will eventually be fired from the school, and when his students stood on their desks to protest his dismissal, I was so moved, I wanted to throw up. (rogerebert.suntimes.com) Evidently, Mr. Ebert did indeed experience catharsis, at least in the sense of purgation, but clearly not in the way the filmmakers wanted. Perhaps he is aware of other stories of young men in boarding school, especially ―A Separate Peace,‖ that pursue ostensibly grander themes than the pursuit of one’s identity, such as the darkness that lies at the hearts of men that can bring about their destruction. Additionally, that novel’s specter of WWII hovering over the boys’ lives and reflecting the evil in mankind reduces to trivial the pleasant era of the 50s, the time frame of Dead Poets Society. This lack of overt seriousness in time and tone may help explain Ebert’s unwillingness to suspend disbelief. As a baby boomer, Ebert may not look back to the 50s with comforting nostalgia at all. Perhaps the complete isolation of the Welton boys in a world devoid of race, class, or gender issues strikes him as unrealistic. Then again, these issues are not present in A Separate Peace either (obviously, boys in prep-school are of the upper class, but class in and of itself is not at issue in either story). But Dead Poets Society screenwriter Tom Schulman makes it clear in the DVD’s commentary track that his experience as a lad at

Stegall 5 an exclusive and Christian prep school, despite his being Jewish, is accurately reflected in the film. The environment is hermetic. The boys do not experience race or class issues, as they (the boys) are all virtually homogenous. There is neither radio nor television at the school. Nothing from the outside world interrupts their monastic solitude. Dead Poets Society takes place in an insular world where politics are not the issue: resistance to authority—pre-60s polite resistance—is. The Korean War is over; Vietnam has not yet been heard of. The personal nature of the boys’ experience, then, makes for a personal filmic experience, though its themes qualify as universal. Who of us has not yearned to break free from unwanted societal expectations? This is particularly true of the ―artistic‖ personality, evident in the character of Neil Perry. Critic David Butterworth, writing for the Summer Pennsylvanian, recognizes this distinction and believes that Dead Poets Society takes the often frivolous ingredients of classical literature - love, romanticism, passion - and turns them into a universal theme, man's ability, man's right (if you will) to think for himself, to act with spontaneity. Ask yourself when it was that you last thought about these subjects with anything more than a smile, or with a passing, cynical glance? The film makes us, the audience, take a long hard look at what inspires us, what governs our motivations and determines our actions. It emotes feelings rarely felt in the movies these days. Peter Weir skillfully handles a subject matter which, in the hands of a lesser director, might have come across as trite, even laughable. (reviews.imdb.com) Both stories, A Separate Peace and Dead Poets Society, share thematic similarities: both are concerned with the male coming-of-age experience, a passing from the protective

Stegall 6 status of youth to the realistic world of the adult, and the inevitable realization that life’s bitterest realities are often unavoidable, not the least of which is that a failure to achieve one’s dreams may result in death either through accident or self-inflicted harm. One’s ability to reflect upon the adolescent experience, then, is limited to one’s willingness to appreciate the significance of that experience as equivalent to tragedy. These caveats aside, it is now possible to explore the Aristotelian notion of proper tragedy as applicable to Dead Poets Society. We have already determined that the initiating incident—Mr. Keating’s personal approach to teaching the Romantics— satisfies Aristotle’s insistence that a tragedy must begin with an action that has no preceding action and that leads logically from one incident to another, the goal of which is to ultimately attain a cathartic experience through the arousal of pity and fear that leaves the spectator’s soul ―lightened and delighted.‖ On this account, the filmmakers succeed. The film opens with the dramatization of prep school ritual at the beginning of a new year. Amidst the lighting of candles and the stirring sounds of bagpipes echoing off the dark, wooden walls of Welton Academy’s cathedral, four young boys enter the hallowed halls of academe, each of them carrying one of four banners bearing the insignia of the school’s ―four pillars‖: tradition, honor, discipline, excellence. (The boys later mock these ideals as ―travesty, horror, decadence, excrement‖). The setting is thus quickly and efficiently established. In the auditorium are seated the older boys. On the dais sit the chorus of elderly men, administrators and teachers, the voices and images of this society’s moral code. This is a carrying-on of a long-established tradition. The elders teach the young. It has always been thus; it shall always be thus. The camera

Stegall 7 introduces each of the four youths whose lives will make up the drama: Neil Perry, the overachieving natural-born leader; Todd Anderson, the new boy, excruciatingly shy; Knox Overstreet, destined to pursue love; and Charlie Dalton, the boldest. Among the elders on stage sits Mr. Keating (Robin Williams), the youngest and newest member of the faculty. This opening sequence establishes a singular setting, one of the three unities. Although a few scenes take place off campus, the vast majority take place within the school rooms and on the school’s grounds. Beyond that, the opening sequence is meaningfully an interior scene, as will be the majority of scenes, reinforcing the insularity of the boy’s world. With few exceptions, exterior shots are employed to demonstrate the seasonal change from late fall to full winter in the woods of Vermont (the film was shot at St. Andrews prep school in Delaware), to illustrate the isolation of the boys, and as transitions to indicate the shifts between day and night. As for unity of action, there is a definite singular through line, though shared with the four boys: Mr. Keating’s influence upon them. We are not taken into any back or side story of any other faculty member; in fact, we are provided virtually no subplot of even Mr. Keating’s life. We do not meet his wife, briefly alluded to in a photo on his desk. We are not made privy to her life at all. The incidents that follow are directly related to each boy’s efforts to take to heart Mr. Keating’s dictum, carpe diem. It is highly relevant that of the four boys’ stories, three end in great disappointment (the fourth is largely superfluous). While the film does not suggest that following one’s bliss is immature, irresponsible, or dangerous, it does clearly demonstrate that for most, a romantic approach to life will meet with disaster. Finally, while the story obviously does not take place in real time— filmmakers long ago discovered that this approach does little to enhance a film’s appeal

Stegall 8 or effect—Dead Poets Society does not stray from chronological order, obeying the gist of Aristotle’s point, that a tragedy is most effective when the incidents move directly through time to their inevitable conclusion. Thus, it would appear that Dead Poets Society does adhere to the spirit of the three unities of time, place, and action. What the establishing scene does not and cannot include is the story’s dramatic conflict, though Mr. Keating’s youthful face amidst the elders of the ―chorus‖ hints at the conflict to come. While Oedipus may reiterate the purpose of his presence—to discover the cause of Thebes’ present plague—only a film based on a well-known historic event could follow the technique of such obvious exposition. In fact, nowhere in the film is the dramatic conflict—resistance to tradition and authority—openly stated. It is, however, clearly inferred. In the opening scene in the cathedral, for example, Neil Perry’s father is quickly established as a stern task-master, showing no loving glance toward his son, despite his son’s obvious achievement, evidenced by the large cluster of pins adorning his uniform. Additionally, Todd’s exit from the building following the conclusion of the ceremony is interrupted by Mr. Nolan, the headmaster, who reminds Todd that he has ―big shoes to fill, young man. Your brother was one of our best.‖ We later learn that Todd’s brother was valedictorian and a national merit scholar. These three moments— Mr. Keating’s youthful face in comparison to his elder peers, Neil’s father’s loveless gaze upon his son, and Todd’s rejected countenance upon being reminded of his superior predecessor—are sufficient to establish the upcoming conflict: There is going to be a generational battle. And just as Oedipus is not able to overcome his prophecy, the young are boys here are not likely to overcome the powers of tradition, the latter-day gods, thus priming the audience for a tragic ending.

Stegall 9 The other boys’ conflicts are soon established as well. In the dormitory, the boys tumble into their rooms. Todd, who has extreme trouble with speaking up, has been placed with Neil, the most celebrated of the students and who harbors a passionate desire to act. These two form the crux of the group in terms of obstacles to overcome, and it is upon these two that Mr. Keating’s teachings will have the greatest effect. In quick succession the other boys are further established. Richard Cameron is shown to be less popular than the other four, and his character is foreshadowed as a ―Judas,‖ the one who will side with the authority figures when the events climax. His character as minor antagonist is given short shrift and functions more stereotypically than do the others, a minor flaw but one that diminishes the believability of the frequency with which members of a group can splinter. While Cameron is present at each of the Society’s midnight meetings for poetry reading in honor of Mr. Keating, he is never portrayed as a legitimate ―disciple.‖ Dalton and Knox are established as likeable fellows and not the best in academics. This scene is highlighted by the appearance of Neil’s father, Mr. Perry, who has in conference with Mr. Nolan, the headmaster, has decided that Neil is signed up for too many extracurricular activities and that he has been dropped from working on the school annual. Neil is visibly disappointed, as he was to be assistant editor. The loss of this position on the school’s paper is supportive of the theme of Neil’s loss of agency as a result of his father’s demanding persona, especially in matters of creativity. Neil’s protestations are met with harshly, as Mr. Perry takes Neil from the room into the hall: MR. PERRY I will not be disputed in public, do you understand me? NEIL Father, I wasn't disputing you.

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MR. PERRY When you've finished medical school and you're on your own, you can do as you please. Until then, you will listen to me. NEIL Yes sir. I'm sorry. MR. PERRY You know what this means to your mother, don't you? NEIL Yes sir.

Mr. Perry’s subtle bullying tactics of guilt and pressure further establish Neil’s story as the one to watch. These are the early incidents that will coalesce into the main tragic episode of the film, Neil’s suicide. The next sequence briefly introduces the teachers of chemistry, Latin, and math, each mature, dedicated, and joyless. Their approaches are rote, dull. This is a prep school after all. It is their duty to prep the boys for degrees in the Ivy League where they will go on to be doctors and lawyers and such. The filmmakers, however, are careful not to make caricatures of the faculty, as this would reduce the subtlety of the message that the forces that resist our efforts as youths to break free from stultifying career expectations are not necessarily overt; neither are they necessarily evil. They, these forces, go about their lives as teachers and administrators, sincerely believing they have the answer. None are portrayed as unpleasant; they are merely mundane, uninspiring. Mr. Keating later reminds the boys of Thoreau’s dictum that ―the mass of men live lives of quite desperation,‖ and this seems to suggest the fate of the faculty. This sequence is designed to provide contrast with the one that follows, dramatizing Mr. Keating’s far more creative approach to reaching young men’s minds.

Stegall 11 He leads the boys from the classroom—suggesting that real learning takes place elsewhere—and into the hallway where the school’s trophy case rests, resplendent with photos of earlier generations of Welton boys. His first order of business is to establish his heroic position by encouraging the boys to refer to him as ―Oh Captain, My Captain,‖ referencing Whitman’s poem about Abraham Lincoln, no less. We might agree that though charming, this borders on the protagonist’s hamartia, in this case, hubris. While Mr. Keating is not obstreperous or arrogant like Oedipus, he, like Oedipus, is gifted but may be prone to an inability to see—until it is too late—that his methodology can have serious and negative repercussions. As a modern twist, the most severe repercussions of his not having taken to heart the advice of the headmaster and a fellow teacher fall not upon him but upon his pupils. (This permits of a subtle, though evident scene of recognition later in the film, where Mr. Keating witnesses Neil’s spirit fall following his father’s derisive response to Neil’s performance as Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.) In the hallway scene at the trophy case, Mr. Keating delivers his famous proclamation, carpe diem. Why? Because life is short. Because ―we are food for worms lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is one day going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.‖ Thus, we must make our lives ―extraordinary.‖ The boys remark to each other in confidence that Mr. Keating’s lesson was ―weird‖ and ―spooky‖ but ―different.‖ The scene is in fact marvelously encouraging, and it is evident that this incident will result in a further drawing of the boys and the audience into Mr. Keating’s sphere of exhilaration in poetry. The action moves forward toward its climax beginning really here.

Stegall 12 Knox is introduced to a lovely girl, who is, of course, already committed to an older fellow, a letterman in athletics. What adolescent drama leaves out the struggle for winning fair heart? This subplot within the major plot of pursuing one’s dreams is the weakest of the four if only that the pursuit of ―the girl‖ is a goal outside of the self, as opposed to Neil’s desire to express himself through acting, or Todd’s hope of gaining sufficient self-confidence to speak, or Dalton’s discovery that carpe diem does not mean making a fool of one’s self by assaulting the status quo with cheap stunts that may result in his expulsion. Mr. Keating, if fact, chastises Dalton for his rude behavior in mocking the headmaster by offering him a telephone during assembly hall with the words: ―Mr. Nolan, it's for you. It's God. He says we should have girls at Welton.‖ Mr. Keating responds to this incident later by informing Dalton that ―Sucking out the marrow [of life] doesn't mean getting the bone stuck in your throat, Charles. You still have responsibilities to yourself and those who care about you.‖ CHARLIE But I thought-KEATING There is a place for daring and a place for caution as well, Charles, and a wise person understands which one is called for. Getting expelled from this school is not an act of wisdom.

In other words, Mr. Keating is aware of the demands of responsibility, seemingly suggesting his awareness of the potentially negative consequences of his teaching style. Still, each boy pursues a path of irresponsible allegiance to ―carpe diem‖ via impulsive

Stegall 13 behavior, and the responsibility for the subsequent results must fall on the elder. The goal is admirable; the results will be tragic. The clearest example of group cohesiveness resulting from this philosophy, is, of course, the boy’s recreation of the ―Dead Poets Society,‖ founded a mere generation earlier by no other that Mr. Keating himself. It is in these midnight gatherings in the woods where the boys gather to recite romantic poetry and develop the courage of their individual plans, thus beginning the series of incidents that will be their blind journeys to disaster. So, as Knox relates his experience in meeting the lovely girl as ―…worse than too bad…it's a tragedy. A girl this beautiful in love with such a jerk,‖ we may easily recognize that Knox’s sudden love for the lovely girl, Chris, is based on nothing more than her appearance. No legitimate incident provoked his desire for her. Certainly jealousy is not admirable. Knox appears at a party where Chris is in attendance, and while she sleeps, Knox impulsively caresses her hair, resulting in his promptly being beaten up by her boyfriend. Thus, this action would not be considered serious or of a ―proper magnitude.‖ We have merely a lad, struck by a girl’s attractiveness, who took to heart the maxim, ―faint heart never won fair maiden.‖ Nevertheless, we can find in Mr. Keating’s words to the boys sufficient reason to believe such behavior is in keeping with a noble goal. In fact, he defends his approach to Mr. Nolan, the headmaster, by retorting, ―I always thought the idea of educating was to learn to think for yourself.‖ The operative word here, as Aristotle would certainly notice, is ―think.‖ Too little emphasis on thinking and too much emphasis on ―sucking the marrow out of life‖ is the clear effect on the boys. Mr. Keating’s flaw is showing, but the audience is being drawn into the more pleasing sentiment of feeling. Mr. Nolan’s pragmatic response is thus seen as antagonistic:

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At these boys' ages? Not on your life! Tradition, John. Discipline. Prepare them for college, and the rest will take care of itself.

Any art—in this case, a film—purporting to demonstrate the greater worth of the artistic or romantic life over that of the standard businesses of law, medicine, finance, and the like runs the risk of preaching to the choir. A film’s audience is, after all, made up of those who watch movies, ostensibly to be transported beyond their mundane lives. For the most part, however, Dead Poet’s Society avoids overt didacticism, or at least balances its position. For example, Mr. Keating clearly expresses the merits of ―sensible‖ professions to the boys in class as a necessary concomitant to the arts: KEATING Medicine, Law, Banking-these are necessary to sustain lifebut poetry, romance, love, beauty! These are what we stay alive for.

While Mr. Keating, then, teaches a balance between the practical and the romantic, it is clear the latter takes precedence in his approach, and the boys apply in their actions, often with dramatic results. Todd is drawn out from his stupor of shyness in class by virtual psychoanalysis, care of Mr. Keating, resulting in stream-of-consciousness word play, which is, of course, adjudged good. Regarding the grand theme of truth as a metaphorical blanket, Todd blindly expounds: ―Y-Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and

Stegall 15 scream.‖ Aristotle may not find these lines worthy poetry, but for an adolescent bursting with the heart of a beatnik, they succeed. When his newfound courage to communicate is later abruptly withdrawn as a result of Mr. Keating’s dismissal, the effect is crushing, pitiable. It is Neil’s story, however, that best illustrates this idea that the noble goal of pursuing one’s bliss may end tragically and that results in the requisite anagnorisis and peripeteia and the evocation of pity and fear. Having decided to defy his father, Neil accepts the role of Puck in a local production of ―A Midsummer Night’s Dream,‖ apropos of his romantic soul. Clearly, this will end in disaster, especially given the fact that Mr. Keating has encouraged Neil to speak to his father in romantic phrases: Mr. Keating I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You have to show him who you are, what your heart is. Neil, unfortunately, is shown to be lacking in the courage necessary, and he does not tell his father. Fear for his well-being has begun long before, but now, on the eve of the performance, the viewer is conscious of the inevitable outcome. If Aristotle is right in claiming that ―the end of tragedy is the presentation of the individual incidents and of the plot; and the end is, of course, the most significant thing of all,‖ then the ending begins with the moment Neil’s father secretly arrives at the play and witnesses his son’s disobedience in public (Richter 63). The moment of recognition is not here but immediately following. Outside the theatre, in the cold street as snow falls, Neil is whisked away by his infuriated father. The humiliation for Neil is palpable. Most telling

Stegall 16 though is Mr. Perry’s fierce order to Mr. Keating: ―Keating, you stay away from my son.‖ It is in this moment that the realization occurs that Mr. Keating will be held responsible for every unfortunate turn of events regarding the boys. The camera lingers long on Mr. Keating’s face, and that recognition of culpability registers clearly in his expression. For Aristotle, recognition is a complex concept, occurring at varying levels of artistic expression. The best form ―arises from the incidents themselves, striking us, as they do, with astonishment through the very probability of their occurrence‖ (Richter 71). While the incidents of the film have indeed led inexorably to this moment, it cannot be argued that astonishment is the protagonist’s reaction. Aristotle offers a second best version of recognition, however, one that occurs through reason. If we discern Mr. Keating’s expression at this moment correctly, it is through reason that he recognizes his culpability in Neil’s situation, secondary though it may be. Mr. Keating’s character, though Neil suffers most, is the true tragic figure because it is he, Mr. Keating, who qualifies as having made the gravest error of judgment. Additionally, he is ―neither perfect in virtue and justice, nor one who falls into misfortune through vice and depravity; but rather, one who succumbs through some miscalculation‖ (Richter 67). Thus, our pity is aroused in him because he fulfills the requirement of ―someone who undeservedly falls into misfortune, and fear is evoked by our recognizing that it is someone like ourselves who encounters this misfortune‖ (Richter 67). Mr. Keating’s dismissal from the school is the end of his personal dream of teaching from a romantic perspective. The scene of suffering, pathos, is painfully dramatized in the darkened, empty classroom, as Mr. Keating sobs to himself. While less appalling than the putting

Stegall 17 out of one’s eyes, the scene is affective. The peripeteia, too, is complete. What seemed grand for a while has resulted in the death of a young boy, the expulsion of another, and the merely temporary attaining of self-confidence in a third. The surviving boys are compelled to scapegoat Mr. Keating by signing an affidavit composed by Mr. Nolan. Each boy is reluctant; each obeys. None has learned the lessons of courage or selfempowerment. The elders, the tradition, the academy, these cannot be overcome with poetry. The final scene of the film, though sensationally sentimental, is the most moving and may be suspected of undercutting its tragic effect, unless we accept this as dénouement, a revealing of the true effects of Mr. Keating’s influence on the boys. Mr. Nolan has taken over the English class. The students are directed to read the infamous introduction to their textbooks, ―Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D.,‖ which Mr. Keating had earlier instructed the boys to rip out, making the moment electric with irony, especially as Mr. Keating meekly enters to retrieve his personal effects from the adjacent room just as Mr. Nolan is made aware that the introduction to the boys’ books are gone. As Mr. Keating exits, Todd recovers his courage and openly defends his teacher, suggesting that he [Todd] will be a leader of men after all. Despite Mr. Nolan’s protestations, Todd stands upon his desk and facing Mr. Keating speaks to him the poetic line of honor reserved for the hero: ―Oh Captain, my captain.‖ Then many (but not all) of the other boys, one by one, as the grand music swells, stand upon their desks and deliver the line, ―Oh Captain, my captain.‖ The moment is certainly cathartic, if we accept the definition of catharsis as a purging of emotion or emotional tension. Whether moral or intellectual purification or clarification has taken place is perhaps, less evident, though if

Stegall 18 we recall Mr. Keating’s dire explanation of the role of the teacher and the serious intent of education, we may assent: ―This [education] is a battle, a war. And the casualties could be your hearts and souls.‖ To appreciate this film, one must first have a heart and a soul.

Stegall 19 Works Cited Dead Poets Society, script. http://www.weeklyscript.com/Dead%20Poets%20Society.txt Richter, David H., The Critical Tradition Classic Texts and Contemporary Trends. (Third Edition: Bedford Books of St. Martin's Press, 2007.