This is one of my rare movie reviews, serving to prove once again that Sacred Journey is the best spot on the Web to find out about movies that have been out for two years Since coming to seminary, Karyn and I don’t watch many movies. They take an hour-and-a-half to three hour commitment of time, and therefore must compete with seminary assignments, social interactions with actual human beings, shelves full of unread books. So when Karyn and I wanted to spend some time on a movie last night, I was grateful for St. Anne’s Pub’s recommendation of The Emperor’s Club.

Within its first few minutes, Emperor’s Club reveals itself as firmly ensconced in that mini-genre of films about inspiring teachers at quaint, stuffy, New England private schools. It doesn’t even try to hide its obvious homage to movies like Dead Poet’s Society. All the requisite scenes are there: aerial shots of the campus with hints of autumn leaves, student snowball fights on the quad in the “passing of years” montage,” the shining faces of the privileged boys gazing with awe at their god-like teacher. As someone who taught school for a good portion of his adult life, I admit to being a sucker for such films. Every teacher who goes to work for more than his or her paycheck hopes to be in some way an inspiration to his students. The greatest rewards I ever had as a teacher came from bumping into former students years later who told me how my sixth grade history or English class affected them. But even if you’re not a teacher, movies like Emperor’s Club and Dead Poets appeal to our common hope that, in the end, our lives made a difference, that we made at least some small ripples in the pond of history.

Having mentioned Dead Poet’s Society, it is unavoidable to draw comparisons between the two movies. Harsh criticisms of Emperor’s Club fill the Internet with their common complaint: Emperor’s Club is just Dead Poets Society Part II. Besides the already-mentioned similarity of setting, both feature aging, spinster male teachers who have been unlucky at love. Both include the same array of loveable but stereotyped prep-school boys (the Awkward One, the Rogue, the Sensitive One, etc.). Both cast their institutions as being more interested in money and reputation than teaching and values (although that portrayal is much harsher-edged in Dead Poet’s). Both Poet’s John Keating and Emperor’s William Hundert buck the system—but it is in what they rebel against and how that the value systems of the two stories diverge.

While both teachers fight valiantly to preserve a value system of the past, they are two very different ethics. Robin William’s John Keating has dedicated his life to Romantic individualism, with self-expression as its highest goal; whereas Kevin Kline’s William Hundert pursues the civic virtues and noble aspirations of the Greek and Roman worthies, lifting up self sacrifice. It is interesting to note that both films build themselves thematically around Latin expressions favored by their principle characters. For Keating, it is all about carpe deim (“seize the day”), while Hundert exhorts his boys with a number of quotations, all having to do with character as the molder of the man. Keating’s path to significance is to release Whitman’s “barbaric yawp”; Hundert reminds each new class that “great ambition and conquest without contribution is without significance.” He reinforces the lesson by having a boy read aloud the braggadocio of the ruler of a vast ancient empire, then reminding the class that that emperor is not mentioned in any history book of our day. So while Keating bucks the whole world for the exaltation of self, Hundert battles the increasing moral relativism of 1970s America with a message of integrity, service, and humility.

The way the two films end is just as revelatory of their difference. (Skip the next two paragraphs if you haven’t seen Emperor’s Club and don’t like spoilers!) The climax of Poets, given its worship of Romanticism, is the all-too-predictable self-inflicted death of the sensitive boy. Romanticism revels in the tragic martyr. Emperor’s Club gives every indication that it is going to have just as predictable an ending: the bad boy, inspired by the belief and support of the inspiring teacher, mends his ways and becomes a model citizen. But it is just at that point that Emperors breaks the mold of “inspiring teacher” movies with a disconcerting twist. The bad boy does not reform; in fact, he is revealed in adulthood to have become even more confirmed in his situational ethics, might-makes-right pursuit of greatness. And even more startling, it becomes evident that the inspiring teacher actually had a hand in pushing him that way. In one of the movies more wrenching scenes, Hundert confronts bad-boy Sedgewick after catching him having cheated in a school academic contest. The teacher is left without a credible answer to the boy’s observation that Hundert himself had compromised his integrity, refusing to expose Sedgewick’s cheating in order to save the school’s reputation and the hefty contributions of Sedgewick’s father. This seems to confirm for Sedgwick his Machiavellian worldview.

It is in its final section, taking place 25 years after the main part of the movie, that the story (perhaps unintentionally) portrays very honestly the postmodern dilemma. Who are we to say that Sedgewick’s rejection of classical ideals is any more right or wrong than Hundert’s reveling in the Enlightenment’s love affair with the classical virtues? Sedgewick’s way appears to work in the “real world.” Through lying and deceit he has attained enormous success and the admiration of his peers. Yet there is redemption in this story, if not for Sedgewick Bell, then seemingly for William Hundert. While it is clear that Bell’s son will grow to despise him as much as he did his own father, another of Professor Hundert’s students gives him the ultimate vote of confidence by entrusting his own son to the teacher’s care. And Bell’s realization that his life of deceit has poisoned his own son against him reminds me of the truth of Van Til’s observation that no system or way of life that is opposed to God’s ways revealed in the Bible will ultimately work, because it goes against the very fabric of the universe God created.

As a Christian, I am at first drawn, of course, to cheer for Hundert’s “side” in the conflict. Integrity, self-sacrifice for others, character-building are all biblical virtues. Yet, despite the film’s depiction of redemption and vindication for the teacher in the end, I was left with a nagging sense that something important was being overlooked. It finally occurred to me that it is the foundation of Hundert’s virtues that ultimately fails him and his hopes to create an ideal society. For he holds up to us the “great men” of the classical period: Aristotle, Socrates, Virgil, Julius Caesar, etc. But what do the lives of these men teach us? What was the legacy of the societies they created? Classical Greece and Rome, for all their pomp and glory, abounded in imperialistic conquest, human slavery, Machiavellian power politics, and sharp class distinctions. In the end, it is not Hundert’s virtues that fail him, but the gods on which he bases them. His gods give an “out” to the Sedgewick Bell’s in his classes. No matter how beautiful the house, Jesus was right when he said it is the foundation that matters.

The Emperor’s Club is an important film, if for nothing else for the discussions it should create. We live in a day when cynicism abounds toward every institution of our society: politics, industry, and even the church. Unlike Dead Poet’s Society, Emperor’s Club realistically confronts the ambiguities caused by the clash between Enlightenment idealism and virtues and postmodern whatever-ism. It doesn’t seek to hide in a Romantic escapism, but it also fails to provide the answer found in the only foundation that will hold, the true Story of Jesus Christ.

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 28th, 2005 at 10:28 am and is filed under Reviews, Worldview. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.