70 Year Magazine Archive

Books, Arts & Manners: The Red, Red Robin Comes Blabbin’ Along

by John Simon

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Let me come right out and say it: Dead Poets Society (naturally without an apostrophe) is the most dishonest movie I have seen in a long time. It is a particularly plummy specimen of the pseudo-sensitive, pseudoserious, pseudo-real film. What is so distressing about the present state of affairs is that a picture as manifestly fake as this can get unlimited credit just for pretending to be serious. Here is what its producer says about the screenwriter: “Tom Schulman has done something remarkable. Instead of filling the screen with machinery, knights in armor, fast cars, or big guns—he has created an inspiring teacher whose warmth and ideas make him a largerthan-life character.”

So it has come to that: merely because of what your film is not about, it has done something remarkable. That’s like saying that because you do not pick fights with other bus-riders, do not run down pedestrians on the sidewalk with your bicycle, and do not relieve yourself on storefronts, you are a perfect gentleman. Sadly, though, when almost all movies are trashy and imbecile, seriousness of intent, however specious, is hailed as achievement.

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