One Thing After Another

I knew it.

I was a bit tired today, so I slept early, which meant that I got up in the middle of the night, and flipped on the television to see what was on. I caught the last half hour or so of The History Boys which I had seen in the theater sometime ago.

The story, I suppose, is about history, more specifically, two different approaches to history. One, by the venerable Hector, played by character actor, Richard Griffiths, represents history studied for history's sake, to learn simply because it's so interesting, not to be highly reverent of the subject, but to understand that what happens is often by chance.

Hector, alas, has a weakness: his fondness of boys. Oh, he can never properly indulge in a serious relationship. He relegates himself to the sideways glance, the inappropriate grope, and the boys? They seem to tolerate his advances, as a sad move by a joke of a person, even as they find his teaching unorthodox.

Mike D'Angelo criticized this point in his review, realizing, were his gender preferences different, how utterly creepy it would be. Yet, it probably comes across less than for at least two reasons. First, somehow, despite their formative age, these guys seem very in control of their lives, perhaps betraying the film's play origins, perhaps betraying the playwright's desire to depict highly literary kids, who quote from the world's great authors or sing show tunes at a whim.

This is Dead Poet's Society (DPS) where the kids already appreciate education, and are, indeed a bit too erudite. They lack the academic innocence of the teens in DPS. Like DPS, perhaps even more so, the kids, those that have personalities, represent different facets, from the shy Posner to the outgoing Dakin.

On the flip side of Hector, is the pragmatic Irwin, who finds the goal of prep school is to get into a good college. Cambridge. Oxford. And to get in requires a provocative approach in the essays. Be interesting. Be bold. But, in the end, it's a game, trying to impress those who read the essays, those who determine whether you get the keys to the next level.

Both Rudge, the athlete, and Posner, the kid coming to terms with his sexuality, take two extreme reactions to Irwin's approach. Rudge knows he's an athlete. He's not particularly academic. He knows colleges wants athletes, but doesn't like the idea that he has to do a song and dance to make the colleges feel good about the lie they tell themselves. Posner, on the other hand, still takes Hector's lessons to heart, both good and bad, interested in the act of teaching, but pained by the life of a closeted individual.

For a while, the film is about these clever kids, and these two approaches, but then it takes a different tack. Dakin, the boldest of the kids, the guy who's too cool, is fascinated by Irwin, the teacher, and despite being straight, wants Irwin to have a tryst with him. Stephen Campbell Moore must have enjoyed this role where he portrays an outwardly confident teacher, who has secrets to hide, not just his interests in guys, but also his credentials. In effect, he's living the lie that he wants his students to follow, yet, it's not nearly that cynical. He understands he didn't play the game well enough as a teen, but he knows how to teach others to play the game. He is Salieri, but instead of lamenting his lack of Mozart talent, he realizes you can fake that talent.

The key drama, then, is that rarity of real life, the advance of a student on a teacher. Dakin's advances are so confident, and Irwin's response so tentative, that despite the inappropriateness, you feel Irwin's the one being taken advantage of. Hector offers his advice: lay off, which seems funny, because he manages to excuse his own actions as a kind of "lesson", a lie he tells himself.

The film manages to blunt the actions of inappropriate teachers by students that are a bit too savvy, a bit too wise, but it tries to make a point, which is that people aren't so easily pegged into a simple label. Teachers, especially high school teachers, often run into problems. They are both authorities, but also surrounded by teens that are only beginning to understand the opposite sex, and this has, on occasion, lead to inappropriate behavior (this happened at my high school). The film makes the rather bold suggestion that people can still be more than simply lechers, that they can still be good teachers.

One of the more touching scenes, despite its obvious play roots, is a scene at the end, where the teens, scattered throughout the audience, are addressed by Mrs. Lintott, who provides the sole female voice of reason. She tells the future of each of the students, and what happens to each of them. It's far more effective than the usual endings of docu-dramas which fill you in on the details of all the real-life characters.

While the film is flawed in many ways, mostly in unrealistic kids that are a bit too advanced for their age, it is nevertheless a lot of fun precisely because they are so precocious (and precious). It deals with two big topics: education for education's sake versus playing the game of impressing an admissions committee and the cynicism behind that. It's also about how teachers deal with education versus the issue of teacher-student relationships. Although this can be seen as providing the film its edge, it's more accurate to say that this is a gay film that is wrapped in education, and suggests the two complementary feelings of playwright Alan Bennett.

In many ways, the film feels like a kid who's precociously singing a song. There's something adorably sweet, and yet awfully impressive about the way the kid sings the song, but you realize, if they still sang like that as an adult, it would still seem very kid-like. In the same way, The History Boys is awfully clever, with kids that are not quite stereotypes, but also not quite real either. Yet, you don't seem to mind following this rosy, nostalgic romp through the upper echelons of British high school education.