I’ve been spending the past few days re-watching choice scenes from Dead Poet Society.
I’ve never been a person who spends much time dwelling on celebrity deaths, and for the most part, I’m not really dwelling on Robin Williams. I liked a lot of his work, though there was some I really couldn’t stand. He always struck me as the kind of performer who never phoned it in, though, even if the movie he was in was a hot mess.
Oh, but, Dead Poets Society. That was my movie. Which should surprise no one: a movie about embracing the power of words and breaking out of conformity, and teaching that to teenagers who are desperate for that message. And it came out the summer I was 16.
Yeah, I might as well have had “TARGET AUDIENCE” tattooed on my chest, like Charlie with his lightning bolt.
(“Damn it, Neal. It’s Nuwanda.”)
Now, at the time I was quite fortunate that I didn’t have parents like Neal’s. At all. Mine were pretty indulgent of my various artistic ambitions, including going to college to study film. So that aspect of the film– of a voice being stifled– didn’t apply to me.
But that my voice could matter… that the powerful play goes on, and I might contribute a verse…
Yeah, that hit home.
So I’ve spent a bit of time revisiting that. Oh me, oh life. A powerful sentiment that Williams delivers with such quiet confidence, such honesty… that the soundbite itself lends weight to a commercial telling you that iPads will make you more creative.
I’ve already gotten started on my verse, but there’s still plenty to do. So off to work.