School of Rock
dir. Richard Linklater
Paramount Pictures

Other than the intrinsic idealism about "touching lives" and the like, there's one compelling reason to teach: the rush that comes from performing. All the curriculum, standards, testing, text books, "adequate yearly progress" and vouchers won't make a damn bit of difference if there are not dynamic, interesting personalities in the classroom. Most good teachers who stick with this often shitty job do so because they crave the stage it provides. Student surveys invariably reveal that the best teachers are "enthusiastic" — or, as Jack Black's fraudulent substitute teacher says to the Joan Cusack's uptight principal in School of Rock, "I'm a teacher — all I need are minds to mold."

Of course, the art and science of teaching is much more than this, but in a time when oppressive regulation is setting schools (and teachers) up to fail, School of Rock should bring a smile to teachers, students and former students alike. Most American directors envision school as a social metaphor — the milieu of jocks and nerds — but Richard Linklater is one of the few directors who really understand it. His low-budget indie debut Slacker defined the Cobain generation's response to the overwhelming materialistic demands wrought in school and work; his second film, Dazed and Confused, found kinship with '70s slackers who chose — and who can blame them? — to completely withdraw from the Watergate world into the comfort of Aerosmith-bred low expectations. But School of Rock's closest companion in the Linklater filmography might be Waking Life, a bizarre experiment in which live-action conversations filmed by Linklater were transformed into cartoons. The free-form movie followed a boy stuck in the limbo between high school and college — the film opens with him losing his grip of the door of his family's station wagon and floating through the clouds, landing amongst Austin intellectuals. The effect of animation is the suspension of consciousness that comes from absorbing this new world — Linklater uses animation to convey enlightenment — which brings us back to School of Rock: Who could be more animated than Jack Black?

Movies about teachers are too often maudlin fantasies showing that when we teach others, we really teach ourselves — which is, of course, what happens to Black. On the strength of Mike White's screenplay, however, Linklater twists the clichés into something more fulfilling, finding more truths about its subject through fantasy than movies that purport realism. The conceit of School of Rock is that down-and-out slacker/rocker Dewey Finn needs to pay the rent, so he ends up faking credentials and substitute teaching at a stuffy private school. Desperate to cling to his rock ideals after being dropped by his bandmates (as well as scrape some money together in response to his roommate's hint of eviction, a result of his enslavement by his überbitch girlfriend), he tries to transform these classically trained fifth-graders into a battleworthy band. The movie suggests that teaching is some sort of delusional wish fulfillment, which isn't exactly untrue. School of Rock — somehow — marries the liberal-arts ideal of independence to the raw rebellion of rock. The rise of ironic, cynical pop music has elevated rock music to a romantic ideal of raw, heartfelt expression (freedom rock, indeed). The sagacious deities of Dazed and Confused are Aerosmith, and this movie suggests that Linklater has found no successors; School of Rock is more Led Zeppelin-oriented, but its context extends Dazed's idea. Dewey asks the kids who they listen to, and one girl says Christina Aguilera, which completely disgusts him: It's not the breaking of taboos that makes rock music rock, but the anti-'50s, anti-war, anti-The Man mentality. Aguilera's reinvention may shatter her Mousketeer image, as does the Britney/Madonna smooch, but those are carefully calibrated image-enhancing acts, corporate masquerades of rebellion. Linklater suggests a great disservice to youth in the decline of rock, where rebellion is now sanitized and commodified for kids' protection.

The film might be on to something very potent here. We see a few scenes of the kids with their parents, who are, of course, overly concerned with how their children's resumés will look in the Harvard admissions office. One kid is even aggressively admonished by his dad next to the oversized SUV, which really touches Dewey; "Hey, you need to stand up to bullies!" he later counsels. Linklater knows that the movie archetype of the materialistic baby boomer parent conceals the '70s rocker beneath — Dewey even gets the principal to loosen up via a few beers and some Stevie Nicks. The tragedy of baby boomer parenting is in their self-repression, now subjugated into rampant materialism, manifesting itself in soul-crushing over-parenting. These upper-class parents may find satisfaction in sending their kids to classical private schools, but they have no concept of the enlightened discipline and academic freedom that atmosphere is supposed to instill. Linklater knows a little bit of rebellion is healthy, which is why these kids need to rock. Had Linklater invested a little more time in the kids, School of Rock might have elevated itself to greatness. To put a fine point on it, though they perform admirably (Linklater is film's best director of nonactors), the kids are mostly broad stereotypes — there's even a gay kid who designs the costumes.

Still, Linklater's film does a great service by bending clichés to express deeper truths about teaching that most other films miss. The evil-teacher archetype is defined by a bitterness wrought by failure, usually suggesting the saw that "those who can't, teach." (Or, as Dewey observes at the faculty lunch table, "And those who can't teach, teach gym.") In contrast, the St. Pedagogue archetype is defined by the selfless devotion and fulfillment one gets from imparting great wisdom to receptive students. Both are reductionist, and scrupulously avoided by Linklater. Great teachers must embrace the inherent paradox of the profession: Teachers may never be great writers, scientists, mathematicians, or artists, but with a confident, intuitive sense of self they doesn't have to descend into failure. Great teaching is the art and science of developing intellectual and emotional independence within the strictures of an inherently oppressive system. We have to propel kids outside the system from within, which is the most difficult skill a great teacher must develop. Too often, young teachers — often still dazed and confused by movie fantasies of Platonic English teachers and Lombardian coaches — are too eager to reach out personally, thus undermining the necessary authority of the classroom; and, far too often, older teachers are worn into repressive cynicism, and teaching becomes the method by which children sit down and shut up. To achieve balance between these, a teacher must have a dynamic, almost megalomaniacal personality to sell this ideal of system-sponsored independence. The fact that Jack Black is so convincing points to deeper levels in his performance than just chewing scenery. Additionally, Richard Linklater creates the truest portrait of great teaching seen in years: Dewey tells the kid that rock is about sticking it to authority, "and right now, I'm the authority." The kid: "You're fat and a loser." A gleam comes to Dewey's face: "Well, all right then." He leaves no child behind.

— Stephen Himes (stephenhimes@hotmail.com)