Film editor AYAZ KHEZRZADEH delves into the intricacies of conflicted student-teacher relationships in cinema.
The student-mentor relationship is a ubiquitous one: we all have at once experienced that evergreen desire for approval— a “gold star”—from our teachers. But what happens when the pursuit of knowledge and excellence becomes a playing field for power, control and moral ambiguity? The hierarchical tension for students to overachieve for the satisfaction of their seniors, be it parents or teachers, feels particularly palpable as captured by the cinematic lens. On the silver screen, the striving for greatness frequently evolves from an innocent desire for validation to improper infatuation.
There is an inherent sense of pressure stemming from institutional prestige that acts as a breeding ground for such behaviours. Take the opening shot of Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society (1989), where the students of Welton Academy perform chapel service, uniformly marching in, holding up banners reading “Tradition”. The audience is immediately made aware that Welton is an institution rich in history and adherent to a strict code. What naturally follows is a standard of prestige for its pupils to uphold: not only are they expected to validate their personal standing, but also to maintain the collective status of the institution. The desire to live up to this standard, which takes over Welton’s student body, is further emphasised by the mise-en-scène of the opening shots. With Headmaster Nolan erected upon the stage in opposition to his pupils, Weir demonstrates that dynamics of authority are ingrained into the rigid traditions of Welton Academy. Put on a literal pedestal, it becomes clear that the character of Nolan is to signify an environment where power imbalances are blatantly on-display. A separation between pupils and professors is thus undoubtable.
This world of privilege presented in Dead Poets Society openly harbours a culture of overachievement, where success is taken for granted rather than earned. What feels all the more palpable than the tension stemming from strict hierarchy is the rebellion against it. This conflict is brought to the fore through the clashing ideals of the Headmaster, student Neil Perry (the protagonist) along with his father, and English teacher John Keating. Where Nolan embodies the school’s eminent values, Keating’s nontraditional approach to teaching counters these conventions by encouraging students to follow their passions and think independently. Keating’s theatrics of table-jumping and exclaims of “Carpe Diem!” only make Nolan and Mr. Perry’s fetish for conformity all the more pronounced. Ultimately, the major tension that propels the plot of the movie is the struggle between fostering individualism and upholding institutional status.
It is for this very reason that Mr Keating acts as a father figure to students like Neil, who confide in their teacher in a way they cannot in their parents. The high-pressure setting encountered by the students doubly facilitates this behaviour, though to no avail, as Neil’s eventual demise is ultimately catalysed by the oedipal hollowness of the boarding school.
Dead Poets Society does not stand alone in such a portrayal. The desire for parental approval in elite spaces is divulged further in Michael Haneke‘s The Piano Teacher (2001). Similarly to Welton Academy, the Vienna conservatorium in The Piano Teacher serves as yet another representation of an environment where excellence is expected, and pressures of success forge imbalances of power.
As the eponymous piano teacher, Erika Kohut occupies the highest position of authority, wielding her status with an intensity which stifles rather than motivates the pupils. Her controversial relationship with student Walter Klemmer exemplifies Erica’s torturous methods of teaching. Be it through the subtle disapproval of Walter’s audition of Andantino, or the overtly masochistic sexual encounter between the two, Haneke makes sure to equip every facet of this student-teacher relationship with signifiers of perversity and corruption. Thus, the conservatory becomes a haven for psychological control, where a strict hierarchy is used to enforce the pursuit of greatness. Juxtaposing the way Keating’s free-spirited demeanour runs counter to the strict rules of the boarding school, Erika’s oppressive control exposes the unsavoury side of mentor relationships.
Despite this contrast, the climax of each of the films ultimately lead to a similar outcome. If Neil’s suicide feels like a tragic consequence of suffocating expectations, then Walter’s assault on Erika is an adverse but parallel manifestation of a psychological breakdown; both characters prove unable to cope under the pressures of striving for greatness.
But why does the need for parental approval ever teeter the line of perversion to begin with?
Haneke’s presentation of Erika’s background allows us to gain insight into her controversial teaching methods, specifically through the inclusion of the character of Annie Giradot, commonly referred to as “The Mother”. The relationship between the protagonist and her mother has an unsettlingly pronounced Freudian undertone, where the boundaries between attachment, control and repression become thoroughly blurred. This is made clear to the audience in the scene of the two sharing a bed together. Erika’s mother’s obsession with governing her daughter’s life and asserting control over her private space echoes the oppressive atmosphere of the conservatory. Haneke emphasises this occurrence to be a commonality in the wider context of prestigious education by presenting a student at the conservatory, Anna Schober, to be in a similarly conflicted relationship with her own mother.
All this feels keenly similar to Dead Poets Society, where Neil Perry experiences a similar sense of suffocation under his father’s strict expectations. Yet, Haneke’s willingness to psychoanalyse the dark and paraphilic themes of his story make Dead Poets Society merely feel like the tip of the iceberg.
Featured image: still from The Piano Teacher, courtesy of IndieWire.