The Perfect Score (Brian Robbins, MTV Films, 2004)

    Here’s a movie I’m glad I don’t have to watch twice. It’s hardly a movie about school at all. It’s not even a movie mostly about testing. No, the score in the title isn’t just the 1600 on the SAT but the hoped-for result of the heist that takes up most of the plot. The six New Jersey high schoolers are motivated to break into the headquarters of ETS so they can get a copy of the SAT before they need to retake it again. Each has their own reason for wanting to do well on the test. More accurately, each of them needs to do well to get into the college of their choice: Cornell, Maryland, St. John’s, and Brown. Yes, that means two of the characters have no post-secondary ambitions. Scarlett Johannson’s Francesca and Leonardo Nam’s Roy are just along for the ride. The latter because he accidentally overheard friends Kyle and Matty detailing their plan in what they thought was an empty school bathroom. The former is involved because her dad owns the building where ETS has its offices, so she can help the crew get into the facility itself.

    The details of the plot are less germane to my discussion of what this film has to say about teaching and learning. From the start, Roy’s obnoxious voiceover tells us that SAT may stand for “suck ass test” because it’s a source of stress for so many students. It’s the task that stands between hundreds of thousands of high schoolers and their futures and it reduces them to numbers. OK, nothing revolutionary in this commentary. Nothing wrong either. We soon see Kyle and Matty together at work in a package-sorting facility where Kyle explains to Matty (and us) the history of the meaning of the letters in SAT. It was the Scholastic Aptitude Test, then the Scholastic Assessment Test, and now the three letters mean nothing. Again, correct, but not very insightful.

    It’s at this point that the other movie I watched last week provided a helpful context for these teenage testing frustrations. In Valerie Veatch’s recent documentary Ghost in the Machine, the history of measuring intelligence and its close relationship to eugenics are explored in the context of programming generative artificial intelligence systems. When advocates for these systems refer to metrics such as “Ph.D. level intelligence” or even intelligence as a quantity, they are taking for faith the idea that tests such as the SAT are valid measurements. If your only idea of what makes someone intelligent is how well they can do on a multiple-choice test, you are going to have a skewed idea of what it means to learn, let alone to live. I know I’m asking too much for a 2004 movie by MTV Films to go into an exegesis of the eugenicist underpinnings of so much of schooling in the United States. What would be cool is an update of The Perfect Score that explores these ideas and the purpose of education itself.

    But I digress.

    Kyle proves to be fairly critical of the political economy of the SAT when he says “the College Board made millions last year” in fees from students taking the test. He seems to be angry that someone is making money from the process and that he didn’t think of that idea first. He appears less annoyed about what that means for access to post-secondary education for families that are facing financial hardship. He’s also frustrated that his mom, a first-grade teacher, tells him that the kids in her class have to learn to “bubble in” on worksheets rather than spend time reading. Again, there’s the beginning of what could be a fruitful critique of what counts as literacy learning in the early elementary years. I doubt anyone involved in this film is familiar with Bond and Dykstra’s First-Grade Studies.

    Additional critiques of the test appear courtesy of Erika Christensen’s Emma and then-NBA player Darius Miles’ Desmond. When we first see these two interact, he asks her for help studying. She mentions to him the concept of stereotype vulnerability as a possible explanation for why he may be underperforming on the test. This comment makes her reconsider her initial doubts about helping him. Shortly after, there is a scene where each conspirer explains their motivation for taking part in the heist, Desmond says “I’m here because the SAT is racist.” He elaborates, “Who made the test? Rich white guys. Who scored the highest on the test?” Roy’s witty reply is about another stereotype about who is successful on the test. Deflating Desmond’s criticism with a joke prevents this line of inquiry from going further. Look, I know it wouldn’t be an interesting movie if they sat and had a discussion about why standardized tests exist, but I also don’t think making a heist movie about stealing test answers was super interesting to begin with!

    At least they all seem to learn that cheating is not going to get them what they want. Not because of some kind of moral awakening but because they realize they can get a decent score instead of a perfect score on their SAT and still go on living. The “right school” is the one you get into, even if it’s not your top choice. Quite a wholesome message from a movie with crude sexual stereotypes and trite stoner jokes. I see no reason to watch this again, but I’m glad I saw it at least once. If nothing else, the real-life circumstances of Darius Miles (prep-to-pro basketball star who signed a letter of intent with St. John's) and Mike Jarvis (the actual St. John’s coach who makes a cameo and was fired from that job a month before the movie came out) give the events of the movie weightier implications. There is too much riding on the results of this test, especially for those whose futures or careers depend on teenagers being successful at bubbling in.

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Afterlove EP (Pikselnesia / Fellow Traveler, 2025)

    It’s quite strange to think about a video game character going to therapy. Less so in a text-driven role-playing game, I suppose. Still less strange if the role played is of a young man grieving the simultaneous end of a life and the loss of a relationship. That’s the situation Rama, protagonist of Pikselnesia’s Afterlove EP, finds himself in as the game begins. As Rama, you have to get the band back together and try to write songs for an EP that’ll be released at a gig at the end of the month. The narrative picks up one year after his girlfriend Cinta’s unexpected death from an unspecified health complication.

    In grief, Rama has coped by having Cinta’s voice in his head at all times. It may not be just her voice actually. Her words are vivid enough for Rama that he can hold one-on-one conversations with her. Other characters cannot hear Cinta’s voice, so Rama’s sudden comments or replies seem a little out of the blue when he’s trying to have an in-person conversation with friends and also managing an internal dialogue with Cinta. They’ll call him out on it, but he remains oblivious to his condition. 

    All of the conversations with these characters happen through on-screen text. Cinta is the only character whose text is supplemented with voice acting. You are essentially getting to hear the voice in Rama’s head as he grieves his loss. This choice is very effective in drawing the player into Rama’s perspective while also not completely sharing it. As a player, you’re aware of the conversation Cinta and Rama are having even as Rama discusses other topics with whoever is with him in real life. You can sense the confusion he’s feeling and may even share the frustration of his friends when they cannot parse his seemingly random contributions to their discussions.

    Two of those friends, Adit and Tasya, play with him in the incredibly named SIGMUND FEUD. Their three-piece approach to slacker-y, pop-leaning shoegaze is soundtracked by L’ALPHALPHA, an actual band from Jakarta, Indonesia. Rama’s the principal songwriter and lyricist, so his lost year of catatonic depression has made it difficult for the band to continue. Practices are tense and both Tasya and Adit question their own interest in continuing the band beyond the scheduled gig at the end of the month. Even if the band members aren’t getting along super well, it’s still fun to practice with them. There’s a light rhythm game element to working through songs in the practice space or going over them alone in your room. Thankfully, there are no consequences for missing notes. Had there been, I think Tasya would have threatened to quit even earlier than she did in the plot!

    Most of your days as Rama are spent shuffling around Jakarta. You’re a minor celebrity, so you will get rockignized when you stop by the cafe, record store, ramen shop, or therapist’s office. The locations are spread out enough that you will occasionally make use of fast travel (via your phone’s map app; if only real life were so simple!), but it is relaxing to walk around the neighborhood and check in on the regulars who are waiting for their bus or trying to get up the courage to ask out their crush. You will also have a chance to try your hand at romance with one of three possible partners. I was either so devoted to being a good band member or was just as oblivious as Rama that I didn’t end up in a relationship at the end of the game. I guess the Rama I was playing was still carrying a torch for Cinta. Something about playing a noncommittal slacker in his 20s must have really hit home for me.

    Unlike mid-20s me, Rama understands the value of therapy. In his sessions, he works to understand why he is still able to have conversations with Cinta and also how those conversations might be getting in the way of his continued growth. These sessions are entirely optional, though the game gives you reminders to check in with your therapist every few days. One of my favorite minor characters is the receptionist in the office who brings up her Christian metal fandom repeatedly. It would have been hilarious if Rama could recruit her to join his band and completely alienate Adit and Tasya into quitting music entirely. He’s already speaking aloud to the voices in his head, so it’s easy to imagine a new version of SIGMUND FEUD that involves Rama speaking in tongues over some ripping thrash riffs while the demure receptionist hammers blast beats for Jesus. Maybe that’ll be the sequel—the Afterlife EP. 

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Dead Poets Society (Peter Weir, Touchstone Pictures, 1989)

    Now here is a movie about education or based in a school that stands firmly on its own as a film. There is so much to praise and discuss with Dead Poets Society that I will not be covering in this post. I’ll be focusing on what comes to mind in terms of how Mr. Keating and his students interact as a community of learners.

    It’s so wonderful to see a movie dedicated to the full-throated support of the humanities, specifically poetry. It is earnest in its argument for making the examined life worth living. There is a catch, though. All students deserve this caliber of education. Yet, the opening convocation features the headmaster telling the students and their families that “75 percent” of the young men who attend Welton will eventually enroll in an Ivy League institution. That’s remarkable and is also a reminder that this is fiction. The implication is that the curriculum is so robust that these boys cannot fail. Less evident is whether this elite prep school is the kind of place where the old-monied or legacy-admitted may send their kids in the first place. Getting to the why behind that statement could make for an equally interesting, but also much less inspiring, film. A deeply cynical look at the kind of students and families involved in the Varsity Blues scandal could be a modern take on that idea.

    Robin Williams as John Keating is magnetic and magnificent. I have had teachers whose unorthodox methods must have been inspired by Keating’s approach. As a viewer, it’s easy to be taken in by the gimmicks he uses and then draw the conclusion that all teaching should be like that. Jumping off desks, marching through the courtyard, tearing pages from textbooks, inspiring clandestine poetry recitals… these are not pedagogical models just because of their shape. Keating has an evident, deep love for the written word and observation. He’s also seen enough of the world to know what these boys haven’t, and he knows how to play with that gap in their experience constructively. It’s certainly dramatic and attention getting to ask students to climb on their desks to get a new view of the world, or to offer a muscular repudiation of staid interpretations of poetry. The motions themselves are incidental, even though they make for exciting on-screen action.

    The film’s iconic final scene reveals that it wasn’t the mere appreciation of poetry that he was teaching. He was showing the way for these 17-year-olds to avoid the narrow, gilded path their parents and society forced them down. To have these genteel, patrician sons understand that there is a life outside of being a banker, lawyer, or doctor is a huge undertaking. Keating opens their eyes to the idea that there is a conflict between conformity and integrity that they have to resolve. He never tells them to take "the path less traveled by" but that they should know it exists and make an informed choice about where to go.

    Neil Perry’s pathetic complaint “can’t I even enjoy it for a little while?” is revelatory in this regard. He says these words in response to his roommate’s quick emphasis on the logistics involved in concealing his participation in a local performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. In this scene, Anderson doesn’t see the point in Neil honoring his own interest in acting; all he can consider is how pissed Perry’s old man will be when he finds out. Perry is rightfully upset with Anderson’s response because he did not need another reminder of how constrained his choices are. It’s always on his mind. Keating showed him a looser way of looking at the world and it’s not the way he thought it had been. Perry is unable to escape the conformity and authority of his father’s dreams.

    Anderson and the others who stand for their captain in the final scene do so not because they love poetry or the written word or because they hate their replacement teacher. Those who move do so because they know there is a world out there larger than the one they’ve known until this point. They are acknowledging the lesson of needing a different view on the world that Keating had taught them earlier. They love him for how he opened their minds.

    Although there are boys of various ages at Welton, it’s not clear whether Keating or the other teachers are responsible for all grade levels with their subject. We never see Keating teaching other classes nor is there evidence of younger students having reading, writing, literature, or English classes. This situation raises the question of whether Keating has only one prep. If so, then that is one hell of a position. What little we know of his life outside the classroom is that he has a love interest who is in London and that he has taught similar courses in England before coming to Welton. It would be nice to know whether he has only this one class because that information could explain his teaching methods. If he has all day to plan, then it makes sense that he would come up with some out of the box ideas and that he would have the patience to adjust them when they do not work the first time. As before, all students (not just those in cloistered academies) deserve teachers who can give this much time and attention to their subject and their students.

    It’s worth noting that the only women and girls in the movie have extremely minor roles. The few times we see the students’ parents, their mothers are simply appendages of their fathers. The domineering Mr. Perry has hundreds more words that Mrs. Perry. The boys’ love interests are similarly one-dimensional. The boys have three girls who are peers and they exist solely as subjects of arousal. Even Keating argues that the purpose of language is to “woo women.” If that’s what he has to say about gender roles, I’m terrified of how he would explain the whiteness of Welton. He graduated from the institution, so he may be unable to see its whiteness as problematic. The fish is the last to notice the water and all that. It’s far too generous of an interpretation of the film to think that it does not directly say anything about gender or race because it is attempting to show just how sheltered the lives of these people are.

    That’s the one thought that bugs me still about this otherwise extraordinary film. No one text can do everything, so maybe I’m expecting too much of a movie from 1989 to have thoughtful commentary on race and gender in addition to its convincing argument in support of a liberal arts education. The tensions of social class are readily apparent in the characters’ interactions with the local public high schoolers and with Mr. Perry’s repeated comments about the sacrifices he has made to get Neil into Welton. It’s entirely possible that there is nothing interesting to say about the maleness or whiteness of Welton: it is white and masculine because that is its raison d’être. The exclusion is the point.

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Times and Seasons: The Rise and Fall and Rise of The ZOMBIES (Robin Platts, HoZac Books, 2025)

    Jesus Christ, The fucking ZOMBIES!

    What a great band. They’re a bunch of school friends in England in the 1960s who won a battle of the bands competition and got signed to Decca Records and whose first single, “She’s Not There,” was an overnight sensation. That would be an interesting enough story on its own. But, as Robin Platts covers in the 350-plus pages of this extensive biography of the band and its members, there is so much more to the story. Even more than their other two most famous singles (“Tell Her No” and “Time of the Season”) as well as their magnificent second album.

    The core members of Rod Argent (songwriter and organist), Chris White (songwriter and bassist), and Colin Blunstone (vocalist) are the ones whose lives and experiences comprise most of the text. I learned more about Argent’s and Blunstone’s solo careers than I thought possible because nearly a third of the book is dedicated to the years-in-between, when The ZOMBIES broke up and before these core members began to play together again on a regular basis. The subtitle of the book is not merely clever phrasing. Those years of “the fall” were much longer than the initial career of the band or their subsequent reunion. I am keen to explore some of the work these men did during this time, but it was a bit much to get through without having prior knowledge. If you are a fan of either one’s solo careers, I can’t imagine there could be a better or more meticulously researched resource than this book.

    For me, though, thoughts of The ZOMBIES mean the conversation turns to “Odessey and Oracle.” It’s the best album of the 1960s. Better than “Black Monk Time,” and “Forever Changes.” Of course better than “Revolver,” “Let it Bleed,” and “Pet Sounds.” Better, too, than “Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake”, “SF Sorrow,” and, yes, even “Village Green Preservation Society” and “Arthur.” I haven’t revisited this opinion in 18 years and I’m sure it still holds up… It’s important to have thoughts like these because it shows you’re a serious music fanatic… There’s no need to expand your horizons, Rob…

    To learn more about the recording of that album is a pure delight. Even when I got my mom a copy of the CD reissue in 2004, I didn’t know all of the ins and outs of its recording. They were the next band to go into Abbey Road Studios after The BEATLES had finished “Sgt. Pepper” and benefitted directly from some of the recording set-ups that the Fab Four had used. As there were no eight-track recording consoles in England at the time, it was kind of a big deal that engineers Geoff Emerick and Phil MacDonald had daisy-chained multiple four-tracks together to achieve the illusion of eight-tracks of mixing, generation loss on the tapes be damned. The ZOMBIES insisted on keeping the set-up, even though it was a pain to work with for the recording staff. If they hadn’t come into the room at that time, before the equipment had been disassembled, it’s unlikely that the vocal harmonies and instrumental complexity of certain passages of “Odessey and Oracle” would have sounded so lush and delightful. It’s really something to learn that The ZOMBIES were able to piggyback off of The BEATLES in this way, even before “Sgt. Pepper” began to make waves.

    If not for the recording quality, the compositions of tracks such as “Friends of Mine” could have easily made the album worthwhile. As a friend of a friend of mine once put it, it’s a unique song because it’s about being happy for other people who are in love. He pointed out that there are plenty of songs about being in love, or no longer being in love, or being envious of those in love because you are single. There’s not many songs about this particular perspective. As the liner notes of that 2004 reissue indicate, only one of the named couples in the chorus stuck together for the long term. Ah well.

    Turns out “Changes,” the first track on the second side of the album, is the only song where all five members of The ZOMBIES sing together. Deep down, I already knew this to be true. It was extremely validating to have it confirmed in the text, though. You see, there is a moment after the second chorus where the instruments drop out and the vocals are all you can hear. It is in this precise moment that you can hear at least one, if not all five, of The ZOMBIES smack their lips in unison to sing the next line. You may have to turn your stereo up quite loud to hear it, and then immediately back down to not blow out your speakers or your ears when the song begins again. This one moment is the quintessence of being a Friday Night Part. It sounds like a frog being born. I absolutely love it. Maybe you do, too?

    In all seriousness, this book is an excellent overview of the career of The ZOMBIES. Their tentative comeback around the turn of the millennium wasn’t some kind of cash-in on their name. Except for drummer Hugh Grundy, all members had continued to be involved with music whether as writers, performers, or promoters. (Turns out guitarist Paul Atkinson is the A&R guy who got JUDAS PRIEST signed to CBS; I am so glad there is a connection between these bands!) So, when Argent and Blunstone began to write together again in the late 1990s, they were pleasantly surprised to learn that “Odessey and Oracle” had developed a cult following since its 1968 release. Instead of resting on the laurels of doing the front-to-back, album-in-its-entirety tour forever (they did do so for a time), they have put out new music. Platts makes their constant writing and touring—for musicians in their 60s and 70s—seem necessary, unavoidable. There was no cataclysmic split in the band’s original run. They all were on the same page about calling it quits, even before they bestowed us with the majesty of “Odessey and Oracle.” There were never any competing factions vying for the rights to the band’s name. Well, not within their camp, at least; Platts recounts the grifters who took advantage of the name recognition of the band after they split and “Time of the Season” became a surprise hit in the U.S. in 1969. It’s the kind of scam that would be unimaginable now—trying to pass off a couple of bearded schlubs from Michigan as a British Invasion band. The surviving members have continued to enjoy each other’s company enough to keep the band going in some form or another after 30 years apart. It seems the genuine awe of feeling so good about seeing friends of theirs so in love represented a deep way of connecting with others that would eventually give The ZOMBIES eternal life.

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