A Sweet-Bitter Adventure

I think if I just watched the film by myself, I would have still liked it, but under the circumstances, it made it all the more precious to me. I was home, in Wichita, for a couple weeks in the summer, staying with some friends. We’ve known each other since middle-school days and there are a lot of ‘traditions’ we do. Back then, we were sort of known around town, because we went to the movies a lot as a group; not that that’s anything special, but we went practically every time in costume. Just for kicks. It started with Lord of Rings, and only got worse. People at the local movie theater started rolling their eyes at us when they saw our cloaks. Sometimes, the cashiers didn’t even ask what movie we were going to see. They just rang up the tickets for us. We sort of advertised for them in a way. We even did that at the drive-in theater, which was way more fun but a lot more expensive.

Another tradition was nick-names; if there was a particular movie or book we were all in love with, we would sometimes go about calling each other by the character’s names. (I ended up being Frodo from Lord of the Rings, and to this day, they still call me on the phone, asking for a Mr. Baggins). So even if I hadn’t seen them for a year, when I came to visit that summer, nothing had changed. The same traditions were there, and will probably still be there for years to come.

I was staying a friend’s house and the usual gang was over. They had planned to rent a movie that I hadn’t even heard about and wasn’t too sure of. We usually watched ‘guy movies’, shunning mindless chick-flicks. It was just the way we were. But as puzzled as I was about the movie they had picked out, I decided to join them and we all settled into a friend’s basement to watch it. Within moments I was completely and utterly enthralled. The cinematography and music alone captured me, and when the character’s personalities and inside jokes became a part of the whole story, I knew it would be a favorite forever. It was the Dead Poet’s Society. It was laugh-out-loud funny; it was utterly depressing; it made you want to join them in their wild and daring escapades; it was heart-wrenching; it was bitter-sweet. It drew forth such an array of emotions that it left you feeling quite tired and contentedly pensive after seeing it. And I was in love. My friends were in love. It was one more adventure we had shared together.

It wasn’t long before they started calling me ‘Nuwanda’, and we snuck out at night and took a walk around a lake with the full moon overhead. It wasn’t long before we learned how to properly ‘yawp’, and gave our cries at local pools and the like. And it wasn’t long before I had to return to Kingwood, for school to start.

I still watch it alone every once in a while. Dead Poet’s Society is definitely a classic. There is so much packed into it: the smooth, natural dialogue; the stunning New England scenery; the endless action in the background, and the jokes; the soaring spirits of these young men, nearly tangible. You simply cannot refrain from grinning, and feeling like you are one of them. As if you have belonged there once. It is a fantastic film, but it was made all the more cherished because of the people that shared it with me.


(This was one of my last essays of the year, and I wanted to share...)