The
Emperor’s Club was originally going to be called The Palace Thief, after the Ethan Canin short story upon which it’s
based. But the film’s producers must have reasoned, “Heck, we’ve already
ripped off Dead Poet’s Society; we
may as well pinch its name, too.” (Rumor has it that another suggested
title was Mr. Hundert’s Opus.) Both
pictures are set at exclusive New England prep schools and are about unique
teachers molding previously uninterested students into stone-cold learning
machines. Instead of using poetry to get the kids riled up about life, Kevin
Kline’s William Hundert is a professor of Western Civilization .
And that’s only the beginning of how this second-rate flick pales in comparison
to Society.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย I disliked Club almost immediately, and anyone with an ounce of cinematic
self-respect should feel the same. When the opening scene showed an
artificially aged Hundert with a wistful look on his mug as he stared off into
space, it was all I could do to keep myself from standing up, shaking my fist
at the screen, and screaming, “Don’t you do it, you bastard!” The
“it” I’m referring to is, of course, the narrative reminiscing, which
will swallow us into one long flashback and then spit us back out into the
present. But before I could get to my feet, Hundert had already started with
his “As I’ve gotten older” recounting.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย As feared, we’re taken back to 1972,
where Hundert is both a teacher and a housemaster at St. Benedict’s School for
Boys. He specializes, apparently, in spewing a lot of profoundly irritating
things that instantly put teenage boys at the ready. Like most movies about
teachers, Hundert’s students don’t like him at first, but he slowly grows on
them, both as a friend and an educator .
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Conflict arises upon the arrival of
Sedgewick Bell (Emile Hirsch), a new student who is all sneer and attitude, and
who also just happens to be the much-neglected son of a US Senator from West
Virginia (Harris Yulin). Bell’s contempt for authority earns the respect of
three other students, to whom he introduces pornography (didn’t they do this in
Society, too?). Has Hundert finally
met his match? Will both he and Bell learn a little something about life when
they’re done butting heads? After all, they’re both suffering from the Please
Love Me, Daddy complex, as Hundert still lives in the shadow of his father, who
was a famous author. Jesus, you can practically write your own spoof of the
trailer voiceover — “One needs to loosen up; the other needs to buckle
down.”
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Club doesn’t fail so much as it just doesn’t even bother trying. It plays like a CBS
Movie of the Week. Forget the abandoned subplots involving Rob Morrow and
Embeth Davidtz (the latter of whom appeared as confused as I was about the
point of her character’s existence), and the bizarre Julius Caesar competition
(What the hell? Is it open to the whole school? Why does it only include the
material Hundert teaches?). What’s with Club‘s
message? Best I can tell, it’s that lying and cheating might make you rich,
powerful, happy, and attractive, but being honest makes you feel sooo good on
the inside. Meanwhile, back in reality, the only thing that might warm my heart
is riding the carcasses of writer Neil Tolkin (of Licensed to Drive, Richie
Rich, and Jury Duty fame) and
director Michael Hoffman (who ruined Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream) down a large, snowy mountain.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย When Roger Ebert reviewed Society, he said Robin Williams’
character was “more of a plot device than a human being.” But you can
understand why Williams’ students fell under his spell — he was an exciting
teacher who instilled passion into his charges. Hundert acts like he runs on
batteries. He’s the straightest, stick-up-the-ass arrow not played by Denzel Washington. Here’s to hoping “Hail,
Caesar!” doesn’t replace “O Captain, my Captain!” in your movie
mythology.
Back in 1933, a Le Mans
double murder became France’s version of our own Leopold and Loeb saga. This
crime was shocking because it was perpetrated by two servants and the
unrecognizable victims were their wealthy bosses. It was more startling that
the killers were women, and doubly scandalous because the women were lovers.
The fact that they were also sisters was merely the icing on the infamous cake.
At the time, the murders were beyond upsetting, appearing to be completely
unprovoked and without warning. History has been kind to the plight of the
Papin sisters, because they’re nearly portrayed here as tragic heroes. One
wonders if they’ll make similarly sympathetic films about O.J. Simpson in 70
years.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย We’ve seen movies about unprovoked
killings of authority figures by same-sex underlings who got it on (most
notably Peter Jackson’s wonderful Heavenly
Creatures), and even a couple that were based, at least in part, on the
Papin sisters (like 1994’s Sister My
Sister, or Claude Chabrol’s La
Cรฉrรฉmonie). Jean-Pierre Denis’ Murderous Maids, based on Paulette
Houdyer’s novel L’Affaire Papin, is
yet another telling of their tale. Like those other films, it portrays the
connection between the two killers as a leader-follower kind of relationship.
One is headstrong, and the other appears to simply be along for the ride out of
sheer admiration.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย We first see Christine and Lรฉa Papin
as young girls living at a very strict convent school with an older sister
named Emile. Their shady-sounding father has run off to the war, and their maid
mother Clรฉmence (Isabelle Renauld) seems ill-equipped to deal with her own
spawn. Once they’ve reached the appropriate age, Clรฉmence yanks two of her kids
out of the nunnery to work with her, leaving the devout Emile there to become a
bride of Jesus. When Christine (Sylvie Testud) asks to stay with Emile,
Clรฉmence smacks her in the chops and shouts, “You’ll work and slave like
me!”
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย While Clรฉmence pimps her daughters
out as housekeepers, Christine develops a certain… ummm… closeness with Lรฉa
(Julie-Marie Parmentier), most likely because the younger sister is her last
connection to the real world, and the only one who hasn’t abandoned her. Plus
she wants to fuck with her evil mother and decides that prying the naรฏve and
simple Lรฉa away from her and latching on might be the best way. So after being
treated like dirt by a number of snooty bosses, the sisters become employed by
the family Lincelan. The Lincelans happen to be the kindest clan they’ve worked
for, though they have the misfortune of being the authority figures when the
clearly psycho Christine finally snaps. The murder is brutal, but certainly no
more disturbing than the sister-on-sister action.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Maids,
which plays at 8 p.m. on Saturday, November 23, at the Dryden Theatre, was
nominated for Best Director, Best Picture, and Most Promising Actress (twice)
at the Cรฉsar Awards (France’s Oscar), but only Testud walked away a winner.
She’s an incredible actress with a very unusual face who is successfully able
to play her mostly restrained role with just a hint of total insanity bubbling
underneath (and she’ll be playing a maid again in the [hopefully] upcoming The Chateau). As Maids is more of a character study of Christine than anything,
Parmentier doesn’t have much to do other than stand around and look innocent.
Denis’s cold, clinical direction employs no music to ratchet up the tension as
we hurtle toward the ending we call know is coming. The title says it all.
Interested
in more movie ramblings from Jon? Visit his site Planet Sick-Boy,
www.sick-boy.com, or listen to him on WBER’s Friday Morning Show.
This article appears in Nov 20-26, 2002.
