Dead Poets Society - A review

Set in 1959 at Welton Academy, an elite boys’ prep school steeped in rigid tradition and strict expectations, Dead Poets Society introduces us to John Keating (Robin Williams), an English teacher whose unorthodox methods awaken latent desires in his students. It’s a juxtaposition: conformity vs. individualism; order vs. spontaneity; the safe—yet stifling—world of protocol vs. the risky freedom of self-expression. The film’s atmosphere is contemplative: crisp New England winters, echoing corridors, evening light through classroom windows, the hush of expectation. These spaces feel both beautiful and suffocating.

Robin Williams gives arguably one of his most layered performances. Keating is neither simply a rebel nor a demagogue; he’s deeply humane, flawed, inspiring. Williams brings warmth, mischief, and gravitas. The students—particularly Neil Perry (Robert Sean Leonard) and Todd Anderson (Ethan Hawke)—are finely drawn. Neil’s longing (for his father’s approval, for acting) gives the emotional core; Hawke’s Todd is quieter, more hesitant, and his evolution—from timid, awkward observer to someone braver—is very touching.

Supporting cast—Norman Lloyd as the old headmaster, Kurtwood Smith, Gale Hansen—provide the institutional weight: the resistance, the unyielding expectations. Their presence reminds us the stakes are real and painful.

Peter Weir’s direction is patient. He allows scenes space to breathe: Keating standing on desks; students reading poetry in caves; long silences that carry weight. The screenplay (Tom Schulman) balances its moments of inspiration with darker undercurrents—parental pressure, fear, shame—so it never becomes overly sweet or simplistic.

Cinematography plays a big role: light filtering through autumnal or winter trees; interiors that feel both grand and claustrophobic; the contrast between the natural beauty of outdoors (where poetry is read, where ideas flow) and the rigid architecture of Welton. Music—both original score and period-appropriate pieces—underscores emotional moments without ever overwhelming them. Subtle editing: it lingers just long enough, then pulls back.

At its heart, Dead Poets Society asks: what does it mean to seize the day? Is it enough to encourage youth to “make their lives extraordinary” in a world that demands conformity? There’s joy in the students’ brief flowering under Keating’s guidance—creativity, friendship, self-discovery—but there’s also tragedy. The film does not shy away from the cost: when idealism collides with real world pressures (family expectations, fear, authority), the results can be crushing.

It is also a film about mentorship, about how a teacher can alter trajectories, for better—or sometimes with unintended consequences. And perhaps it’s about the tension between safety and risk: to live fully sometimes invites heartbreak.

Dead Poets Society remains a powerful, inspiring film. It asks big questions without offering easy answers. It celebrates the transformative power of art and teaching, while also acknowledging the costs—emotional, social, personal—of daring to be different in a world that prizes sameness. It strikes a delicate balance: hope and tragedy, beauty and regret.

If you watch it now, decades after its release, its calls to “seize the day,” to speak, to feel, resonate perhaps more than ever. Because much of life still asks us to choose between comfort and conviction. This film doesn’t show the easy choice—but it shows why the hard choice might just be worth making.