‘Dead Poets Society:’ A Tale of Two Versions

Centuries from now, historians will study my passionate, undying, frankly concerning love for Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society. It resonates with me in a way no other movie does. It has been my all-time favorite for years now, and I see no future in which another film dethrones it, so I became interested in checking out N. H. Kleinbaum’s book adaptation of the same name. I admit I did not begin my reading journey with the most open mind—I could not fathom the book surpassing the film and considered that idea blasphemous. Although the novel did not let me down entirely, it fell short of my expectations, disappointing and frustrating me to a degree I never expected this story could.

As far as adaptations go, the book does not alter much—it takes many lines verbatim from the movie and adds its own elements. The only worthwhile addition to the story comes in the form of some poetry the movie fails to include, such as E. E. Cummings’s “dive for dreams,” a personal favorite. Such poems add charm and relevance to their respective scenes. The novel effectively expands upon the concept of using poetry as a foundation for character growth, the sole evidence of the book understanding its source material.

Because the basis of the story of Dead Poets Society stems from appreciating literature, the plot and themes of Dead Poets Society lend themselves to book form in a way few stories do. Throughout the movie, the characters learn to love and appreciate the written word thanks to Mr. Keating, an English teacher with unorthodox methods. The mere concept of a Dead Poets Society book is poetic, considering the film only won Best Original Screenplay out of its four Oscar nominations. Taking this into account, the flat, uninteresting prose and awkward, uncomfortable dialogue become shocking. Kleinbaum manages to suck the charisma out of the story, somehow diluting the poignancy of Tom Schulman’s screenwriting while barely changing it. The poems she adds to the book do not make up for what she takes from the characters and setting, and the scenes she inserts detract from them. For example, one infamous scene near the middle of the movie presents Knox at a house party, yearning miserably for a taken cheerleader who does not seem to leave her scary boyfriend’s side. She and Knox eventually end up on the couch. As she sleeps, Knox takes this opportunity to kiss her, hoping her unconsciousness will free him from any consequences. This scene generally disturbs viewers because it exposes Knox’s disgusting desperation, and while he longs to be with her up to that point, this non-consensual kissing scene comes up randomly and seems wildly out of character for the bashful, resistant Knox. However, this scene, while distasteful, becomes a turning point for Knox, who learns not to take the sentiment of “seize the day” as an absolute. It serves the film fine and in a tame way, all things considered. But for some bewildering reason, Kleinbaum decided to both intensify and prolong that part of the story. In the book, not only does he kiss her, but he also fondles her while reciting poetry under his breath to motivate himself. He literally says aloud—and I quote—“Carpe breastum. Seize the breast!” I cannot make this up. I understand the repressed teenage boy-ness of it all, but the movie expressed Knox’s desire without such ridiculousness, not to mention the explicit bastardization of one of the film’s major motifs. Another devaluing scene takes place in Mr. Keating’s classroom. He tells the boys to try sitting still while he projects a slideshow for them to see. It turns out the slides consist of exposed women. The boys struggle to maintain their composure, especially Knox.

At least the book’s extended party scene came directly from an existing plot point in the movie, but this classroom scene has no film counterpart and contributes nothing valuable to the story. Why did Kleinbaum make it such a point to add gross sexuality into the book? I can understand that she attempted some humor, but her additions take me out of the story entirely and leave a sour taste in my mouth. Her writing does not lend itself well to the story, and her inclusion of misguided scenes leaves readers with a book worth far less than the sum of its parts.

As an adaptation, the book inevitably invites comparison to the movie; however, even disregarding that and viewing it as an isolated work, the novel has little charm, unnecessary scenes, and unsatisfying pacing and prose. Just as my adoration for the movie piqued my curiosity about the book, it is possible book-lovers long to give the film a chance. At the end of the day, anything introducing people to Dead Poets Society has intrinsic value. But really, carpe diem, cut out the middleman, and stick to the film.