For the most part.

They loved Chaplin in The Kid, as well as Buster Keaton in Cops, Singin’ in the Rain, which I screened to illustrate the transition from silents to talkies, went over BIG, especially with some of the girls, who fell fast and hard for Gene Kelly.  My Man Godfrey was appreciated, and the film led to some interesting discussions about history as well as the nature of comedy.  When we got to the 1940s, I hit cinematic pay dirt with, of all things, Mildred Pierce.  While Some Like it Hot probably proved to be the class favorite, overall, the Joan Crawford tour de force ran a very close second.  There was not one snarky comment about her eyebrows or shoulder pads.  Those kids were IN!

My footing got a little unsteady when we hit the 1950s however.  I take the blame.  Somehow, I thought that I absolutely had to show a Hitchcock film…like there was some sort of law…and I chose one of my favorites, North by Northwest.

It was a mistake.  A really BIG mistake.

The students hated it, and I came to understand and appreciate their views.  The whole Cold War thing meant absolutely nothing to them, so there went that.  Cary Grant, while still absolutely dishy to me, was a little too craggy to draw in my girls…even those who had swooned over Gene Kelly (and would go on to swoon even more for Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate).

Then, there’s the technical aspects of the film.  Those of us who love Hitch have learned to overlook and forgive his lack of technical prowess when it comes to filmmaking.  We accept all of the tired rear projection and allow it for the sake of the storytelling.

But kids today?  Eh, not so much.  Most of them complained that the famous crop-dusting scene just went on too long.  I guess when you walk home every afternoon knowing you could be caught in the crossfire of some warring gang banbers, being trapped in some mid-western corn field doesn’t seem to pose a lot of peril.

There was, however, one reaction that caught me completely off guard.  It came from a charming young man named Juan Cortez.  Juan was a great student.  He started out more skeptical than any of the others, but got swept up in the films I showed and became my most avid film watcher.  When someone gifted me with a small stuffed animal early in the semester, it was Juan who insisted that I name it “Godfrey.”

Juan’s complaint with North by Northwest?  Why, that tramp Eve Kendall (Eva Marie Saint), dontcha know.

“Miss, she sleeps with him on the first night she meets him!  She’s kinda…well…you know…”

“A what, Juan?”

“Well, Miss…Ummm…kinda a slut!”

We tossed this idea around a bit.  I brought up the fact that her actions were all done to keep America safe from the likes of James Mason and his evil, Communistic ways, but Juan was having none of it.  Nope.  Good women don’t do that sort of thing, and, clearly, Eve Kendal was not a good woman.

Juan did seem to have a qualm or two about the fact that Mildred Pierce hooks up with Monty Beragon on their first date, but, ultimately, Mildred got a pass…something about the fact that she had already been married.

Personally, I live in my own happy little world, where a one-nighter with Cary Grant completely trumps the same sort of fling with Zachery Scott…especially when I am protecting the world from the Red Menace.  Or even if I’m not.  I mean…c’mon!

But, then again, I’m not wide-eyed and sixteen.  Nor would I wish to bel.  Still, I love to get their input.

Of course, there are the ones I don’t run into, but let’s move on, shall we?

The 8th-graders also took American history.  So, at a certain time each year, their social studies teacher and I would team up to present them with a unit on the American Civil War.  He would teach them about the politics, the battles, the Great Historical Characters…I would show them Gone with the Wind.  I don’t know how I pulled that deal off, but it completely worked for me.  So what if I had to watch it five times a day for five days?  It’s not like I hadn’t already seen it 1,425 times before.

Generally, the kids loved it.  It didn’t hurt that I was able to break it into 45-minute chunks, since many of my students had the attention span of a three-year old hopped up on Halloween candy (I’m looking at you, Sara Ramirez, wherever you are).  All of them fell for Rhett Butler, the boys imitated his swagger and the girls just got all ootsey and weak in the knees every time he appeared on screen.  The character of Ashley pretty much registered a zero, but that’s the point, isn’t it?  As for Melanie, well she was “nice,” an adjective I usually abhor and forbid in essays and discussions, but…well, it’s Melanie, after all.  I mean, c’mon.  She is nice.

But then there’s Scarlett.  I’ve always loved Scarlett…in the book, in the film…she’s plucky.  She’s strong.  She’s got spunk!  How can anyone not love Scarlett?

“She’s conceited, Miss!”

I had plum forgot the greatest sin that can be perpetuated by a tweener…to be conceited.  To my merry group of twelve and thirteen-year olds, Scarlett was the big sister you just hate!  The one who steals your boyfriend and grabs all the white meat at a chicken dinner.  Kids this age have a very rigid idea of what’s right and what’s wrong…in their minds, anyway.

I was taken aback.  “But,” I responded, “she’s plucky!  She’s got SPUNK!”

“She’s a user, Miss.  And she’s conceited!”

No getting around that.  And, if you’re of a certain age, that’s the death knell.  Nothing is worse than being conceited.  You may have to lie, steal, cheat, and kill, but you better not be conceited when you do it!

And try not to steal your sister’s boyfriend, OK?  Even if he is that boring Frank Kennedy.

However, I don’t fool myself.  Other than the few retro chicks with Bette Paige complexes who pop up occasionally (they exist, my friends, they exist), I know that most of my references fly…nay, soar, like an elderly but still robust eagle…over the hair gel-encrusted heads of my charges.  But still I persevere.

Yes, yes…I know this blog is about movies.  Hold on, I’m getting there.  A few years back, I taught a motley bunch of juniors in an 11th-grade English class held in a computer lab.  Kids love those computers, have you heard?  From time to time, when I could no longer bear yet another lesson about thesis statements or supporting details, I would throw an Internet scavenger hunt at them.  The class would be divided into two teams and given about twenty questions with visual clues, all of which they raced to answer using resources found on the web.

Stuff like “What’s the longest street in Los Angeles?” (Sepulveda Boulevard) and “Who was the first U.S. President to have a Christmas tree in the White House?” (Benjamin Harrison).

As I said, the class worked in teams, and each team had a leader whose job it was to divvy up the research tasks so his or her team could win the day…and the requisite chocolate bars that came with victory.

On one of these tournaments, I presented the teams with the following query:

This actress and musical star was the number one pin-up girl of the World War II era, and her legs were insured for a million dollars.  What was her name?

Naturally, the famous Betty Grable photo that graces the top of this post was the picture clue.

And they were off in a mad dash for bragging rights and a sugar high.  Team leaders were barking out orders to their underlings.  That’s when I heard the following command belted out from Vincent, who was, up until that point, my star pupil:

“Ernie!  ERNIE!!!  Find out who the fat-ass girl is!”

Fat-ass girl?  Vincent!  Really?  Fat-ass girl?

Ah, for the 1940s…when a woman could eat the occasional sandwich and still be an object of sexual desire.

In the interest of full disclosure, Vincent did pass my class…with an A or a B, I think.  His essays were just that good.  Since then, I haven’t heard a thing about him…although I assume he’s mourning the fact that Calista Flockhart is soon to be out of circulation.  Don’t despair, Vinnie…  The Olsen twins are still available.