Teachers and Teaching on Stage and on Screen

Dramatic Depictions

Diane Conrad, Monica Prendergast

• Publisher: Intellect Books
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9781789380675
• eBook ISBN: 9781789380682
• Topic: Media & Performing Arts
• Subtopic: Film & Video

Why are educators and their profession the focus of so much film and theatre? Diane Conrad and Monica Prendergast bring together scholars and practitioners in education, examining dramatic portrayals of teachers and teaching to answer this very question. Films such as Freedom Writers, Bad Teacher and School of Rock, to name a few, intentionally or inadvertently comment on education and influence the opinions and, ultimately, the experiences of anyone who has taught or been taught. The chapters gathered in this collection critique the Hollywood 'good teacher' repertoire, delve into satiric parodies and alternative representations and explore issues through analyses of independent and popular films and plays from around the world. By examining teacher-student relationships, institutional cultures, societal influences and much more, Teachers and Teaching on Stage and on Screen addresses these media's varied fascinations with the educator like no collection before it.

PART I

Teacher Reflections/Reflections on Teachers

Three Perspectives on Freedom Writers: Considering Teaching Across the Career Span

Jaime L. Beck

Based on a true story, the film Freedom writers (DeVito, Sher, Shamberg, & LaGravenese, 2007) follows Erin Gruwell’s entry into teaching in an urban high school in California. Despite having been on track to be a lawyer, Gruwell chooses instead to become a teacher, a “good teacher”: one who is personally involved in the lives of her students, even “at great personal cost” (Dalton, 2004, p. 39). As often happens to beginning teachers (see Anhorn, 2008; Darling-Hammond, 2003; Ingersoll & Kralik, 2004), Gruwell’s first teaching assignment is one of the school’s most challenging, and she is offered very few resources or supports to meet this challenge.

This chapter presents a multi-faceted examination of Freedom writers from the perspectives of three teachers at different stages in their careers. These perspectives serve to highlight some of the core tensions within education the film presents, tensions that might be overlooked in a surface viewing of the film as a “feel-good” teacher story. Drawing on past research I have conducted with beginning teachers (Beck, 2010, 2017; Servage, Beck, & Couture, 2017) and teachers in their mid-careers (Beck, 2016), and framed by a developmental approach to teacher growth (Britzman, 2003; Day & Gu, 2010; Flores & Day, 2006), this chapter examines Freedom writers from the monologue perspectives of: a teacher about to enter the profession; a teacher in her third-year confronting the realities of a life in teaching; and a teacher in her mid-career continuing to teach.

Following Leavy’s (2011, 2013) arts-based literary approaches to research, I have crafted each monologue, not as a direct representation of a particular research project, but as research-informed creative non-fiction based on my now thirteen years of inquiry into teacher experiences. Freedom writers is an authentic touchstone for each of the perspectives as, through the course of my research, I have learned how teachers view these teacher-as-isolated-hero narratives differently, at different career stages. Perhaps most significantly, in my inquiries with teachers I found that teacher experiences continue to be hidden and misunderstood as a teacher’s career advances. As a result, I see dialogue and empathy across perspectives as being sorely needed in education. Thus, a primary driver for drawing on fiction is its ability to facilitate a more “empathic understanding” as readers are invited “to vicariously experience events from a different perspective” (Barone & Eisner, 1997, p. 78). Fiction, of any kind, “is uniquely able to draw readers in and express subtlety and connectivity” (Leavy, 2013, p. 36).

Questioning Education’s Status Quo

The monologues that follow also serve as critical perspectives on some of the dominant educational imagery of teachers in films. As Barone (2003) articulates, prevailing imagery in these popular films “is, to a large extent, educationally debilitating […] composed of a cluster of negative stereotypes of public schools, teachers, and students” (p. 202). In Freedom writers, two of Gruwell’s more senior colleagues represent Education’s status quo: a more veteran teacher, Mr. Gelford, and Gruwell’s administrator, Ms. Campbell. These colleagues seem unenthused about the new challenges presented by a recent demographic shift at the school. A new “voluntary integration” programme has brought students to the school who seem, to these more veteran educators, a burden. Conversely, Gruwell is drawn to the school because of the policy, and therefore the opportunity to make a difference. By the end of the film, despite her successes as a teacher in this context, Gruwell leaves the school, its students, staff, and all of its existing policies behind, and intact.

The end credits tell us that Gruwell did not “quit” teaching full stop, rather she moved on to the same college as some of her students – they “graduated” together, in a sense. This part of the story is one we recognize as “a happy and known ending, one that makes [the story] to leave acceptable” (Clandinin, Downey, & Huber, 2009, p. 146). It becomes easy to “shrug off” the fact that Gruwell leaves high school teaching because she “moved up.” We are thus led away from a critical discussion of why this highly skilled and passionate teacher could not continue doing a job she seemed both destined and committed to doing. By the end of the film, we too leave the school’s status quo behind, unquestioned as a hopelessly fixed reality. However, if Erin Gruwell is the kind of teacher we want for our students, and I believe she is, then we need to take a more critical look at why too many teachers, both in film and in real life, leave the K-12 classroom.¹ The following offers an opportunity to reframe the Freedom writers’ narrative, and perhaps to being to imagine a system in which exceptional teachers thrive and are able to sustain their capacities for the course of their career.

Monologue I: Nysa

Nysa

Today I had an orientation at my practicum school. I had to wake up ridiculously early but it wasn’t hard, I mean, I barely slept anyways. By the time I got to the school my stomach was kind of a wreck. Practicum feels like Christmas morning, combined with the scariest job interview ever. I’m ready though. Part of me feels like I’ve been ready my whole life. And, after all the courses I’ve just taken, I can handle anything.

The programme has been amazing from day one. We started by sitting in a circle and sharing our reasons for being there. There are so many stories I remember. Like Hayden’s story of that one teacher who saw past the juvenile delinquency to the university-bound student beneath. Hayden told us, through tears, that success as a teacher means passing that help along, even to just one student. There was Avery too, who just wanted to share her passion for math, and wow, she loves math! We all had other things in common too, like, we all “played school” when we were little, and observed the habits of our best teachers. We also all have our favourite teacher movies.

We were asked at one point to write a paper on our favourite teacher film. I chose Freedom writers. I love that movie! Especially because it’s based on a true story. I wrote about how it’s tough for her at first, for Erin Gruwell. She has practically no help from anyone; the other teachers have already given up. One of them even tells her to just bide her time until the students “quit coming,” like everyone expects. They obviously don’t really care about their students. It’s going to be tough to work with teachers like that. But Gruwell sees potential in her students, and tries to understand their lives. Her classroom becomes a safe space, and then she offers them notebooks where they can just write. They write about their lives, and she spends the time it takes to read them all, and to encourage them.

To me, the film just reaffirms my teaching philosophy. It’s about creating a safe place for students, and believing in them, seeing their potential, and giving them an opportunity to use their strengths. Gruwell took the time to do that, even though the school practically told her not to and she had to sacrifice a lot to do it, but, many of her students went on to college. She made a difference in so many lives. That’s definitely the kind of teacher I want to be, and I’m ready!

Monologues II and III: Brenna

Brenna

November. I’ve been teaching for three years. It’s not quite what I thought it would be. I keep trying to figure out why. One obvious reason: I’m still teaching dance. That was, and continues to be a pretty big curve ball! When I started teaching I had a bit of a dance on my CV, and they told us in Teacher Ed., “Take the job, put whatever you can on your CV, and then take the job!” So I did. Most of the job is teaching English, which is my teaching area. I thought, after a year or two, once I’m no longer the newbie, I’ll transition out of dance and teach strictly English. What I didn’t realize is, that even with just one class, I was the dance teacher at the school. That means, “The drama production this year is a musical, can you help us with our choreography?” and “We want to start a dance club, can you be our sponsor teacher?” I thought it was a great idea – not choreographing the musical, that was tough for a first year teacher to fit in, especially one with zero experience choreographing musicals – but the dance club. It was a GREAT idea, and I couldn’t say no to students.

Fast-forward two years and I’m so established as the dance teacher that I see I can’t really transition out. But also, I am not sure that I want to. Yes, it adds a lot to the already heavy English teacher workload: in-school events, weekend field trips, after school practices, dance meetings with the students, guest instructors, and of course, taking more dance classes myself. But it’s really where I connect with students, where I am most able to become a meaningful part of their lives. Yet, it’s still not what I thought it would be. Why? Because I’m always drowning in paperwork? Or, because I did report cards wrong the first time? Why do I let those things get to me?

My students keep telling me I should watch that new movie, Freedom writers, apparently I remind them of her. I’ve been avoiding it. I used to love movies like that but now, I don’t really want to compare myself to a “good teacher” in some Hollywood film. Sure, I know I’m a good teacher sometimes, with the dance club, in my English classes, but most of the time I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, and I don’t feel supported. At the end of each day, there’s still so much left undone, and I’m exhausted. I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep, I keep losing weight but I’m not hungry, not that I really have time to eat anyways. I am starting to worry about these things, about what my health will be like a few years down the road. There are only so many nights of sleep or meals you can miss, right? Most days, I just don’t feel well. There’s even a tiny part of me thinking about doing something else…

June. I finally watched Freedom writers. I had to. My principal gave me the book as my farewell gift. It was meant as a nice gesture, but it didn’t feel that nice. During our last staff meeting she made this farewell speech; it started with that long list of the things I have done since starting at the school. Some of the things I didn’t even remember, and hearing it all at once like that – it was a bit surreal. She listed all the levels of English I have taught, the English Language exchange I organized, etcetera, etcetera. Then of course, she talked about dance. She shared some notes written by my dance students – those were also stories full of time, all the time I put in, all the things we had worked on together. I was touched. But, I still don’t feel “successful.” I mean, here I am, getting a farewell speech after only three years of teaching. But, I need a break. It’s not normal, right, to faint at work for no reason? Anyways, I’m at the staff meeting and I’m having all of these mixed feelings, and then the principal ends her speech by saying, “So, now that we’ve burnt her out, she’s heading back to grad school.” Her tone was slightly sarcastic, and many people laughed. I guess it was funny? Now that they’ve burnt me out? Is that what’s happened? I just felt kind of stunned, I didn’t even hear what she said after that, I just shook her hand and took the copy of Teach With Your Heart that she gave me, and went home and watched that damn movie.

The film is, well, my students were right, it is my story, right there, in plain sight. And in some ways that’s a good thing and I’m honoured to be compared with this dedicated and talented new teacher. But in other ways, it’s not a good thing. This is a heavy story to bear. Here is this amazing teacher, who works a second job to buy her students supplies, who spends all her time and energy working for and with her students. Her husband leaves her because she’s so dedicated. Then, at the end of the movie, she’s leaving the classroom, after all that she’s invested, after all that she’s lost. The reason? Well, they say it directly: “her methods are impractical, impossible to implement with regularity.” Her principal asks, “Do you honestly think you can create this family in every classroom, for every grade, for every student?” I didn’t have to hear Gruwell’s answer. I can’t keep this up. So what does that mean? Leaving? I mean, shouldn’t “good teachers” be the ones who stay?

Monologue IV: Dara

Dara

This year, I’m not taking a student teacher, and I’m not going to feel guilty about it either. It’s about self-preservation. Every year, I take a student teacher, and I do my best but, it’s challenging. I mean I know that kind of teaching, that all-consuming-I’m-going-to-change-every-single-student’s-life type of teaching, it’s just not sustainable. And I try not to be discouraging, to offer gentle guidance. But even the smallest suggestions I make are met with that critical look, that look says, “Oh, you’re just jaded or old school or burnt out, make room for me!” And I remember, you come in, you’re raring to go, your head’s full of students standing on desks for you and – I get it. You want to experience that. But as you continue to teach, like I have, you start to realize that going the distance means keeping things in perspective, in balance, and I wish I could somehow prepare them for this. But balance is definitely not the message you get from Hollywood films.

The latest, Freedom writers, was a little hard to watch. I could see where Gruwell was coming from, I mean, those students deserved better. It’s hard to stomach the idea of turning your back on students just to save some energy for next year. But you have to make tough choices. It’s a tough system.

That principal Gruwell has, Ms. Campbell, I can tell she is trying to be helpful. I see the gentle way she tells Gruwell to consider scaling back her lesson plans, and maybe don’t wear those pearls to class. It’s not bitterness, it’s experience. Later, she spells out the real dilemma: “We have millions of children,” she says, “to get through the education system […] and we need a means of accomplishing that which allows as many students to benefit as possible.” She’s right. There’s only so much you can do when you have as many as forty students in a class, and you have four of those classes back-to-back! At some point, you have to look at the practicalities, or you just don’t survive. You have to make choices, or you break.

I don’t want you to get the impression that it’s easy; it comes with a lot of guilt. Of course, I still want the best for my students. I still have this teacher ideal in mind. It’s just that, well, we all have limits, and there is always going to be so much more you could be doing, so much left undone at the end of each day. Gruwell’s husband, in the film, reminds me of my own partner. He watches Gruwell work herself practically to death and doesn’t know what to do. Finally, he tries to explain how he feels: “What you’re doing is noble, and it’s good,” then he adds, “I just want to live my life and not feel bad about it.” What’s wrong with that? This year, that’s me. That means no student teacher scrutinizing the corners I’ve cut. I’ll just teach and let teach, and maybe I’ll live my life just a little, while trying not to feel bad about it.

Discussion

As someone who wanted to be a teacher from an early age, I loved watching movies like Freedom writers. The teachers portrayed in these kinds of films defined what it meant to be a “good” teacher. These narratives also contributed to the “culture shock” (Britzman, 2003) or “praxis shock” (Kelchtermans & Ballet, 2002) I experienced. The reality of teaching is so much more complex than these films depict, and so much more challenging than our “apprenticeship of observation” (Lortie, 1975) as students in schools prepare us. Yet, I often wonder what I would have really heard if someone had tried, as Dara tries with her student teachers, to prepare me for the overwhelming amount of paperwork in teaching, or for just how much of an impact the bureaucracy of teaching can have. I believed that any hoop I...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Editors’ Introduction: We Are Therefore We Teach
• PART I: TEACHER REFLECTIONS/REFLECTIONS ON TEACHERS
• PART II: TEACHERS AS HEROES OR ANTIHEROES
• PART III: PEDAGOGIES/PEDAGOGICAL MOMENTS
• PART IV: ETHICS AND DESIRE IN TEACHING
• PART V: DESTABILIZING PERSPECTIVES OF TEACHERS AND TEACHING
• Biographies