When I saw this on its release I was mildly entertained by a story of fantasies and intrigues among the young girls and the staff of an Edinburgh boarding school. When I saw it more recently I thought there was more to it than that.
Many of the film's elements are still obvious. There is the tour de force by Maggie Smith as the central character, Miss Jean Brodie, who teaches the equivalent of a course in Western civilization; the wretched uniforms; the impressive gray stone buildings; the treachery of the now-mature adolescent Pamela Franklin; the comic moments among the emotional turbulence.
My initial impression was that Jean Brodie should not have been dismissed from the Marcia Blaine School for Girls. Oh, sure, she gets carried away by feverish enthusiasms and she cultivates a kind of cabal among the more devoted of her students but, after all, it's all that Jean Brodie has. She loves it. And what's wrong with giving the girls' minds a kick in the pants, except that it's difficult to visualize? If I'd been able to do for my students what she did for hers, I'd have been proud of it.
But a more thoughtful look at the film reveals much more in the way of ambiguity. We see so much of Jean Brodie that we come to know and identify with her. Yet some of her lessons inspire passions that are dangerous. One of her girls, Mary MacGregor, a sweet, stuttering, plump little dove, is swayed by Brodie's encomium to Mussolini. (Kids: He was the Fascist dictator of Italy in the 1930s and led the country into a disastrous political allegiance and war). Upon graduation, Mary goes to fight for the fascisti and is killed, upon learning of which Jean Brodie hails her as a hero. Jean Brodie also insinuates one of her students into bed with the Arts Master with whom she herself is in love, as a kind of substitute.
Jean Brodie also fails to recognize the burgeoning jealousy in one of her less adored students, Franklin, even when Franklin goes to bed with the Arts Master who paints her and makes her look like Brodie. (As an aside, Pamela Franklin looks just fine when she's completely naked. Any normal man would love to paint her. Even a blind man might enjoy it.) It's Franklin who finally undoes Brodie, with the help of prying aide who looks oddly birdlike with her domed forehead and chicken eyes, but what looks at first like a jealous bitchiness now looks a little more like Stanley Kowalsky pulling Blanche DuBois down from them dreamy pillars at Belle Rive.
It's still a tragedy. Nobody enjoys seeing someone else ruined, not even if that person was unwittingly misguiding others.
The second impression left by a recent viewing is that Jay Presson Allen's dialog is really smooth, innovative, and sometimes electric, though the voltage is deliberately kept low. "And I always thought that being asked to dance by a faculty member was an honor of some magnitude." That's a line from Jean Brodie's ex lover, the Arts Master, Robert Stephens. When Jean Brodie is told by Stephens that her quondam suitor, Gordon Jackson, is about to marry the chemistry instructor, Brodie claims to have encouraged it. "Don't you think that with a snap of my fingers I couldn't have sent her back to her gaseous empire?" Chemistry. Gaseous empire. It's neatly written and listening to it is a joy, except for the stupid theme song.
Many of the film's elements are still obvious. There is the tour de force by Maggie Smith as the central character, Miss Jean Brodie, who teaches the equivalent of a course in Western civilization; the wretched uniforms; the impressive gray stone buildings; the treachery of the now-mature adolescent Pamela Franklin; the comic moments among the emotional turbulence.
My initial impression was that Jean Brodie should not have been dismissed from the Marcia Blaine School for Girls. Oh, sure, she gets carried away by feverish enthusiasms and she cultivates a kind of cabal among the more devoted of her students but, after all, it's all that Jean Brodie has. She loves it. And what's wrong with giving the girls' minds a kick in the pants, except that it's difficult to visualize? If I'd been able to do for my students what she did for hers, I'd have been proud of it.
But a more thoughtful look at the film reveals much more in the way of ambiguity. We see so much of Jean Brodie that we come to know and identify with her. Yet some of her lessons inspire passions that are dangerous. One of her girls, Mary MacGregor, a sweet, stuttering, plump little dove, is swayed by Brodie's encomium to Mussolini. (Kids: He was the Fascist dictator of Italy in the 1930s and led the country into a disastrous political allegiance and war). Upon graduation, Mary goes to fight for the fascisti and is killed, upon learning of which Jean Brodie hails her as a hero. Jean Brodie also insinuates one of her students into bed with the Arts Master with whom she herself is in love, as a kind of substitute.
Jean Brodie also fails to recognize the burgeoning jealousy in one of her less adored students, Franklin, even when Franklin goes to bed with the Arts Master who paints her and makes her look like Brodie. (As an aside, Pamela Franklin looks just fine when she's completely naked. Any normal man would love to paint her. Even a blind man might enjoy it.) It's Franklin who finally undoes Brodie, with the help of prying aide who looks oddly birdlike with her domed forehead and chicken eyes, but what looks at first like a jealous bitchiness now looks a little more like Stanley Kowalsky pulling Blanche DuBois down from them dreamy pillars at Belle Rive.
It's still a tragedy. Nobody enjoys seeing someone else ruined, not even if that person was unwittingly misguiding others.
The second impression left by a recent viewing is that Jay Presson Allen's dialog is really smooth, innovative, and sometimes electric, though the voltage is deliberately kept low. "And I always thought that being asked to dance by a faculty member was an honor of some magnitude." That's a line from Jean Brodie's ex lover, the Arts Master, Robert Stephens. When Jean Brodie is told by Stephens that her quondam suitor, Gordon Jackson, is about to marry the chemistry instructor, Brodie claims to have encouraged it. "Don't you think that with a snap of my fingers I couldn't have sent her back to her gaseous empire?" Chemistry. Gaseous empire. It's neatly written and listening to it is a joy, except for the stupid theme song.