One Paragraph Movie Review: High School

Two hundred and twenty-eighth film: High School, a documentary from 1968 by Frederick Wiseman that shows daily life at a Philadelphia high school. I love this kind of documentary, with zero interviews or voice-overs, just little candid slices of whatever seemingly mundane things were going on at the time, chopped and juxtaposed until the social commentary rises to the top. The father of a girl who just wants to be a cosmetician visits the school office to try to argue staff into giving her better grades. A poetry teacher recites stanzas about baseball to a largely disinterested class, while an economics teacher depresses his charges by revealing how far above the average wage the cost of living is in America. The beefy vice principal chastises students for not wearing their gym uniforms, talking back to teachers when they feel their rights have been infringed, or punching classmates in the nose. And most horrifyingly, a gynaecologist lies and brags his way through some conversational sex education for a room full of boys, contrasted against a separate room full of girls watching a deeply boring film about fallopian tubes. It’s weird seeing students speak casually to their teachers about heading off to the Vietnam war and fabulous to see 1968 haircuts, make-up and outfits, but otherwise this is all deeply familiar and hugely watchable. Schools don’t change, so societies don’t change, so schools don’t change, and so on. Yep. Three and three-quarter film-appreciation-class hippies out of five.