. :M..”1_._L .: v .
3 .(ba‘. 3“. WWW , . , . . . .
gmﬁmwzuuwf , . V V

L.‘ hiWMMSa

$35.

30 til

.31.? .
5:22:
A ‘31! X

3’: 1.31:.
4 3.381;,

Extra

.
I 50...} ,. .
....!1nv.vf
ﬁeuuhrxmﬁz
.v. :2inﬂu‘5h .

p.
of” .t
.34. . 171
a?! .I'..Ao!sl..-l .- _
zany“: ill a-3e.lhn.lh’4~mwngﬂuuﬁ§fv " A
is .. ..vf325 .f‘i ,
at... .m in." b. .v I: 3, 111.1111. .
1. a. A... «k; I .

. s..3€o¢..tv!..5 Btziaunﬂtoh.”
.5\.\X: if
x X ..
.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

, . .. . .. ‘ . .. ruﬂ‘.wﬂ_rnun.1..r...5.s>3:..rh
ﬁwawwaﬁa 5&3 . . . ; .
, a. .
.l v bu. 3V.

 

This is to certify that the
dissertation entitled

WHEN HOLLYWOOD COMES TO THE HISTORY
CLASSROOM: THE EDUCATIONAL USES OF HISTORY
FEATURE FILMS

presented by

Scott Alan Metzger

has been accepted towards fulﬁllment
of the requirements for the

Ph.D. degree in Teacher Education

 

AMA“

“\Mjéjor Professor's Signature h

MSU Is an Ammcﬂve Action/Equal Opportunity Institution

 

LIBRARY
Michigan State
University

 

 

 

— —.-.—.-.-._.---._.‘.-.-

 

PLACE IN RETURN BOX to remove this checkout from your record.
TO AVOID FINES return on or before date due.
MAY BE RECALLED with earlier due date if requested.

 

DATE DUE DATE DUE DATE DUE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2/05 p:/ClRC/Date0ue.indd-p.1

 

WHEN HOLLYWOOD COMES TO THE HISTORY CLASSROOM:
THE EDUCATIONAL USES OF HISTORY FEATURE FILMS

By

Scott Alan Metzger

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulﬁllment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of Teacher Education

2006

 

ABSTRACT

WHEN HOLLYWOOD COMES TO THE HISTORY CLASSROOM:
THE EDUCATIONAL USES OF HISTORY FEATURE FILMS

By
Scott Alan Metzger

This study examines the educational promise and pitfalls of history feature ﬁlms
(commercial motion pictures targeted at a mass audience that take place mostly or
entirely in the past) used as instructional tools in the classroom. It opens with a review of
relevant literature, identifying three scholarly frames (historians’ perspectives, historical
thinking/collective memory, critical media scholarship) that help conceptualize the
educational potential of history movies.

The dissertation offers two distinct but related analytical components. The ﬁrst
component illustrates a way of evaluating history ﬁlms along six pedagogical functions
(content coverage/period representation; historical construction/social construction;
empathy/moral response). This pedagogical content analysis framework is tested on
three recent movies: the 2004 version of The Alamo, The Last Samurai (2003), and The
Patriot (2000). The second analytical component is a case study of four ﬁlm-based
lessons taught in actual social studies classrooms: a grade 8 teacher showing the 1977
television miniseries Roots in US. History; a grade 9 teacher showing the 1994 Chinese-
language ﬁlm To Live in a unit on communism; a grade 9 teacher using a portion of
Legends of the F all (1994) for a lesson on WWI; a grade 10 teacher showing The Pianist
(2002) during a unit on WWII and the Holocaust. Analysis of the cases explores what

these ﬁlm-based lessons accomplished in terms of learning about the past (using the

pedagogical content analysis functions) and speculates why these teachers chose to use
the ﬁlms in manageable, safe, and teacher-directed ways.

The study closes with a discussion of why history teachers are attracted to using
movies in their classrooms. Dramatic and memorable history feature ﬁlms have
tremendous power to help students visualize and care about the past. History movies also
can distort or simplify the past in the minds of young learners when ﬁlm-based lessons do
not provide them with sufﬁcient content support and opportunities for meaningful
intellectual engagement. Yet, the circumstances of schooling—limited time, student
absenteeism, interruptions and distractions, assessment demands—get in the way of
adventurous teaching with history movies and impel teachers to limit student engagement
within safe, manageable boundaries. As seen in the four cases, the typical purpose of
using history ﬁlms in the classroom is to provide extra visual reinforcement of content
covered by traditional means (lecture, textbooks). The dissertation also considers the
place of history feature ﬁlms in historical literacy. 1t posits ﬁve competencies that
history movies are well-suited to help students develop: learning and using content
knowledge; analyzing historical narratives (interpretations); considering cultural
positioning (of ﬁlmic texts); discerning presentism in accounts of the past; historical
empathy (recognizing historical perspectives and caring about the past). The study
concludes by suggesting directions for further research and by recommending that

history/social studies teacher preparation include explicit preparation in the use of ﬁlm.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

“No man is an island entire to itself,” wrote the poet John Donne. No matter what
we undertake in life, we are always connected to others. Donne’s words certainly apply
to writing a dissertation. My warmest thanks to the four teachers who participated in this
study for opening their classrooms and giving their time to me. I am indebted to the
members of my dissertation committee and need to express my deep gratitude to Mary
Kennedy, Michael Sedlak, Avner Segall, Colleen Tremonte, and especially my very
patient doctoral advisor Suzanne Wilson, who spent many hours reading and responding
to the evolving drafts of my lengthy chapters. All flaws and limitations of this resulting
product are my responsibility alone.

On a personal note, I want to express my love and gratitude to Jennifer, who
persevered through the demanding dissertation process as my ﬁancee and emerged as my
wife: Thank you for being my light at the end of the tunnel. Finally, thank you to my
parents, David and Sandy Metzger, for their unwavering love and unﬂagging support:

Everything I am I owe to you.

iv

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES ................................................................................... vi
LIST OF FIGURES ................................................................................. vii
CHAPTER 1
Introduction: Studying History Movies in the Classroom ....................................... 1
CHAPTER 2
Methods for Studying History Movies in the Classroom ...................................... 32
CHAPTER 3
The Educational Potential of History Feature Films ............................................ 54
Pedagogical Content Analysis: The Alamo ............................................. 71
Pedagogical Content Analysis: The Last Samurai ..................................... 95
Pedagogical Content Analysis: The Patriot ........................................... 121
Historical Storytelling and the Educational Uses of History Movies .............. 146
CHAPTER 4
Seeing the Past, Playing It Safe:
Four Cases of History Feature Films in the Classroom ....................................... 161
Regina: Bringing the Real China to Great Falls HS ................................. 167
Marie: Teaching Race and Slavery in Suburban Michigan ......................... 186
Isabel: Connecting with the First World War ......................................... 208
Kellie: Witnessing the Horror of the Holocaust ...................................... 231
Seeing the Past Through Safe Coverage ................................................ 261
CHAPTER 5
Conclusion: The Place of History Feature Films in Historical Literacy .................... 270
APPENDICES
Appendix A:
School Consent Form ............................................................ 295
Teacher Consent Form .......................................................... 296
Parent/Student Consent Form (Observation) ................................. 297
Parent/Student Consent Form (Interview) .................................... 298
Appendix B:
Observational Framework for Classroom Use of History Films ..........299
Appendix C:
Interview Protocol for Classroom Teachers....................................305
Interview Protocol for Students ................................................ 309
REFERENCES .................................................................................... 31 I

LIST OF TABLES

TABLE 2.]
Three Scholarly Frames Informing This Study ................................................. 37
TABLE 2.2
Pedagogical Content Analysis Functions, Dyads, and Their Central Questions. . ......38
TABLE 3.]
Summary of the Pedagogical Content Analysis Framework ................................... 71
TABLE 3.2
Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary: The Alamo ...................................... 94-95
TABLE 3.3
Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary: The Last Samurai ................................ 120
TABLE 3.4
Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary: The Patriot ....................................... 145
TABLE 3.5
Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary Across All Three Films ..................... 149-151
TABLE 3.6
Educative Questions Raised by the Three Films .............................................. 158
TABLE 4.1
Regina’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films .......... 184
TABLE 4.2
Marie’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films. ...........206
TABLE 4.3
Isabel’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films. . .. .......228
TABLE 4.4
Kellie’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films. . .. . . ...257

vi

LIST OF FIGURES

FIGURE 4.1
Regina’s student handout ......................................................................... 179
FIGURE 4.2
Marie’s ﬁrst student handout ..................................................................... 194
FIGURE 4.3
Marie’s second student handout .................................................................. 195
FIGURE 4.4
Marie’s unit assignment ........................................................................... 199
FIGURE 4.5
Kellie’s ﬁrst student handout ..................................................................... 241
FIGURE 4.6
Kellie’s second student handout ................................................................. 247

vii

Chapter 1
Introduction: Studying History Movies in the Classroom

Gladiator (2000), Titanic (1997), Braveheart (I 995), Forrest Gump (1994),
Schindler ’3 List (1993), Dances with Wolves (1990). Many of the most successful and
acclaimed motion pictures are stories set in the past. Of ﬁlms that won the Academy
Award for Best Picture ﬁ'om 1980 to 2005, 15 were entirely historical period pieces and
two others (Driving Miss Daisy, Forrest Gump) were time-spanning stories that mostly
took place decades earlier. In 1998, all ﬁve nominated ﬁlms were set more than 50 years
(Life is Beautiﬁtl, Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line) or nearly 500 years
(Elizabeth, Shakespeare in Love) ago. For the most recent (78"‘) Academy Awards, three
of the Best Picture nominees were historical ﬁlms (Capote, Good Night and Good Luck,
Munich). Indeed, there is not a single year in the last 25 in which the Best Picture
nominees failed to include at least one ﬁlm principally set in the historical past.l History
movies are a popular and respected (if the Oscars are any indication) mass entertainment.
They are seen every year in theaters by millions of Americans of all age groups—and are
subsequentlyviewed on television, cable, satellite, or home video by millions more.

The rise of VHS and DVD created an era of media on demand, in which a viewer
can watch almost any ﬁlm at any time. They have extended the reach of history movies
not only into homes but also schools. By the 19905, the videocassette player became
ubiquitous in schools, and the proliferation of affordable DVD players over the past ﬁve
years has given teachers access to an even larger, and ever-growing, catalog of video

media. The History Channel, Discovery Channel, National Geographic Channel, and

 

' Toplin and Eudy (2002) and Marcus (2005) have previously commented on the Oscar clout of history
movies. All of the above Academy Awards information is available through the searchable database on the
ofﬁcial Oscars website (http://www.oscars.orgiawardsdatabasel).

 

A&E on cable and PBS on broadcast television all regularly air historical documentary
programs that are made available on home video. Furthermore, the Hollywood motion
picture industry every year releases more history—oriented feature ﬁlms. All these
movies—good and bad, blockbuster and ﬂop—subsequently come out on home video,
almost always at prices below $20. Experiencing history on ﬁlm has never been easier or
more affordable.

Americans make ready use of this vast amount of history-oriented media. When
Roy Rosenzweig and David Thelen (1998) interviewed 808 Americans about their
interest in history, 81% of them reported watching television programs or movies about
the past within the previous year. More recently, Alan Marcus (2005) interviewed a
sample of high school students and learned that 86% had seen Forrest Gump, 75%
Saving Private Ryan, 61% Pearl Harbor, and 55% Glory. Jeremy Stoddard and Alan
Marcus (in press) surveyed 84 US. History teachers in Connecticut and Wisconsin and
found that 52% had used Glory in the classroom, 40% Amistad, 34.5% Schindler 's List,
31% Saving Private Ryan, and 25% Dances with Wolves. Movies are an integral part of
youth culture, so it makes perfect sense for teachers to bring them into their history
classrooms. Given the traditional ennui that many middle and high school students
express about history, the motivational aspects of big-budget ﬁlms full of exciting effects
and beautiful Hollywood stars are very appealing.

VHS and DVD are a powerful new instructional technology in the hands of
schoolteachers. The power of history movies emerges from their considerable production
values. Movies are made as commercial consumer products by a hugely proﬁtably

industry and are designed to be moving, memorable, and appealing to a broad audience.

Even the worst history movies feature visuals, sound, costuming, and effects far better
than anything seen in the audio-visual media used in schools prior to the 19805.
Compared to the primitive educational still-shot ﬁlmstrips or 16mm motion pictures
produced by smallish school-resource companies in previous decades, big-budget history
movies pack a vastly more powerful psychological punch. But what educational ends can
these powerful media texts serve?
Educational Promise, Potential Pitfalls

The educational potential of the use of history movies in classroom instruction is
signiﬁcant. Most U.S. schoolchildren enjoy movies on their own free time and can bring
ready interest in, and sometimes knowledge about, history movies to school. With their
high production values, movies can attract and stimulate student interest in a historical
topic. Another important consideration is that most history movies have a point or
message—they depict the past in consciously chosen ways that can be analyzed,
critiqued, and discussed by students. Indeed, for some, the best history movies provide a
controversial take on the past that inspires debate even after they are gone from theaters.

History movies provide teachers with a resource for dramatizing history, to show
students a visually alluring recreation of time or place. They can be shown in full to
present a detailed take on a historical ﬁgure or period, or particular scenes can be shown
to illustrate a point about a speciﬁc historical topic. Teachers can use these dramatic
recreations to spark discussions with students about what history is or means, about how
we in the present know what happened in the past, about the role of factual evidence in
creating accounts of the past, or about how an historical era or event can generate

multiple, often competing, interpretations.

On the other hand, there are potential pitfalls. Movies can be used superﬁcially or
shallowly; they can also misrepresent the past. While it is possible for teachers to use
movies to analyze the interpretative nature of history or to generate deeper discussions
about historical causation or meaning, doing so requires a great deal of effort on the
teacher’s part—and not all teachers may be game for it. School folklore holds that
movies are used largely as ﬁller when a teacher lacks the inclination or personal
knowledge to teach a particular topic or does not have the time or desire to teach on any
given day. A history movie can be shown in the classroom as the single authoritative
account to “cover” a topic, to make up for a shortfall in the teacher’s own knowledge or
range of accounts on the subject. Other times, teachers might show history movies
merely as an escape from normal academic work. These potential pitfalls suggest that the
use of movies in the classroom is not an unquestioned good.

The selection of history movies can be problematic, too. Some ﬁlms are carefully
researched and take seriously scholarly accounts of their topics, but most are designed to
be entertaining stories with historical ﬂavor, little more than costume dramas. Due to
restrictions of time and audience expectations, all history movies must selectively pick
and choose what historical knowledge to include and what details are ignored or altered.
All invent circumstances essential to their plot that, to lesser or greater degrees, are
factually inaccurate or questionable (Rosenstone, 1995a, 1995b). When history movies
are simply shown to students without any critical analysis, it is possible that some
students will accept the powerful images they see as literal truths——as Bruce vanSledright
(2002) discovered when teaching the Jamestown “starving time” to ﬁfth graders who

were certain the governor was to blame as portrayed in Disney’s 1995 animated musical

Pocahontas. There is a risk that the ﬁctionalized historical accounts provided by movies
will be more memorable than anything the students read or hear from their teachers—and
that showing these movies in the classroom grants them a kind of official authority (“If
they showed it in school, it must be truel”). Hence, even when used carefully, history
movies pose considerable instructional challenges to teachers.

Since history movies present educational promise as well as potential problems,
their classroom use deserves scholarly attention. This dissertation aims to expand our
knowledge of the use of commercial mass-media history feature ﬁlms in classroom
settings. What ﬁlms are teachers actually using, in what ways, and for what purposes?
Additionally, it offers a framework for analyzing the educational use of history feature
ﬁlms. What can students learn from such ﬁlms? Given that far more people encounter
history through movies than through scholarly historical books (Rosenstone, 2002) and
that history movies are already widely used in schools, it is no longer a question whether
classroom teachers should use them but what kinds of ﬁlms should be used, how, and for
what purposes. These are issues at the heart of this dissertation.

Conceptualizing History Feature Films as a Focus of Research

History and social-studies educators cannot afford to ignore the prevalence and
inﬂuence of history-oriented media. Historian Robert Rosenstone (1995b) has observed,
“A century after the invention of motion pictures, the visual media have become arguably
the chief carrier of historical messages in our culture” (p. 3). His observation suggests
that popular-culture motion pictures about the past play a major part in public discourses

about cultural identities and social meanings.

The career of ﬁlmmaker Oliver Stone serves as a useﬁil example. Coming of age
in the late 19805 and early 19905, I personally remember the heated debates over two of
his projects. Platoon, released in 1986, generated a great deal of public attention and
controversy by calling into question the ﬁindamental character of the U.S. military during
the Vietnam War and criticizing the morality and rationality of the entire endeavor. The
ﬁlm sparked intense public debate, some defending it as a bold artistic vision of a dark
chapter in U.S. history, others decrying it as a slander against those who served
honorably in the military in 19605. Stone’s JFK, released in 1991, was more than an
account of the murder of an American president three decades earlier. It was an expose
of multiple possible conspiracies that questioned the integrity of the U.S. government and
military. Controversy raged between those who believed there simply had to be more to
the Kennedy assassination than was admitted by the ofﬁcial reports and those who felt
Stone’s ﬁlm was an unfounded, paranoid lie. Nor did Stone’s most recent ﬁlm Alexander
escape controversy. By depicting the Macedonian conqueror Alexander the Great as
possibly homosexual, Stone angered some cultural conservatives who believed his ﬁlm
mischaracterized a classical icon of Western civilization.

The controversy around Stone’s ﬁlms illustrates an important point: history ﬁlms
that present troubling or controversial interpretations of the past also comment on
contemporary social conditions or meanings. Stone’s Alexander was not just the
biography of an ancient conqueror: It commented on the social acceptance of
homosexuality in Western culture at a time when public opinion on marriage rights for

gay men and lesbians remains deeply divided and is very much part of current political

debates. Mass-media depictions of history have the potential to sway public discourse
more than virtually anything else. Robert Toplin (1996) writes,

Dramatic motion pictures that feature famous stars in the roles of historical

characters and present vivid scenes of yesteryear through sophisticated

cinematography can make strong impressions. Historical ﬁlms help to shape the
thinking of millions. Often the depictions seen on the screen inﬂuence the

public’s view of historical subjects much more than books do. (p. vii)

To conceptualize the instructional use of history ﬁlms as a research problem, I
need to locate history ﬁlms within the context of the cultural discourses about truth and
art. Next, I synthesize some of the existing scholarly opinion about the roles of invention
and historical evidence in the history movies. This review of literature provides helpful
background for considering the educational issues in this dissertation.

History and the History Film in Cultural Context

In recent decades, history visual media and their inﬂuence on how people think
about the past have certainly caught the attention of scholars (Cames, Mico, Miller-
Monzon, & Rubel, 1996; Davis, 2000; Doherty, 2002; Edgerton & Rollins, 2001 ,
Grindon, 1994; Landy, 1996, 2001; Loshitzky, 1997; O’Connor, 1990, 2002; Rosenstone,
1995a, 1995b, 1995c, 2002; Sklar, 1997; Sorlin, 2001; Toplin, 1996a, 1996b, 2002a,
2002b; Toplin & Eudy, 2002). The ensuing debates show that there is considerable
disagreement over how to critique and respond to ﬁlmic depictions of history. What
degree of historical “accuracy” should be expected from history motion pictures? Do the
history ﬁlmmakers have any responsibility to historical evidence or does artistic license

free them from such considerations? Are history movies creative visions of the past that

warrant consideration on their own terms or are they historical accounts that deserve
criticism based on their ﬁdelity to facts and evidence? That is, are they to be critiqued as
ﬁlmic dramas or as works of history?

Some scholars argue that it is proper and reasonable to criticize history movies for
the soundness of their historical claims and their factual basis, in the same way that
historians critique one another’s books. Many professional historians take to task ﬁlms
that distort the historical record (Carnes et al., 1996). A historian who writes proliﬁcally
about history ﬁlms, Robert Toplin (1996) argues,

Questions about responsible portrayals of historical events are appropriate when

assessing popular movies that can affect the way millions view the past. To claim

that “anything goes” in the name of artistic license is to invite ﬁctional excesses
that can grossly distort the public's understanding. Cinema is a powerful tool for
communicating feeling and opinion about the past; if historians believe that the
tool has been employed irresponsibly, they should articulate their concerns
forcefully.... Still, historians cannot treat dramatic entertainment simply as non-
ﬁction brought to life with actors. They should recognize the need to incorporate
speculation and myth and to take poetic leaps when presenting history on the

screen. (pp. 225-226)

However, Toplin (1996) admits that it is problematic to treat history movies like
books: “If we hold cinematic historians strictly to the standards of most written history,
we are almost certain to be disappointed, for ﬁlmmakers must attend to the demands of
drama and the challenges of working with incomplete evidence” (p. 10). Similarly,

historian Natalie Davis (2000) is sympathetic to the challenges faced by ﬁlmmakers

(herself having worked on the ﬁlm The Return of Martin Guerre). She grants that even
when a ﬁlm distorts known details of the past it can still get to a deeper historical truth—
for example, Stanley Kubrick’s 1960 ﬁlm Spartacus is largely ﬁctional but nonetheless
depicts the greater truth of the resistance against slavery in the Roman Empire. On the
other hand, she warns that ﬁctionalization in movies can go too far and that the practice
of historians can provide a useful perspective for ﬁlmmakers: “Historical ﬁlms should let
the past be the past. . .. Wishing away the harsh and strange spots in the past, soﬁening or
remodeling them like the familiar present, will only make it harder for us to conceive
good wishes for the future” (p. 136).

Other scholars argue that it is not sensible to judge history ﬁlms based on the
supposed accuracy of facts and details. Another leading historian interested in ﬁlm
studies, Robert Rosenstone (1995b) contends that “Dragnet historians,” scholars
principally concerned with a ﬁlm’s ﬁdelity to historical facts (“Just the facts, ma’am”),
must understand that a history ﬁlm cannot be or be treated like a book. Historians, he
argues, need to consider the perspectives of cinema theorists, who are more appropriately
concerned with the creation and manipulation of meanings, representations, and
discourses about the past, not just with accounts of what happened in the past. This
stance is echoed by Robert Sklar (1997) in his critique of the “historian-cop” who applies
the standards of published history to history on ﬁlm; he instead advocates greater
awareness of how movies are produced and received to better appreciate what audiences
see and understand as history on the screen.

History ﬁlms are not a unitary art form. The most widespread type of history

movie is the traditional costume drama that uses the past 501er as a setting for romance

and adventure (Rosenstone, 1995c; 2002). A small number deal seriously with the
relationship of the past to the present, however, and these experimental ﬁlms, often
produced internationally or by small, artistically minded studios, have attracted the
attention of scholars interested in how ﬁlms can substantively explore the past (Grindon,
1994; Landy, 2001; Rosenstone, 1995a, 1995c). For the past 200 years, history has been
an academic discipline with its own rules for evaluating evidence, and the written
monograph has been the basic form of contribution. Historical ﬁlms are history as vision
rather than history as monograph; they represent another kind of contribution to historical
study that evokes emotional realities and seriously encounters lingering meanings of past
events (Rosenstone, 1995c). Zelizer (1997), in defending Steven Spielberg’s Schindler ’s
List, underscores the legitimacy of popular-culture history movies as part of the “growing
diversiﬁcation of history-making” (p. 20) beyond the traditional authority of historians
and their texts. She praises the function of popular-culture representations that give
pause to the ongoing scholarly record of historical events, that occasionally shake up the
public and rattle its sensibilities about the past, and that make us realize the distinction
between the “event-as-it-happened” and the "event-as-it-is-retold”—which she argues is
the closest anybody can ever come to the actual past (p. 30).

Debates over the role of artistic imagination in history are hardly new. The
philosophical divide between mythic history-as-story and factual history-as-truth goes
back to antiquity (Davis, 2000). Homer claimed divine inspiration behind his historical
poems, but Herodotus said his knowledge was drawn ﬁ'om what he had “learned by
inquiry” and not from a goddess. Thucydides also claimed that his history came from

“inquiries” using critical comparisons of accounts and evidence. Whereas poets like

10

Homer are permitted to exaggerate or invent, Thucydides wrote only what he had
witnessed or discovered from reliable sources. However, the writings of Herodotus
contain many colorful stories for which there is little evidence, and Thucydides doubted
the veracity of some tales. Even Thucydides at times had to fall back on imagination,
inserting made-up but appropriate speeches (like Pericles’s famed Funeral Oration) that
he could not possibly remember word for word.

The philosophical quandary of history-as-art and history-as-truth played a part in
the rise of the modern discipline of history. The development of scientiﬁc history—the
study of historical documents and evidence for the purpose of reconstructing the truth of
what happened in the past—was led by the proliﬁc and long-lived German intellectual
Leopold von Ranke in the early 19th century. Von Ranke was converted to scientiﬁc
history by the shock of discovering inaccuracies in Sir Walter Scott’s historical novel
Quentin Durward. He applied methods he had learned for studying linguistics to the
study of historical texts in hopes that such inaccuracies could be avoided in the future
divans, 1997). Von Ranke’s reaction to Sir Walter Scott’s story, in a sense, kicked off
the quest to learn the “truth” about what happened in the past, which would obsess
historians in Europe and the United States for more than a hundred years. Although most
contemporary historians, swimming in the intellectual currents of the postmodern world,
are more circumspect about historical truth and accept the multiplicity of interpretations
and the ever-changing character of historical knowledge, there is still hope that historical
scholarship amounts to something honest, useful, and meaningful about what happened in
the past (Evans, 1997; Novick, 1988). It is this hope in the soundness of historical

knowledge that makes possible for many scholars and teachers a distinction between

11

historical ﬁction and historical scholarship. Just as von Ranke imagined a way to discern
knowable history from the artistic inventions of Sir Walter Scott, students today can
study history movies as accounts that blend invention, imagination, and knowledge.
History ﬁlms, then, hold a place in a long, evolutionary cultural context.
Rosenstone (1995b) suggests that history ﬁlms represent a kind of “postliterate” culture:
“Film, with its unique powers of representation, now struggles for a place within a
cultural tradition which has long privileged the written wor ” (p. 43). History ﬁlms are
more akin to older forms of oral history—stories about the past that would have been
shared aloud and changed over time, like the Homeric poems. “Literate” culture
intervened between then and now, and the written monograph has had a powerful
inﬂuence on how people relate to the past. History ﬁlms, Rosenstone contends, are a new
visual culture that may change our relationship to the past, just as written culture
challenged older oral culture. Though a literate culture will always have book knowledge
as a counter-voice to ﬁctionalized stories about the past, in an increasingly visual age the
way most people experience history is changing. Rosenstone (2002) argues, “For visual
thinking of the past, metaphor and symbol may become far more important than amassing
data or creating a logical argument,” and wonders if in the far future written history will
be “seen as a religious endeavor, practiced by a priesthood who cares about explicating
the truth of sacred texts” (pp. 479-480). Will ﬁlmmakers become the dominant public
historians? When teachers bring feature ﬁlms into their classrooms, are they
intermediaries for those ﬁlmmakers, and do their lessons inculcate in students this

emerging visual thinking about the past?

12

Invention and Evidence in the Historical Film

History ﬁlms are not just part of culture. They also possess a formula for
storytelling (Rosenstone, 1995a). By nature of being movies, they are narratives told
from the perspectives of featured characters. Only the most experimental, artistic ﬁlms
have attempted to go beyond the linear narrative structure, and few have enjoyed
reception by a mass audience. At its worst, the linear-narrative storytelling formula, with
its emphasis on the perspectives of main characters, present a shallow depiction of the
complexities of the past. Bartov (1997), in discussing Schindler ’s List, notes this
potential problem:

In our post-Holocaust world two major requirements can be detected in public

taste for representations of the past. First is the demand for a “human” story of

will and determination, decency and courage, and ﬁnal triumph over the forces of
evil. Second is the quest for authenticity, for a story which “actually” happened,
though retold according to the accepted conventions of representation. Now,
there is obviously a contradiction between these two demands, since authentic
stories rarely happen according to accepted conventional representations and even

less frequently culminate in the triumph of good over evil. (p. 46)

At its best, however, the linear-narrative storytelling formula can meaningfully
engage with historical knowledge and offer intriguing possible depictions of the past.
Toplin (1996) writes, “Cinematic historians engage forms of poetic speculation much as
historical novelists employ artistic devices. When ﬁlmmakers practice this art with a
well-informed and sensitive appreciation of history, they can make useful contributions to

the public's thinking” (p. 7). In other words, the best history ﬁlms ﬁnd ways to reﬂect the

13

complexities, uncertainties, and strange differences in the past. The ﬁlmic formula is put
to the service of depicting history, rather than putting history simply to the service of
ﬁlmic storytelling conventions. The extent to which a history ﬁlm succeeds on this
measure may be one important, valid criterion in considering its educational value.

It may be helpful to look at how some historians have classiﬁed historically
themed ﬁlms and made sense of the ﬁlmic conventions and techniques used to make
them. Rosenstone (1995a, 1995b) suggests that they can be classiﬁed in three categories:
history as drama (stories with a historical theme or setting, the most common category),
history as document (documentaries, ﬁlms that present accounts of true events), and
history as experiment (avant-garde ﬁlms that are made in opposition to mainstream
cinematic codes of representation, often independent ﬁlms produced outside Hollywood
or ﬁlms from other countries). Rosenstone (1995b) also details four “moves” of
invention used to make history ﬁlms: alteration (changing historical details),
condensation (using a small sample of characters to stand in for the experiences of larger
groups), compression (tightening the number of details or passage of time), and metaphor
(conveying an appropriate historical meaning that goes beyond facts and details). By the
medium’s limitations, all history movies require some degree of invention—the
combination of many complex events into one representative depiction due to the limits
of time, the creation of ﬁctional characters to represent people cannot actually be known
to historians (for example, every individual soldier in an army) or to serve as a composite
of many minor ﬁgures (for example, a regiment’s many sergeants might be combined
into one ﬁgure), or the imagination of background details that historians cannot know

with any veracity but which must nonetheless be depicted in a motion picture (for

14

example, the speciﬁc words historical ﬁgures said in private or the particularly
fumishings of a room on a particular day).

So, does a ﬁlm have any responsibility to historical accuracy? It is hard to say
how many people go to a Hollywood history movie expecting to be taught the whole
truth about the past, but it is likely that many leave wondering what parts of the movie are
reasonably accurate and what elements are fabricated. Techniques for responsibly
informing the reader about evidence, guesswork, and imagination have long been a part
of historians’ professional culture. Davis (2000) wonders if they could be adapted to
ﬁlmmaking, bearing in mind the considerable differences between books and ﬁlms. She
observes that professional historians seek evidence widely and deeply and try to keep an
open mind as they assess it, admit when their evidence is uncertain or ambiguous, make it
clear when they offer personal interpretation beyond what the evidence strictly presents,
try not to impose their subjective judgments on the mental world of historical actors, and
should not knowingly falsify or suppress evidence from the past. She asks, “Can there be
lively cinematic equivalents to what prose histories try to accomplish in prefaces,
bibliographies, and notes and through their modifying and qualifying words 'perhaps,’
'maybe,' and 'we are uncertain about'?” (Davis, 2000, p. 131).

Rosenstone’s typology is helpful for distinguishing the types of history media
used in the classroom—almost always history as drama (Hollywood movies) or history
as document (History Channel programs, for example). For analyzing the educational
potential of history movies, the four moves of invention highlight the ways in which
ﬁlmmakers incorporate, ignore, change, or twist historical evidence about the past when

crafting their stories for the screen. Davis’s questions become all the more pressing when

15

history movies are used in schools. Despite considerable philosophical debate over
whether there is objective truth about the past by which “accuracy” can be gauged,
schools are responsible for teaching students factual subject matter knowledge. Yet,
when it comes to using history movies in the classroom, teachers and students are often
on their own in ﬁguring out what parts are based on factual historical evidence and which
parts are imaginative ﬁction. Can classroom uses of history movies explore issues of
historical accuracy, interpretation, and imagination, or will these issues be forgotten
amidst the exciting sights, sounds, and Hollywood stars? Viewed together, Rosenstone
and Davis raise important considerations to keep in mind in investigating the educational
potential of movies.
Three Frames from the Scholarly Literature

History ﬁlms are the object of study for a growing number of scholars and
educators. In 1988, the American Historical Association began publishing historians’
discussions about history movies in the American Historical Review (an extended
collection appeared in volume 95). In 1999, the AHA devoted an entire special issue of
the professional newsletter Perspectives (volume 37, number 4) to discussions about
history movies and programs on cable and television. There are also scholarly journals,
such as F ilmhistoria and Film and History, devoted exclusively to the study of history-
oriented media and their inﬂuence on society. Educational researchers concerned with
history and social studies also have taken to writing about history media. Articles about
history ﬁlms ﬁ'equently appear in Social Education (published by the National Council
for the Social Studies), The History Teacher, and The Social Studies (Goldstein, 1995;

Johnson & Vargas, 1994; Justice, 2003; Marcus, 2005; Matz & Pingatore, 2005; Metzger,

l6

2005; Seixas, 1993; Sturrna & MacCallum, 2000; Weinstein, 2001; Wineburg, Mosborg,
& Porat, 2001).

In reviewing existing scholarship relating to the uses and analyses of history
ﬁhns, I have adduced three theoretical frames that provide helpful background for the
issues that this dissertation investigates. Of course, these scholarly frames are not hard-
and-fast divisions. There is considerable overlap among and between these perspectives.
Historians, as we will see below, do not all comfortably ﬁt within one analytical
frarnework—critical or postmodern historians work within a different ﬁamework but are
still part of the discipline of history. Each frame is discussed below. I return to them
again when detailing the methods for this study (chapter 2), exploring the kinds of
educational questions each frame raises. These scholarly frames informed my thinking
about the pedagogical functions developed for the content analysis of history ﬁlms
(chapter 3). Furthermore, they served as helpful background as I analyzed four cases of
teachers using history movies in the classroom (chapter 4).

Historians ’ Perspectives

This frame emerges from the scholarship of professional historians and history
educators who have taken an interest in ﬁlms as serious and inﬂuential interpretations of
the past (Bartov, 1997; Briley, 2002; Carnes et al., 1996; Cheyette, 1997; Davis, 2000;
Doherty, 2002; Edgerton, 2001, Grindon, 1994; Landy, 1996, 2001; Loshitzky, 1997;
O’Connor, 1990, 2002; Rosenstone, 1995a, 1995b, 1995c, 2002; Sklar, 1997; Sorlin,
2001; Taves, 2001; Toplin, 1996a, 2002a, 2002b; Toplin & Eudy, 2002; Wyke, 2001,
Zelizer, 1997). Historians’ perspectives do not constitute a single uniﬁed theory but

reﬂect a diverse range of thought about history ﬁlms and their relationship to the written

17

word and published historical scholarship. There is plenty of room for debate within the
historical-disciplinary approach to history media. Toplin (I996a; 2002b) accepts feature
ﬁlms as inﬂuential depictions of the past worth attention and criticism from professional
historians. It does not help simply to chastise ﬁlmmakers for not operating under the
exacting standards of evidence used by professional historians, he writes, but “at the
same time, we need to be aware of the dangers of too much tolerance. Artistic creativity
can be abused. Filmmakers who see no limits to their imagination may present badly
distorted pictures of the past” (Toplin, 1996a, p. 2). He praises “cinematic historians”
who practice artistic speculation “with a well-infonned and sensitive appreciation of
history,” noting that “they can make useful contributions to the public’s thinking” about
the past (p. 7).

Rosenstone (1995a, 1995b, 2002) argues that a ﬁlm is not like and cannot be like
a book; history ﬁlms represent an emerging “postliterate” culture of image, sound, and
symbol. Visual media provide their own form of truths about the past, different from but
not necessarily in conﬂict with the written word. He contends that professional historians
and ﬁlmmakers approach the past with a major similarity: “Both possess attitudes,
assumptions, and beliefs—entire value systems—that color everything they express and
underlie the interpretations by which they organize and give meaning to traces of the
past. Such interpretations may be seen as at once the most important and the most
ﬁctional part of history” (p. 6). In contrast to Toplin’s (1996a, 2002) focus on
commercial mass-media history movies, Rosenstone (1995c) believes that “New History”
ﬁlms, most of which come out of Third-World postcolonial contexts or European

countries experiencing social upheaval, are more important than Hollywood costume

l8

dramas or traditional documentaries. Toplin and Rosenstone even carried their academic
disagreement into the pages of the AHA newsletter Perspectives, (volume 37, numbers 4
and 8), where they debated the current state of research on the historical ﬁlm scholarship
and the appropriate role for ﬁlm-studies theory. This brief review of just two leading
scholars demonstrates the diversity among historians’ perspectives.

Yet, there is space for consensus. More recently, Toplin (2002b) has written that
“the challenge of assessing cinematic history involves more than just raising complaints
about the handling of evidence. . .. A sophisticated response also calls for recognition of
the distinctive ways that movies can stir the public’s thinking about history” (p. 203).
Like Davis (2000) and Rosenstone (1995a, 1995b), Toplin recognizes that an excessive
focus on literal factuality, what Sklar (1997) called the “historian-cop,” misses the
medium’s broader potential as stimulant to historical thinking. Taken overall, historians’
perspectives conceptualize history feature ﬁlms as valid historical interpretations for
scholarly critique, examining their narratives in light of known evidence, cogency of
historical argument, and effectiveness of their elements of historical imagination. Even if
one accepts that history is constructed by individuals within ideological and socio-
cultural contexts, there is a difference between an account of the past based on available
and widely recognized historical evidence and an account that is wholly or partly
imagined in the creator’s mind. This frame suggests that there are multiple perspectives
on past events. For example, was Davy Crockett captured and executed by Santa Ana’s,
soldiers as some period accounts suggest, or did Crockett ﬁght to the death as many

Americans have preferred to believe? The Alamo (2004) chose to depict the former

l9

account, but we cannot know for certain and can only debate the extant, imperfect
evidence.
Historical Thinking and Collective Memory

This frame is drawn from two distinct but complementary veins of scholarship.
Taken together, those lines of scholarship conceptualize history movies as sites of
meaning-making about the past and its relationship to the present. Studying history is a
psychological act of individual cognition, a social act between individuals, communities,
and generations, and a cultural act employing collectively remembered narrative “texts”
that relate the past to the present in ways comprehensible to those who share the common
culture. Though this hybrid ﬁ'ame embraces a wide range of theoretical currents, as a
whole it captures the complexity of the issues behind history education and underscores
the multiple ways in which historical thinking shapes and is shaped by cultural
knowledge and memory.

Historical thinking (here I also include historical consciousness) is reﬂected in a
wide range of scholarship on how people learn, use, and make sense of the history
(Afﬂerbach & VanSledright, 2001; Ashby & Lee, 1987; Bain, 2000; Barton & Levstik,
1998, 2004; Boix-Mansilla, 2000; Carretero, Jacott, Limon, & Lopez-Manjon, 1994;
Epstein & Shiller, 2005; Husbands, Kitson, & Pendry, 2003; Husbands & Pendry, 2000;
Leinhardt, Stainton, & Virji, 1994; Levstik, 2000; Seixas, 1993, 1994, 2004;
VanSledright, 2002; Von Borries, 1994; Wineburg, 1991, 2001; Wineburg et al., 2000).
The ﬁeld has been inﬂuenced by Sam Wineburg’s (2001) research on how students

construct understandings of the past, make sense of both similarities and strange

20

differences between past and present, and convey meanings about the past across
generations. Wineburg describes historical thinking as a strange and difﬁcult act:
Historical thinking requires us to reconcile two contradictory positions: ﬁrst, that
our established modes of thinking are an inheritance that cannot be sloughed off,
and, second, that if we make no attempt to slough them off, we are doomed to a
mind-numbing presentism that reads the present onto the past. (p. 12)
In other words, we cannot think about the past divorced from our own lives shaped by
place and time, but if we do not explicitly recognize our situated perspectives we are
likely to impose it on a strange past in order to make it seem more familiar to us.
Wineburg and his colleagues have also explored the role of ﬁlm in historical
thinking, in particular the 1994 Oscar-winning ﬁlm Forrest Gump and its iconic
representations of American culture in the 19605 and 19705. When interviewing parents
and students about the period, they found that the ﬁlm was mentioned repeatedly; as a
“shared text between parent and child, its inﬂuence was peerless” (Wineburg et al., 2000,
p. 57). Wineburg (2001) has further argued that movies like Forrest Gump may play a
role similar to that played by “sacred texts” in earlier times—consumed repeatedly by
members of the culture until those texts become part of the social consciousness (p. 241).
Wineburg’s contribution to the ﬁeld of historical thinking points speciﬁcally to how
movies can function as common texts that pass on certain historical meanings between
generations while forgetting certain other meanings.
Another proliﬁc contributor to the ﬁeld is Peter Seixas (1993; 1994; 2004).
Seixas (1993) conducted one of the ﬁrst studies explicitly about student responses to

history feature ﬁlms, showing segments of the 1990 ﬁlm Dances with Wolves (1990) and

21

the 1956 Western The Searchers to 11 Vancouver high schoolers to probe their thinking
about Native American-White relations. He points out that viewing popular-culture
movies is related to the problem of empathic imagination: “Students are likely to be
swept quite completely into the 'historical' world as presented on ﬁlm, but unlikely to
exercise critical judgements of the ﬁlmic depiction of the past” (p. 352). This was
especially true, he found, of the more recent Dances with Wolves, rooted in the
contemporary culture in which students live and act. He concluded about the students’
evaluations of the ﬁlm:

Its effectiveness was based on its being “realistic,” not on its being “accurate”. . ..

Not having much information on the historical topic, when forced to make a

judgement, [students] fell back on their knowledge of “human nature” and their

sense of an appropriate and believable narrative line.... In other words, ironically,
the more a “historical” ﬁlm presents life in the past as being similar to life in the

present, the more believable it is to these students. (Seixas, 1993, p. 364)

In other words, the inﬂuence of movies on students’ historical thinking can be
powerful. Seixas (I993) cautions that uncritical immersion in such ﬁlms is a “dangerous
strategy on which to base history instruction, since it simply strengthens students’ already
considerable propensity to accept uncritically the media’s presentations of the past” (p.
366). Represented by the research of Wineburg and Seixas, historical thinking must be
understood as complex individual cognition with substantial socio-cultural overtones.

Collective memory (or cultural/social memory) is reﬂected in scholarship about
how ideas, meanings, and understandings of the past are socially constructed and

collectively shared across generations through families, media, works of art, literature,

22

and ﬁlm, museums, and public parks and monuments (Bal, Crewe, & Spitzer, 1999;
Frisch, 1989; Gedi & Elam, 1996; Kammen, 1995; Klein, 2000; Lowenthal, 1997;
Megill, 1998; Nora, 1989;01ick & Robbins, 1998; Ozick, 1999; Radstone, 2000;
Schudson, 1995; Sobchack, 1996; Wertsch, 1994, 2000, 2002, 2004; Zerubavel, 2003).
Bal, Crewe, and Spitzer (1999) deﬁne social/cultural memory as remembering that is a
cultural as well as individual phenomenon. Cultural remembering is something actually
performed as a result of collective agency: “Cultural memorization is an activity
occurring in the present, in which the past is continuously modiﬁed and redescribed even
as it continues to shape the future” (p. vii). For example, a Western icon like Custer has
been redescribed in cultural memory over the past several decades from unambiguously a
hero of westward expansion (as people who grew up in the 19505 might remember) to a
representative of exploitative Manifest Destiny; at the Little Big Horn today, a statue of
his Sioux enemy towers over the old monument to Custer’s Last Stand.

Wineburg (2001) reinforces this observation in his distinction between “collective
memory” and “collective occlusion” (stories and cultural codes blocked in the
transmission from one generation to the next). “Collective memory acts as a ﬁlter,” he
argues—what is remembered or occluded is constantly reshaped by contemporary social
pressures (p. 249). Some researchers have noted that collective memory can be distorted
across time and different societal groups (Schacter, 1995). Schudson (1995) argues,
“Distortion is inevitable. Memory is a distortion since memory is invariably and
inevitably selective. A way of seeing is a way of not seeing, a way of remembering is a
way of forgetting, too” (p. 348). Thus, people remember their collective past through

constructed narratives. Schudson (1995) suggests how movies are a kind of narrative

23

memory text—the 1976 ﬁlm All the President '5 Men collapses the Watergate affair into a
narrative of two heroic reporters exposing a corrupt government, and the 1965 movie
musical The Sound of Music remembers Austrians mainly as Nazi victims rather than
collaborators. However, Kammen (1995) points out that “distortion or even the
manipulation of collective memory does not always, or inevitably, occur for cynical or
hypocritical reasons” (p. 340). Broad shifts in public narratives frequently coincide with
major social transformations. “How else can [society] coherently adapt to change, often
desirable change, without being plagued by a sense of inconsistency or sham?” (p. 340).
James Wertsch (1994; 2000; 2002; 2004) is an inﬂuential contributor to the
literature on the process of collective remembering. Wertsch (2002) contends that
collective remembering occurs through “narrative texts” that are important to us and that
people tend to think simply relate what actually happened. They are stories and
impressions that represent perceived notions of truth about the past. Narratives (whether
from books, school, movies, or family lore) serve as “textual resources” that stand in
between the events themselves (which younger members of the society could not have
experienced themselves) and individual understandings of them. Collective memory is
inherently “multivoiced”—which is to say, memory is “distributed” between the
performing individual and the “cultural tools” (language, narratives) employed. The
result is a “mediated action” that is a product of a “textual community”—the voice of the
actor and the available cultural tools. He rejects notions of “internalization” of collective
memory in favor of “mastery” (the ability to use a narrative without necessitating any
emotional commitment to it) and “appropriation” (to make a received narrative one’s

own). The counterpoint to appropriation is “resistance”—just because a narrative is

24

mastered (or used) does not mean it is internally appropriated. Wertsch (2002) further
observes:

The tendency [is] to assume that it is somehow possible to produce collective

memory directly. Such an assumption is reﬂected in analyses that imply that if

we know about the narrative texts produced by a collective, we know what people
will think, believe, and say. In actuality, even the most exhaustive study of text
production cannot tell us whether narratives will be used in the way intended by

their producers. (p. 117)

Wertsch’s conceptualization is useful for considering the educational uses of
history movies. Schools are important sites for collective remembering. History movies
are widely circulated narratives about the past and how it relates to the present. They are
also textual resources employed as tools in cultural discourses, as demonstrated in the
Seixas (1993; 1994) and Wills (1994) studies of how students made use of Dances with
Wolves. Students are social actors who will use a textual resource in their own ways—
sometimes even in ways not intended by their teachers.

Critical Media Scholarship

This frame emerges from critical cultural and media studies that view media texts
as sites for social power, control, resistance, and formation of individual and societal
identities (Buckingham, 2003; Buckingham & Sefton-Green, 1994; Ellsworth & Whatley,
1990; Fiske, 1989; Giroux, 1999; 2002; Giroux & Simon, 1989; Masterrnan, 1985;
Segall, 1997, 1999; Shohat & Stamm, 1994; Stoddard, 2004). Segall (1997) has useﬁrlly
deﬁned the critical media perspective as it applies to schools: “The core principle of

media education is that media are symbolic systems that need to be actively read. . ..

25

This, in turn, encourages students to actively produce their own meanings rather than
accept institutionalized meanings as givens” (pp. 230-231). A chief goal of critical media
education, then, is to educate students to be critical consumers of media, aware of the
inﬂuence media exert on individuals and society. Media are not just consumer
entertainment choices but tools for the active construction of social identities and
hierarchies.

Segall (1997) contends that students need to be “encouraged to explore how
knowledge (text) is produced, legitimated, and interpreted in its historical and social
contexts” (p. 233). Extending Segall’s rationale to history ﬁlms, it is not sufﬁcient to
think of history movies simply as expressions of knowledge—they are media texts with
social meanings explicitly and implicitly coded in them. For example, in the Steven
Spielberg’s 2005 ﬁlm Munich, the Jewish characters speak English while their enemies
speak Arabic with subtitles. This choice is an intentional act that creates distance
between the PLO and the audience and more intimacy with the Jewish protagonist.
Exploring ﬁlms as social texts takes on even greater importance when the ﬁlm deals with
issues of race, power, and social inclusion (Stoddard, 2004; Stoddard & Marcus, in
press). Building on Shohat and Stamm’s (1994) work on the “burden of historical
representation,” Stoddard (2004) argues that ﬁlms that portray marginalized or
underrepresented groups need to be used in the classroom especially carefully if students
are to be “able to form a more complex and diverse understanding of the great and
multiple contributions of all groups in our history” (p. 23). If not, students (especially

those of privileged backgrounds) could conclude that dominant societal power

26

arrangements seen in mainstream ﬁlms are normal, natural, and beyond the need to
critique or even consider.

The critical media frame raises controversial issues that deserve to be considered
when looking at the educational uses of history movies. Films are like any other
curricular material employed by a teacher for instructional purposes. Ellsworth and
Whatley (1990) ask, “How does the use of visual representation in curriculum materials
privilege some ways of knowing over others?” (p. 3). The powerful images of movies
communicate particular messages and information, and as a consequence others messages
and information are de-emphasized or ignored. Fiske (1989) notes the “intertextuality”
between popular culture commodities, as texts, and their audiences. Different audiences
read texts in different ways and make different uses: “The popular text is a text of
struggle between forces of. . .the readerly and the producerly” (Fiske, 1989, p. 127).
Movies (as media texts) in the classroom operate within an intertextuality between how
the students and teachers (as readers/audience) respond and make use of them and the
producer-intended responses and uses of the ﬁlms as commercial commodities. Media
texts involving history, including movies, are produced for particular purposes to convey
particular messages about the past and society today. Masterman (1985) argues that any
history ﬁlm,

should be seen as an ideological “working” of the past for the purposes of the

present. Students need to ask why this particular subject has been chosen, why it

is being treated in this way, what “lessons” are being drawn ﬁom it, and with

whose point of view we are being encouraged to identify. (p. 259)

27

In other words, history ﬁlms are notjust about the past but also its relation to our world
today. What history they cover is only part of the equation, along with how they cover it
and why. In this sense, they are no different than written histories, which are inﬂuenced
by the passions, beliefs, and enthusiasms of their historian-authors (Jenkins, 1991;
Novick, 1988)

Critical scholarship generally espouses a radical-left ideology, perhaps best
reﬂected in the scholarship of Henry Giroux (1999; 2002). Though skeptical of the
inﬂuence of corporations like Disney on youth, he embraces ﬁlm study in education as a
powerful learning tool. For Giroux (2002), ﬁlms are “a new form of pedagogical text”
(p. 8) that “offer a pedagogical space for addressing how a society views itself and the
public world of power, events, politics, and institutions” (p. 10). It is possible to utilize
the explanatory power of this critical media scholarship without necessarily subscribing
to its ideological stances. This dissertation endeavors to be conscious of the core issues
raised by the critical media frame, chieﬂy that feature ﬁlms are multifaceted societal texts
that warrant careful analytical readings by scholars who study them and teachers who use
them with students.

Rationale and Organization

With the history feature ﬁlms conceptualized as a subject of research and
equipped with three theoretical frames drawn from scholarly literature, I now can lay out
the purposes and shape of the coming chapters. First, 1 detail the core questions at the
heart of this study—what I have learned about the instructional uses of history movies.

Then, 1 summarize the chapters to come and what they aim to accomplish.

28

Guiding Questions

Two core questions lay at the heart of this study. First there is the question:
“What can students learn about the past, the people in it, and its relationship to our world
today from history movies?” History feature ﬁlms are complex and diverse media texts.
Each ﬁlm is a unique combination of selected historical information, interpretations, and
imaginations. They are narratives about the past made by and for people in the present.
It is important to consider what ﬁlms can teach students about the past and its connection
to our contemporary experiences. How do movies convey factual historical knowledge
as well as ﬁctional imagination? How do movies communicate meanings about history,
about people, and about societies? Most importantly, these questions explore the inherent
characteristics history movies possess that teachers can mobilize in their lessons.

There is also a second question: “What movies do teachers use in the classroom,
in what ways, and to what purposes and educational ends?” Teachers have a vast
selection of movies to choose from when designing ﬁlm-based lessons. A ﬁlm chosen
for classroom use is selected for speciﬁc purposes and employed in particular ways to
achieve instructional goals. Different teachers may use the same ﬁlm in very different
ways to different ends. Every teacher has his or her own unique range of motivations—
intentions, needs, hopes, and goals—in bringing history movies into the classroom. How
do teacher motivations affect the ﬁlm as experienced by students in the classroom? What
do these ﬁlm-based lessons actually look like when carried out in the classroom? How
do students receive these ﬁlm-based lessons? Most importantly, these questions explore
why teachers are drawn to the classroom use of movies, why they use them in the ways

that they do, and how students respond to them as instructional experiences.

29

Structure of the Dissertation

This dissertation contains two loosely connected studies of history feature ﬁlms as
texts for learning about the past. The ﬁrst component is a conceptual analysis of the
educational potential of history movies; the purpose is to illustrate a way of evaluating
history ﬁlms as instructional tools. The second component is a ﬁeld study of teachers
and students watching ﬁlms in actual secondary classrooms. Though these components
were conceived and conducted distinctly, this dissertation points out the connections
between them. In this introduction, 1 have tried to conceptualize my research subject,
position it within scholarly literature, and detail the kinds of questions this study aims to
address. The chapters to follow are summarized below.

Methods for Studying History Movies in the Classroom (chapter 2) details the
methodology employed in this study. It discusses the evolution of the project, both
intellectually and in execution. The chapter returns to the three scholarly frames and
describes how they informed the development of a pedagogical content analysis
framework for history feature ﬁlms. Additionally, it describes methods for ﬁeldwork in
actual classrooms, how teachers and students were recruited as participants, and the
observations and interviews in which they participated.

The Educational Potential of History Feature Films (chapter 3) focuses
conceptually on history feature ﬁlms as subject-matter texts. The chapter lays out a
framework for conducting pedagogical content analyses of history movies, examining
what a ﬁlm teaches about the past, the people in it, and its connection to the world today
along six pedagogical dimensions. The ﬁamework is applied in full on three history

feature ﬁlms with the potential to be used, in whole or in part, in secondary classrooms.

30

Seeing the Past, Playing It Safe: F our Cases of History Feature Films in the
Classroom (chapter 4) focuses on teacher and student interactions with history movies.

It explores teachers’ goals and motivations for teaching with ﬁlm, how teachers actually
use ﬁlm in the classroom, and what their ﬁlm-based lessons accomplish. The chapter
offers four in-depth case studies of instructional uses of history movies in actual
secondary classrooms and analyzes what these teachers tried to do and why.

Conclusion: The Place of History Feature Films in Historical Literacy (chapter 5)
ties together the previous chapters. It offers further thoughts on why teachers use history
movies in their classrooms and lays out a vision of the role history feature ﬁlms can play
in helping students develop historical literacy. Additionally, it considers some practical

implications of instructional uses of feature ﬁlms on history teaching and learning.

31

Chapter 2
Methods for Studying History Movies in the Classroom

This dissertation explores the potential of commercial mass-media feature
historical ﬁlms when used for instructional ends. I employ three different research
methods: content analysis of three speciﬁc history feature ﬁlms; observational case
studies of four different teachers; and in-depth interviews with the four teachers and a
small sample of their students. This chapter explicates the methods employed in the
study and their affordances and limitations.

Deﬁning the Object of Analysis

This study focuses exclusively on the use of commercial mass-media history
motion pictures/featurefilms, colloquially called “history movies.” The ﬁrst deﬁning
characteristic is their commercial quality: they are consumable products made principally
for-proﬁt, not educational purposes, and after their initial theatrical run or airings on
cable/satellite or broadcast television broadcast are released on private home video. The
second deﬁning characteristic is mass-media orientation: wide national distribution in a
large number of movie theaters (generally more than one thousand screens in the opening
week) or on a major American cable/satellite or broadcast television network. Hence,
scholars often use the more general term “feature ﬁlms” to describe them—they are full-
length “features” made by a ﬁlm-production studio. The ﬁnal essential characteristic is
their historical nature: the majority of screen time depicts historical settings or actual
historical ﬁgures or events. The “historical” measure can only be arbitrarily deﬁned: for
the purposes of this study, a ﬁlm is “historical” if it is set in a time period more than one

full decade from the present year, 2006.

32

These deﬁnitional characteristics permit us to usefully distinguish between
possible ﬁlm selections. By the above deﬁnition, Black Hawk Down (2001) would be a
possible title in this study—the ﬁlm, distributed by Columbia Pictures and opening in
wide release on more than 3,000 screens, depicts the U.S. military action in Somalia in
1992. Likewise, All the President ’s Men (1976) is a possible selection—though the ﬁlm
was made only a few years after the Watergate affair, it was distributed by Warner
Brothers and depicts events that occurred now more than 30 years ago. Caesar (2002) is
also a possible selection—though the ﬁlm was produced in Europe, it originally aired in
the U.S. on TNT cable network and was subsequently released on home video. The
above characteristics also exclude certain selections. First, any documentary ﬁlm that is
not a presented in the format of a dramatic narrative story is excluded, even if it had a
theatrical release—for example, Fog of War (2003). Likewise, educational documentary
ﬁlms produced for television (PBS) or cable (History Channel) networks are excluded.
Additionally, dramatic ﬁlms depicting past events that occurred less than a decade ago
(for example, ﬁlms made in the past few years about the Enron corporate scandal) are
excluded. Lastly, small-scale independent (“art”) ﬁlms or international ﬁlms without a
domestic U.S. distributor are excluded; such ﬁlms generally are not widely available on
VHS or DVD and are less likely then to be used in schools.

Exclusion is not a criticism of the quality of these ﬁlms, their historical interest, or
their pedagogical potential. The purpose for deﬁning the object of analysis in these
terms—commercial mass-media history motion-pictures/featureﬁlms—is to consider the
most inﬂuential popular-culture feature ﬁlms about history that schoolchildren may

encounter. These are movies that youths (especially teenagers) are most likely to see on

33

their own and that teachers are most likely to use in the classroom. Some scholars are
primarily interested in experimental “New History” art ﬁlms (Grindon, 1994; Landy,
2001; Rosenstone, 1995c), but these are too obscure to ﬁnd widespread use in U.S. public
schools. Nonetheless, the analytic tools employed in this study could very well be
extended to the study of other kinds of ﬁlm as well.
Pedagogical Content Analyses of History Feature Films

The ﬁrst approach taken to exploring the potential pedagogical use of ﬁlms
entailed generating and testing a conceptual framework for document content analysis of
history feature ﬁlms and what they might teach or be used to teach a viewer about the
past and its connection to our world today. Methods for content analysis of visual, audio,
and print documents are well established in quantitative research domains (General
Accounting Office [GAO], 1989; List, 2002; Stemler, 2001). As described in the
literature, typical methods involve deﬁning analytical categories, dividing up discrete
segments of content in the document into the appropriate categories, and calculating the
frequencies that certain instances in speciﬁc categories. For example, literary scholars
have used quantitative content analysis methods on writings of uncertain authorship by
calculating the rates of usage of certain words or phrases and comparing them to the rates
of usage of known authors. If the document of uncertain authorship uses certain
uncommon phrasings at a similar rate to a document of known authorship, it is likely that
they share the same author. This study, however, does not employ content analysis for
quantitative calculations. Instead, it takes the core idea of content analysis—a structured

consideration of visual and auditory material within established and carefully deﬁned

34

categories—and extends them into qualitative domains for the purposes of analyzing the
pedagogical potential of history feature ﬁlms.

What I call “pedagogical content analysis” is the resulting product, an analytical
tool for considering a ﬁlm’s pedagogical potential to teach the viewer about history. It is
concerned with how the ﬁlm’s content (characterizations, dialogue, imagery, sounds),
narrative structures (storytelling devices and screenplay organization), and visual and
aural rhetorics (ﬁlmic conventions, scenic devices, and choices in sights and sounds)
convey information, alternative interpretations, and thematic messages about the past and
the people in it. The framework deﬁnes three categorical dyads (pairs of related
pedagogical functions) and uses them to explore both the holistic shape (the ﬁlm-
document’s overall, dominant narrative) and discrete elements (individual scenes and
their relationship to each other) of a history feature ﬁlm. The actual pedagogical content
analysis ﬁ'amework is presented and described in chapter 3.

I began the development of the content analysis rubric by consulting the literature
on content analysis methods (GAO, 1989; List, 2002; Stemler, 2001). However, these
extant methods were chieﬂy quantitative and did not directly address the kinds of
meanings and interpretations that I wanted to examine in history feature ﬁlms. Informed
by the literature on cultural, media, and history ﬁlm studies (Buckingham & Sefton-
Green, 1994; Fiske, 1989; Hayward, 1996; Landy, 1996; Loshitzky, 1997; Masterman,
1985; Nelson, Treichler, & Grossberg, 1992; Schatz, 2004; Sobchack, 1996) and
consulting journals like Film Comment and Film Quarterly, I set out to construct my own
framework. Important to the development of my thinking was the scholarship on history

in media (Cames, Mico, Miller-Monzon, & Rubel, 1996; Davis, 2000; Doherty, 2002;

35

Edgerton & Rollins, 2001; Landy, 2001; O'Connor, 1990, 2002; Rosenstone, 1995a,
1995b, 1995c, 2002; Sorlin, 2001; Toplin, 1996a, 2002a, 2002b; Toplin & Eudy, 2002;
Weinstein, 2001), on how people think about history and participate in collective or
social remembering of the past, including through movies (Bal, Crewe, & Spitzer, 1999;
Frisch, 1989; Gedi & Elam, 1996; Kammen, 1995; Klein, 2000; Lowenthal, 1997;
Megill, 1998; Nora, 1989; Click & Robbins, 1998; Ozick, 1999; Radstone, 2000;
Rosenzweig & Thelen, 1998; Schacter, 1995; Seixas, 1993, 1994, 2004; Stoddard &
Marcus, in press; Wertsch, 2002, 2004; Wills, 1994; Wineburg, Mosborg, & Porat, 2000;
Zerubavel, 2003), and on ﬁlm in cultural studies and media education (Buckingham,
2003; Ellsworth & Whatley, 1990; Giroux, 1999, 2002; Giroux & Simon, 1989; Segall,
1997)

Three scholarly frames were adduced from my reading: historians’ perspectives,
historical thinking/collective memory, and critical media scholarship. Each frame
suggests distinct central questions about the educational uses of history feature ﬁlms (see

Table 2.1).

36

Table 2.1

ThreeScholarly Frames Informing This Study

 

Central Questions

 

o What role should historical scholarship/evidence play
in history feature ﬁlms and what is the place for
invention?

Historians’ Perspectives o What makes a history feature ﬁlm’s account of the
past valid or invalid, sound or objectionable?

o What kinds of history feature ﬁlms convey the most

JOWCI’ﬁJI content knowledge for use in schools?

 

o How do history feature ﬁlms inﬂuence the ways that
people construct, communicate, and make use of the
past?

0 How do history feature ﬁlms function as “narratives”

Historical Thinking/Memory that mediate collective remembering and uses of the
past?

0 How do history feature ﬁlms shape which
understandings of the past are appropriated or
occluded by youngleamers?

 

 

- How do history feature ﬁlms create, reinforce, or
challenge existing social identities and power
hierarchies?

o What knowledge and mental skills do young learners

Critical Media Scholarship need to think critically about history ﬁlms as media
texts?

o What kinds of curricular and instructional attention
are most effective in helping students learn from
history ﬁlms?

 

 

These three frames and their central questions informed the development of the
pedagogical content analysis. Pedagogical functions along which the educational
potential of a history movie could be analyzed emerged from the issues that I inferred in
the scholarly literature. As explain in full in chapter 3, each function is a substantive lens
through which I explored particular concerns, but each is also linked with a closely allied

set of concerns. Hence, I have conceived them as six separately deﬁned functions in

37

 

three dyads. Table 2.2 lists the functions as dyads and details the analytic questions
central to the paired functions individually and jointly.
Table 2.2

Pedagogical Content Analysis Functions, Dyads, and Their Central Questions

 

Central Questions

 

Jointly Individually

o How well does the ﬁlm
convey historical

 

 

 

Content Coverage Historical fact and ﬁction knowledge based on
scholarly evrdence about
a How does the ﬁlm make
_____________________ . . the_past?
'''''''''' use offactual rnforrnatron WH ffldth
and ﬁctional invention? . ow e ectrve y oes e
. . ﬁlm re-create or represent
Period Representation .
particular eras or elements
in the past?
a How does the ﬁlm build a
Historical historical narrative through
Construction 0 Constructing the past and available evidence and
. .............................. the People in it ......intsmtstatiesseitherzastz.-
0 How does the film build its 0 How appropriately does
historical narrative and the ﬁlm convey messages
Social Construction socral depictions of its aboutpeople in the past,
characters? especrall)l marginalized

groups in relation to
dominant groups?

 

o How does the ﬁlm involve
the viewer emotionally in

Empathy Reacting to the past its representations of the
_______________________________ What are the ﬁlm’s past?
interpretive themes about 0 What conclusions about
the past and what ethical people, perspectives, or
stances/ messages are events in the past are
Moral Response conveyed? conveyed by the ﬁlm and

how are they connected to
our world today?

 

 

 

 

38

 

Evolution of the Framework

The pedagogical content analysis framework evolved in stages. In its initial
inception, I tried to stick close to its roots in quantitative document analysis. I deve10ped
a grid-like checklist that sorted each scene in the ﬁlm into one of the analytical
categories, with the ultimate purpose of tallying under which pedagogical function the
ﬁlm is best classiﬁed (i.e., this ﬁlm is mainly a “historical empathy” ﬁlm). However, I
came to realize that a quantitative focus was too blunt. What I was really was interested
in was the ﬁlm’s historical meanings and messages, not in calculating elements or
classifying ﬁlm types. Furthermore, it made little sense to classify a ﬁlm as chieﬂy
associated with one particular pedagogical function when a ﬁlm relates to every
pedagogical function in some manner. Consequently, I shifted to format that allowed me
to use all of the analytical categories in analyzing each ﬁlm.

The dyads themselves changed slightly, too. Initially, I paired Period
Representation with Social Representation (what later become Social Construction) and
Historical Construction with Content Coverage. While doing the ﬁrst ﬁlm analysis (for
The Alamo), I realized that the “representation” aspects did not align as meaningﬁrlly as I
initially conceived—what was really at the heart of that ﬁrnction was the active
construction of societal elements. Revised as Social Construction, it was paired with
Historical Construction—the active construction of historical narrative elements.
Likewise, Period Representation was paired with Content Coverage. My experience with
the ﬁrst ﬁlm analysis helped me align the connections and distinguish the speciﬁc
domains of the Content Coverage/Period Representation dyad more meaningfully. The

Alamo analysis was reorganized along the lines of the revised framework, which I used

39

for the next two ﬁlm analyses. Once the framework was set down in a clear, concrete,
and replicable format, it was possible to make cross-case comparisons of the ﬁlms.
Although each pedagogical content analysis is unique and linked to the context of the
speciﬁc ﬁlm, the common stock of pedagogical ﬁrnctions and their deﬁning
characteristics and questions makes it possible to group the kinds of concerns and
information generated across different ﬁlms.

The study’s three components were conceptualized as loosely linked
investigations of the use of historical ﬁlms in secondary classrooms from three
perspectives: the ﬁlm, the teacher, and the students. Thus, the pedagogical content
analysis framework was intentionally designed in advance of any ﬁeldwork. Viewing
and analyzing ﬁlms prior to ﬁeldwork allowed me to recalibrate my own assumptions
and views concerning historical ﬁlms and their use in classrooms (I return to the issue of
my own biases shortly). While it might have been ideal to have aligned the ﬁlm
document analysis with the actual ﬁlms in the observational component of this study,
participating teachers and the feature ﬁlms they would be using had not been identiﬁed
yet.I As a result, I chose ﬁlms based on external criteria (see chapter 3).

Teachers Using History Feature Films

The second inquiry involved a comparative ﬁeld study of four teachers and their

uses of ﬁlm in secondary social studies classrooms. My observations and interviews

were conducted from November, 2005 through January, 2006. I begin by explaining the

 

' Indeed, even ﬁnding teachers who could commit to using a particular ﬁlm would have been difficult.
Experienced teachers have a collection of ﬁlms to choose from, and it was my experience in the ﬁeldwork
that decisions about which ﬁlms to use were made, and then revised, depending on how the curriculum was
advancing or which ﬁlm the teacher believed would be best for the students. One teacher (Kellie) changed
her mind about which ﬁlm to use over the weekend before showing it in class on Monday.

40

strategies used for soliciting participation of the teachers. Afterward, I describe the
strategies for interviewing the teachers and observing their ﬁlm-based lessons.
Sample and Access

While ﬁlms are used widely in social studies classrooms, there is no centrally
located repository of information concerning teachers who use ﬁlms, or what ﬁlms they
use. Furthermore, one cannot guarantee that a randomly selected teacher will use a ﬁlm
in his or her social studies classroom. Thus, I had to develop a means for selecting
participants that targeted teachers who were known users of historical ﬁlms. To identify
and recruit possible participants, I asked colleagues (university faculty, other graduate
students, personal friends and acquaintances in the teaching profession) to nominate
middle- and high-school social studies teachers who used history feature ﬁlms in the
classroom and might be open to letting an outsider observer visit. Four colleagues (two
graduate students, one graduate student still working as a classroom teacher, and one
friend working as a classroom teacher) responded with nominations of one middle-school
and seven high-school teachers working in the tri-county area around Michigan State
University; two colleagues nominated one additional teacher in more distant counties, as
fallback possibilities. I made initial contact with the eight nominated teachers in the tri-
county area through postal mail. Three did not reply, ﬁve did.

Following the university’s required protocol for securing human-subjects research
approval, I then initiated contact with the administration of the four school districts.
Designated officials (the principals in three of the schools, a district assistant
superintendent in one) responded and granted approval for the named teachers to

participate in the research. However, by this time a teacher at the fourth school district

41

stopped corresponding with me, despite repeated attempts to contact her by phone, email,
and letter. Thus, she was removed from the sample. Ultimately, the study proceeded
with four participants (pseudonymously named Isabel, Kellie, Marie, and Regina) at three
schools (pseudonymously named Great Falls High School, Ottawa High School, and
Waynesburg Middle School). All four teachers participated in the study through data
collection (see appendix A for consent forms). However, one left on maternity leave
shortly thereafter and could no longer be contacted.

These four teachers do not form a representative sample. First, all are women in
their late twenties or older. Second, three are White, and the one teacher of color is not
originally from the United States and is a legal resident (not a citizen). Third, their three
school districts are mostly suburban, largely of middle-class socio-economic status, and
have student populations that are overwhelmingly White (Black and Hispanic populations
are underrepresented in all three schools compared to broader U.S. demographics).
Though they and their students may not be representative demographically, they are
typical of a great many suburban classrooms throughout the country. In future research, I
plan to study teachers and students in more diverse settings, since there is some history
education research that suggests that students from different backgrounds respond to texts
and curriculum in history classrooms in different ways (Epstein & Shiller, 2005; Levstik,
2000; Price, 1998).

Observational data collection. Frequent communication (by phone and email)
was established with the participating teachers in order to identify when feature ﬁlms
would be used in their classrooms and to schedule interviews and observations. Prior to

the observations, 1 developed a rubric to focus my attention during the ﬁeldwork. The

42

elements of that rubric included: the timing of activities, the amount of time spent on
discussions, the questions and comments discussed by the teacher and students during
class time, and evidence of teacher motivations enacted and student reactions to them.
Field notes were written on a laptop during the observations. No video or audio
recordings were made during ﬁeld observations.

As part of the approval to work with the teachers, I agreed only to come into their
classrooms when invited and not to interfere with the normal functioning of the class time
or school day for the students. As a consequence, when I was able to visit the classrooms
and for how many days varied among the participants. Whenever possible, I tried to
arrange visits before the classroom use of the ﬁlm, during the days in which the ﬁlm was
shown, and for any day after the ﬁlm was shown when it was discussed or used for an
activity in class. In most cases, I observed only one speciﬁc class period nominated by
the teacher. In Regina’s case, the ﬁlm was shown during an all-day special event in the
school auditorium for all of her classes at once; thus, I observed all her classes at once on
this day and then observed one speciﬁc class period thereafter. Field observations
focused on the teacher’s practice, the shape of the lesson experienced by the class as a
whole, and on public comments and questions during the observed lessons. Field notes
were typed in real-time during the classes on a laptop computer using an organizational
rubric document made to be used with MS-WORD.

The organizational rubric template (see appendix B) illustrates the kinds of things
I was looking and listening for while observing lessons. First, I gathered information
about the course and classroom context—numbers of students and their diversity, course

and unit names, course textbook used. Second, for each period observed, I tried to keep

43

track of what different activities or events affecting the classroom occurred, at what
times, and for how long. Third, I endeavored to note the substance of all audible in-class
communications between the teacher and students. Since I did not have permission to
audio-record class sessions, I described what they were talking about and the apparent
meaning, illustrated as needed by quotations. Even this proved extremely difficult, as my
placement in the room limited what I could see or hear, individual student remarks often
were inaudible, and comments during class discussions frequently overlapped.

Using my ﬁeld notes, I then wrote lengthy, descriptive narrative case studies for
each teacher’s use of a ﬁlm. These narrative write-ups organized the notes on class
timing, activities, and teacher-student interaction and comments into a descriptive and
chronological framework. These descriptive cases were then used as the basis for the full
analyses in chapter 4.

Interview data collection. Teacher interviews were guided by semi-structured
protocols written in advance. Questions fell into three clusters: background questions
about the teacher’s professional experience; questions about the teacher’s planned use of
the ﬁlm; and a post-ﬁlm reﬂection, which occurred from one to four weeks later. In
some cases the background portion and pre-ﬁlm interviews were conducted on the same
day, while in other cases they were arranged on separate days (depending on the teachers’
schedules). Interviews were held at various times convenient for the teacher’s schedule,
usually after school but before school in one case and during a planning/lunch period in
another case (see appendix C for interview protocols).

The “background” portion asked teachers to talk about their education and

experience as teachers, about their uses of media in the classroom in general, and about

44

the unit I would be observing. The “pre-ﬁlm” portion speciﬁcally explored their reasons
for their ﬁlm choice, their intentions for using the ﬁlm, their previous experiences using
the ﬁlm, and their general opinions about the inﬂuence and factuality of history movies.
The post-ﬁlm reﬂection allowed teachers to talk about the lessons I observed and how
they thought those lessons went. I then presented them with six hypothetical scenarios of
classroom uses of history movies and asked each teacher to offer their thoughts on the
scenarios, as a way to explore their philosophies about history and to expand my
understanding of each teacher’s perspectives beyond the speciﬁcs of the single ﬁlm I
observed them use.

All teacher interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed. The transcripts were
coded along the dimensions of teacher motivation for using ﬁlms in the classroom that
were delineated in chapter 1 (covering content; motivating student interest; rewarding
student behavior; attending to personal needs; complicating historical interpretations
provided by textbooks; advancing a particular worldview; personal passion). Other codes
reﬂected practical or technical issues: amount of video (used in class); selecting video
(ﬁnding, choosing, and acquiring video); video content (curriculum, subject matter,
images and depictions); video ethics (in selection and use, in dealing with parents, kids,
and schools); video uses (in lesson planning and teaching); Student learning (from video);
student responses (to video); opinions on movies (from the teacher, about ﬁlms and the
ﬁlm industry). These codes were used to identify portions of the interviews to analyze

more extensively (see chapter 4).

45

Student Reactions to History Feature Films

The third method of inquiry involved students’ reactions to history feature ﬁlms.
I begin by explaining the issues affecting the selection of and access to students. Then, I
describe the strategies for interviewing small samples of students after participating in
their teacher’s ﬁlm-based lesson.

Sample and Access

Working with minors is one of the most sensitive aspects of educational research.
No students were approached as part of this study until after the teachers had consented
to participate and formal consent was granted by designated ofﬁcials of the school
districts. The classroom teachers were given full discretion over whether students could
be interviewed and how they could be recruited.

Ideally, I hoped to interview two pairs of students from each of the four
participating classrooms, but I was constrained by teacher willingness to facilitate
interviews and student willingness to participate. All of the teachers postponed
discussing this aspect of my study with their students until the last possible day. In the
end, I was able to arrange interviews with seven students: two 8th graders (Marie’s class),
two 9th graders (Isabel’s class), and three 10th graders (Kellie’s class). In one case
(Marie), the teacher on her own selected two students and personally asked them to
volunteer to be interviewed. In another case (Isabel), the teacher asked the class for
volunteers and selected the ﬁrst two who agreed. Only in one case (Kellie) did the
teacher follow my suggestion to have students indicate willingness to be interviewed on

their consent forms, by which means they could be identiﬁed and approached privately.

46

Regina initially said that she would personally recruit student volunteers but ultimately
did not do so and declined to provide for student interviews.

The students are not representative of the broader U.S. population. As explained
above, these three schools are largely White, middle-class, and suburban. For the
interview sample, there was a reasonable division by gender (three girls, four boys) but
six of the seven students are European American (one girl was born in Germany); the
seventh student identiﬁed himself as Arab American. Though the students in the
observed classes and the interview samples are not representative demographically, they
struck me as quite typical of pre-teens and teenagers in suburban, predominantly White
schools across the Midwestern U.S.

Observations. As described above, consent forms were requested from all
students and their parents. Return rates varied: 25/26 (96%) for Kellie’s class, 11/19
(58%) for Isabel’s class, and 7/23 (30%) for Marie’s class; for Regina’s assembled
classes with approximately 125 students, 74 formal consent forms were returned plus
seven informal notes granting permission (approximately 65%) and two parents returned
the forms with handwritten notes asking that the students be exempted due to scheduling
conﬂicts. As required by the university’s human-subjects policy and explicitly explained
on the consent form, I still would be able to observe the teacher’s class but could not
interact with any students who did not return a consent form.

Given that there was not a 100% return rate and distinguishing consenting
individuals from non-participants proved impossible, I did not interact with individual
students and did not explicitly identify individual students in my ﬁeld notes. Classroom

observations focused on the teacher and her interactions with the class, and student

47

identities were kept generic (male, female) when their comments and interactions were
given attention. The methods for including students in the ﬁeld notes using the
organizational rubric previously described.

Interviews. Student interviews were guided by a semi-structured protocol (see
appendix C). Interviews were scheduled at times convenient for the students and
approved by the teacher. Marie arranged my interview with her students. Isabel and
Kellie informed me of the dates of school-wide open study periods and helped arrange
the student interviews during them.

Before conducting student interviews, I ensured that the students were voluntarily
willing to be interviewed and secured consent forms signed by the students and their
parents. To avoid making the students feel uncomfortable in a one-on-one situation with
an adult stranger, students were interviewed in groups——Marie’s pair together, Isabel’s
pair, and Kellie’s trio. Each interview was one complete session, though the amount of
time varied depending on what the teacher allowed (around 23 minutes for Marie’s
students, 29 minutes for Isabel’s, and 56 minutes for Kellie’s).

The ﬁrst set of questions asked students to reﬂect on the speciﬁc ﬁlm they
watched, what they learned from it, and the class work they did in conjunction with it.
The second set of questions explored student reactions to history visual media in general,
both in school and on their own. The ﬁnal questions asked them to consider what “real”
history means and how they learn it. I passed around a print-out deﬁning six common
ways people encounter history (books, family, movies, museums, teachers/school, and
television) and asked the students to rank—order the ways in terms of inﬂuence on what

they know about the past. The goal here was to get students to offer insights into how

48

they themselves think about learning history and whether they believe the media have

inﬂuenced what they know. Student interviews were audio-recorded and transcribed.

The transcripts and ﬁeld notes were used for the analysis of students in chapter 5.
Coming to Grips with Intellectual Biases

Researchers bring their personal interests, passions, beliefs, and intellectual
orientations to their work. This was certainly true of me as I conducted this study. In this
section, I discuss my predispositions, how they affected my work, and in what ways I
tried to address their inﬂuence in my methods and scholarship. I chose to do this
dissertation on the use of history ﬁlms because I was a history teacher and a history ﬁlm
enthusiast. I had been a high school history teacher for six years before undertaking
doctoral studies, and in that time I had even taught an elective course titled History
through Film that ﬁreled my interest in history movies as an intellectual topic. This
background sustained me through this work in important ways, drawing energy from my
personal passion and using my practical experience as a touchstone for thinking about
and observing classroom uses of ﬁlm. However, this background also contributed to
intellectual biases that colored the way I looked at the topic and threatened to limit the I
range of possibilities I could perceive.

I began this study with a strong, clearly articulated normative stance, that I
“knew” the right answer about what history ﬁlms are good and which classroom uses are
best. This bias originated in a shallow understanding of the educational uses of media but
proved a hard habit to kick even after I had read more deeply in the literature. Shifting
from a normative to an analytical stance would produce a study of much more scholarly

value, but it required me to suppress some of my original enthusiasm for evaluating

49

teachers’ uses of ﬁlm—pointing out what is “right” and “good” in the instructional uses
of history ﬁlms—and instead to try to understand why and how these teachers use ﬁlm as
they do.

‘ My ﬁrst major task was to think more expansively about history ﬁlms. Prior to
this dissertation, I focused my energies on evaluating the factual veracity of movies. For
example, in my ﬁrst published writing on history movies (Metzger, 2005), the dominant
motif is how accurately the 2005 ﬁlm The Kingdom of Heaven depicted the medieval
Crusaders conﬂict with Saladin. But after I developed the pedagogical content analysis,
and conducted several such analyses, I began to see movies as texts that could be used in
a variety of ways to achieve a range of educational outcomes. Once I recognized how a
ﬁctional history movie could have solid educational uses, I was on to a more meaningful
analysis. A history movie might be considered “bad” for any number of reasons—
historical inaccuracies, a dubious plot, weak characters or acting, poor direction or script.
Yet, a ﬁlm that historians might consider “bad” can still be put to “good” educational
uses that stimulate deeper historical thinking by students.

The other crucial step was to stop thinking of myself as a classroom teacher who
“knew” the right way to use ﬁlms. That was no longer my role—I was there not to
evaluate teachers; rather, I was a researcher who was interested in learning, not judging.
Dwelling on whether or not I would have used the ﬁlm that way was of little interest to
anyone else. Rather, I had to train my attention to consider the meaning of what was
happening in the lesson and to analyze the possibilities and problems inherent in the
interplay between ﬁlm choice, teacher, and students. Reading scholarship on ﬁlm

criticism and history movies was an important starting mechanism, helping me realize

50

that debates over the inﬂuence of history movies extended by straightforward issues of
accuracy. Conducting the pedagogical content analyses of actual movies was another
helpful mechanism, as I came to see more interesting historical possibilities in movies
(The Last Samurai and especially The Patriot) that I had dismissed as hopelessly
inaccurate.

A ﬁnal way that I secured some psychological distance was to select teachers
whom I did not already know closely. Three of the teachers I had never met before this
study, and one of them I had met only a few times before and not in any detail (she was
formerly a student-teacher with one of my close friends and colleagues). Working with
teachers whom I did not know personally encouraged me to think of their classrooms
more clinically rather than as spaces too close to my own teaching background.

Conclusion

This dissertation employs a range of methodologies in order to study the different
levels involved in the classroom use of history movies: ﬁlm choice, teachers, and
students. Here I have offered a wider view of the study’s logic and design; speciﬁc
details of the analyses are offered in the relevant chapters. The methods employed aim to
explore the educational potential of history feature ﬁlms as instructional tools as reﬂected
in actual classrooms.

Becoming a researcher has taught me important lessons about using history ﬁlms
educationally and the challenges in studying them. Each method had advantages but also
drawbacks. The pedagogical content analysis mobilizes ideas drawn from scholarly
literature in an analytical device. It is an informative mechanism for exploring the

educational implications of history feature ﬁlms. However, it is a demanding process,

51

both intellectually and in terms of time and energy. It gave me an appreciation for how
the professional life of academic researchers affords them the time and support required
for this kind work, something I increasingly realized I could not have done when I was a
classroom teacher. With more classes, more students, and more day-to-day management
work, classroom teachers cannot be expected have the available time to engage in this
kind of analytical work on ﬁlms. It gave me a new appreciation for the importance of
partnership between classroom teachers and academic researchers. I hope to develop
applications of my research that can directly beneﬁt teachers.

The ﬁeld observations and interviews provided me with a space to analyze
theoretically why teachers use ﬁlms, what actually happens with them between teacher
and students, and how students respond to ﬁlm-based lessons in the classroom. I learned
that this kind of work is extremely demanding in terms of attention to detail, alertness,
and openness. No matter how much class time I observed or how many interviews I
transcribed, I always felt like I needed more data. There always seemed to be a deeper
level beyond what I observed or talked about, and I always wished I could go back and
look at it again or ask more follow-up questions. No matter how many details I recorded,
I realized that countless others slipped by me. This experience stressed the importance of
careful organization, keeping an open mind to what is occurring, and recording efﬁcient,
detailed ﬁeld notes, especially on what is spoken. The limitations of the data in this study
result from my failures along these dimensions.

Finally, conducting this study has taught me the importance of self-knowledge for
a researcher. Doing this research forced me to confront my afﬁnity for the role that Sklar

(1997) has dubbed “historian-cop”—someone who applies historians’ professional

52

standards of accuracy to history movies. My natural tendency both when watching ﬁlms
and watching teachers use them was to think like a historian-cop, ready to spot historical
inaccuracies and rush in with the appropriate knowledge to save the day. While factual
content knowledge is a valid and important consideration, it is not the only one. My
predispositions narrowed what I let myself see both in the possibilities of movies
themselves and also in what teachers could do with them. Learning to critique my

predispositions was perhaps the most important lesson I gleaned fi'om my work.

53

Chapter 3
The Educational Potential of History Feature Films

This chapter offers an analytical framework for considering the educative value
and pedagogical uses of commercial mass-media history ﬁlms. While there is value in
going “behind” a ﬁlm to study its genesis, intention, and production (Toplin, 1996a), this
pedagogical content analysis framework is not concerned with the intentions of the
ﬁlmmakers, whose conscious purposes may not emphasize or even include educating the
audience. Even when a history ﬁlm is produced chieﬂy as a mass entertainment, the
ﬁlm’s historical setting cannot avoid conveying information or messages about the past.
In this sense, every history ﬁlm is potentially a curricular and pedagogical tool.

First, I deﬁne three pairs of closely related educative ﬁrnctions that can be met by
a history ﬁlm and explore how the pedagogical power of a history ﬁlm is affected by its
narrative composition (visual and aural rhetorics) and emerging educative questions (the
kinds of things teachers and students might talk about). I then test the framework by
analyzing three major Hollywood history movies: The Patriot (Emmerich, 2000), The
Last Samurai (Zwick, 2003), and The Alamo (Hancock, 2004). The chapter concludes
with a discussion of the implications the pedagogical content of history movies for
teachers and students.

My ﬁ'amework draws heavily from historical scholarship about history movies ,
and how they inform the audience about the past (Cames, Mico, Miller-Monzon, &
Rubel, 1996; Davis, 2000; Landy, 1996, 2001; O’Connor, 1990; Rosenstone, 1995a,
1995b, 1995c, 2002; Toplin, 1996a, 2002b), as well as scholarship concerning the

inﬂuence of history movies on what students know and how they think about the past

54

(Paxton & Meyerson, 2002; Seixas, 1993, 1994; Seixas, Steams, & Wineburg, 1999;
Stoddard & Marcus, in press; Wineburg, 2001; Wineburg, Mosborg, & Porat, 2000). Its
purpose is to build on the work of educators who have written about the educational uses
of Hollywood ﬁlms (Briley, 2002; Goldstein, 1995; Johnson & Vargas, 1994; Justice,
2003; Marcus, 2005; Matz & Pingatore, 2005; Metzger, 2005; Stoddard, 2005; Sturma &
MacCallum, 2000; Weinstein, 2001). This chapter offers a conceptual look at history
feature ﬁlms as a kind of subject matter text. The goal is to illustrate a way of evaluating
the educational potential of history movies, laying the groundwork to examine ﬁlm-based
lessons in actual classrooms in chapter 4.
Explaining the Pedagogical Content Analysis

At heart, pedagogical content analysis is a structured document analysis of how a
media text (history feature ﬁlms) can inform teaching and learning about the past.
Though it shares with pedagogical content knowledge an interest in representations of
subject matter knowledge (Shulman, 1986, 1987; Wilson, 1987), pedagogical content
analysis (PCA) and pedagogical content knowledge (PCK) are distinct ideas. Traditional
written content analysis is typically quantitative; large amounts of print text are scanned
for key words and phrases that can be divided into distinct, mutually exclusive categories
in order to meet precise objectives (GAO, 1989). In recent years, content analysis
techniques have been used on visual media such as television, recordings of live events,
and motion pictures. Like traditional written content analysis, visual content analysis
requires clear categories, precise objectives, and manageable subdivision of the visual
material. The longer the unit of analysis, the more difficult and subjective becomes the

work of coding (List, 2002).

55

This chapter expands the use of visual content analysis into qualitative and
pedagogical realms. That is, instead of focusing solely on the formal content of the ﬁlms,
I will also focus on their pedagogical potential for conveying knowledge, interpretations,
and ethical messages about the past. This kind of analysis does not reduce the ﬁlms to
numbers but instead facilitates structured talk about a ﬁlm’s historical content,
interpretations, and themes consequential to what the viewer can learn from them.

The ﬁrst step in developing my analytical method involved developing a
framework to be used across all historical movies. The framework is organized around
three dyads—closely related pairs of pedagogical functions that reﬂect thinking and
learning about the past: content coverage/period representation; historical
construction/social construction; empathy/moral response. Each dyad features a
primary, general pedagogical ﬁrnction coupled with a supporting specialized function that
emerges from and is interconnected with the ﬁrst. Each ﬁinction may be considered
separately, but they are analyzed most proﬁtably in proximity to each other through their
interrelated scopes. The paired pedagogical functions can be used to analyze the
substantive (content and material) and syntactic (interpretive and communicative)
structures of the history ﬁlm’s scenes, both as discrete units and cumulatively as an
overall narrative. The categories are not presented in order of priority or primacy;
instead, they are ordered in increasing abstraction, from the factually concrete to the
materially constructive to the intellectually and emotionally reactive. The functions are

detailed below.

56

Content Coverage/Period Representation: Fact and Fiction

Learning about the past is a foundational aspect of studying history. Discerning
historical fact from ﬁctionalization and considering issues of accuracy and realism are, at
least to some degree, important tasks for analyzing historical ﬁlms (Toplin, 1996a,
2002b; Weinstein, 2001). Though historian John O’Connor (1990) has cautioned that the
concern should be less with detecting factual mistakes and more with discerning ways in
which historical ﬁlms “often manipulate and trivialize historical issues” (p. 24), he
nonetheless uses “content” as a principal element that prompts questions like, “Can [a
historical ﬁlm’s] interpretation be supported by the body of scholarly evidence
available?” and “To what extent were the script and the characters based upon direct
historical evidence and to what extent were they ﬁctionalized?” (p. 38). Thus, a sound
starting point for a pedagogical content analysis of history motion pictures is content
coverage—how well the ﬁlm conveys historical knowledge grounded in evidence from
the past.

Although historians debate interpretations about the past (for example, what a
certain event means, was caused by, or subsequently led to), and historians frequently
must offer conjectures about uncertainties (what may have happened during a gap in time
for which there is no direct surviving evidence), there is a great deal of consensus among
historians about underlying factual knowledge: that a famous event certainly occurred at
a particular time, for instance. History ﬁlms, however, are not scholarly works. As
ﬁctional, semi-ﬁctional, or dramatized stories, movies are free to embellish, truncate, or
ignore the surviving historical record. The educational potential of a ﬁlm must involve,

at least to some extent, consideration of historical accuracy and factuality. The

57

pedagogical function of content coverage examines what widely recognized historical
knowledge is included, what knowledge is left out, and what knowledge is compressed or
altered. For example, the 2000 ﬁlm The Patriot climaxes in a decisive battle between
American and British troops that blends factual details of two major engagements that
actually occurred (Cowpens and Guilford Court House).

A closely related issue is period representation—how the ﬁlm re-creates or
represents past eras, episodes, or timeﬁ'ames. Whereas content coverage focuses on the
factuality of speciﬁc historical knowledge contained in the ﬁlm, period representation
focuses on the ﬁlm’s “periodization” (how it situates its narrative in the passage of time
within and between eras) and the milieu and mood of the era/episode as evoked in the
ﬁlm’s scenes (both discretely and as a whole). All ﬁlms deviate from the ambient details
of the period being depicted to some degree. The dialogue in almost all commercial
mass-media history motion pictures is spoken in English even if the historical characters
would not have spoken English, for instance.

Furthermore, ﬁlmic conventions and commercial demands shape how a history
movie can represent the past. The convention of a linear narrative may limit the number
of perspectives on the period that can be depicted (many ﬁlms follow the viewpoint of
just one main protagonist). The convention of a comprehensible, widely accessible plot
may restrict the amount of detail (the number of names or places or dates mentioned) that
can be incorporated. Commercial demands may require visual/auditory impact or action
that meets contemporary audience entertainment expectations regardless of period
appropriateness (such as medieval catapult projectiles that explode like modern

ﬁrebombs). The pedagogical function of period representation examines the extent to

58

which a ﬁlm’s scenes and narrative recreate a past era based on historical knowledge,
reinterpret a past era colored by a broader phenomenon or metaphor about history, or
reinvent a past era with imagined details. For example, the 2003 ﬁlm The Last Samurai
reinterprets the samurai in the 18705 as a native warrior tribe whose rebellion against the
modernization of Japan compelled Emperor Meiji to preserve Japan’s traditions and
sovereignty.

Historical Construction/Social Construction: Constructing the Past and the People in It

The second dyad deals with how a ﬁlm actively constructs its depictions of the
past and the people in it. Postmodern and critical scholarship in recent years has
emphasized how historical narratives are constructed texts situated within the
perspectives of their authors (Appleby, Hunt, & Jacob, 1994; Evans, 1997; Jenkins, 1991;
Segall, 1999; Stone, 1991). Given this “literary turn” in the discipline of history more
broadly, a pedagogical content analysis of history motion pictures needs to take into
account historical construction—how the ﬁlm builds a historical narrative through
available historical evidence and interpretations. This pedagogical function focuses on
how meanings about the past are conveyed in the ﬁlm.

A history ﬁlm can signal the viewer about the particular narrative decisions that
have been made through words spoken by characters, visual images, or objects and places
depicted. It is extremely unusual for a commercial, mainstream history ﬁlm to convey
what VanSledright (2002) has called the “interpretive paradox” of history, that historical
interpretation is conjecture about a past we can never know with absolute certainty. Just
as uncommon is the ﬁlm that depicts the tentative nature of historical knowledge claims,

though some avant-garde art ﬁlms have attempted this feat (Rosenstone, 1995c). Most

59

mainstream history ﬁlms present a linear narrative story that makes decisions among
competing knowledge claims, choosing only one version to depict even when there is
evidence for multiple possible versions. Given that higher-order thinking in history
requires awareness of the interpretive nature of history, the educational potential of a ﬁlm
should include examination of the evidentiary elements used in its construction of the
past. The pedagogical function of historical construction explores the authentic elements
(artifacts, documentation, language) of historical evidence that are included in the ﬁlm
narrative as well as what decisions the ﬁlm makes regarding historical uncertainties. For
example, in the 2004 ﬁlm The Alamo, actual period documents—such as a letter by the
Texan president to Sam Houston in the ﬁeld urging him to attack Santa Anna’s anny—
are woven into the screenplay.

Just as history is constructed by choices in narratives and evidence, a related
concern is social construction—how appropriately the ﬁlm deﬁnes and conveys
messages about groups of people in the past, especially depictions of the condition of
historically marginalized groups (women, people of color, the poor) in relation to
dominant groups. Whereas historical construction focuses on the elements that build the
narrative in general, social construction focuses speciﬁcally on how the ﬁlm’s narrative
deﬁnes and constructs roles for societal groups. It is an analysis of how the ﬁlm’s
narrative positions dominant and subaltem groups of people. There exists a special
“burden of historical representation” when depicting historically marginalized,
underrepresented groups (Shohat & Stamm, 1994). This burden can be met by

developing complex, meaningful character depictions of the marginalized groups that

60

demonstrate their agency and rather than subordinating them to the dominant perspective
(Stoddard & Marcus, in press).

This puts the Hollywood history ﬁlmmaker in a bind. There is a demand for
greater and fairer representation of marginalized groups, but if a ﬁlm strays too far in this
direction it is open to counter-charges of “political correctness” from viewers who
demand the traditional perspectives of dominant groups. In facing this dilemma, history
ﬁlms can highlight the overlooked presence of non—dominant groups in the past, ignore or
downplay their presence in order to emphasize traditional dominant perspectives, or
exaggerate the presence of non-dominant actors beyond what can be inferred from the
historical record. The pedagogical function of social construction explores how the ﬁlm
depicts issues of identity, power, conﬂict, cooperation, and awareness between different
groups of people in the past. For example, the 2000 ﬁlm The Patriot presents African
Americans as supporting characters, and even though the story is set in South Carolina in
the 17805, most Black characters are not slaves but instead free laborers who hold
virtually no acrimony against Whites.

Empathy/Moral Response: Reacting to the Past

The third dyad involves how a ﬁlm positions its audience to react to the past. In
the 20th century, historians gradually backed away from the notion that studying history
required dispassionate neutrality, as the possibility of objectivity increasing came to be
questioned (Novick, 1988). Keith Barton and Linda Levstik (2004) have posited that
reacting morally to the past is a natural “stance” that can be a useful stimulus to learning.
They suggest that empathy is essential for recognizing different human perspectives and

that emotional connection is a critical tool for making sense of the past. Alan Marcus

61

(2005) also argues that “historical empathy” is an important element that history movies
can contribute to the classroom, helping students learn by evoking feelings and raising
emotional issues in the past. In light of its educative role, a pedagogical content analysis
of history motion pictures needs to examine empathy—how effectively the ﬁlm involves
the viewer emotionally in its representations of the past.

A formative part of studying history is recognizing different perspectives in the
past, both those that a person today might identify with and others that may seem strange
or wrong to people today. The more remote the historical perspective is from the
contemporary world, the more difficult it is for a person today to resonate emotionally
with the viewpoint. As a result, a perspective from the past may be dismissed as foolish,
evil, or corrupt because a person today cannot conceive of why someone in the past could
have thought or acted a particular way. History ﬁlms can bring to life voices from the
past, in both sympathetic and hostile fashions. There is a powerful ﬁlmic convention to
present audiences with heroes and villains, characters whom viewers are supposed to
support or oppose. Just as the real world today does not clearly and naturally divide into
heroes and villains, such a dichotomy in the past can oversimplify the perspectives on
historical actors. The pedagogical function of empathy examines which historical
perspectives are depicted sympathetically and to what extent the ﬁlm inspires
identiﬁcation on the part of the viewer with particular historical actors or perspectives.
For example, the 2003 ﬁlm The Last Samurai empathizes with the samurai rebels as an
honorable warrior tribe representing Japan’s traditional native culture and likens their

suppression to the subjugation of the American Plains Indians.

62

Closely interconnected with issues of empathy and identiﬁcation is moral
response—what conclusions about people, perspectives, or events in the past are
conveyed by the ﬁlm. If empathy focuses on perspective recognition and identiﬁcation,
moral response focuses on the ethical and emotional reactions elicited by the ﬁlm. A
moral or lesson to the story is a powerful and longstanding tradition in Western literature
readily (and often) converted into a ﬁlmic convention. Many American viewers expect
that a ﬁlm will present a clear moral judgment about its events and characters. In the
case of ﬁctional stories, the moral typically involves the triumph of good or justice over
evil or wickedness (though dark comedies sometimes invert this convention). Historical
stories often are shoe-homed into this good-evil dialectic, but even when they are not,
audiences still commonly expect that the ﬁlm will provide a satisfying resolution and a
conclusion that makes sense of the issues and events in the narrative.

Reacting to the moral implications of historical events for our world today can be
a powerful aid to learning about the past. Of course, the potential drawback is
“presentism”—viewing the past only through the lens of the present and never engaging
with the past on its own terms (Wineburg, 2001). The problem of presentism can reduce
studying history to little more than congratulating ourselves for our world today in light
of how bad off people were in the past. The pedagogical function of moral response
examines the ways in which the ﬁlm simpliﬁes or complicates the viewer’s
understandings of people and events in the past in light of our contemporary society and
values. For example, the 2000 ﬁlm The Patriot concludes with a message of racial unity
and hardly any mention of slavery or racial oppression that would have tremendous

impact on American society over the next two centuries after the Revolutionary War.

63

Composition: Visual and Aural Rhetorics

Making sense of the six pedagogical functions detailed above as observed in
actual feature ﬁlms beneﬁts from an awareness of the dramatic visual and auditory
techniques ﬁlmmakers use to convey explicit, tacit, and metaphorical messages about
history and its relationship to our world today. Paying attention to a ﬁlm’s
composition—4M visual and aural rhetorics employed to present its narrative—helps to
better understand its approach to historical and period content, historical and social
construction, and empathy and moral response. For example, in the 2000 ﬁlm The
Patriot all troops ﬁghting for Britain are dressed as Redcoats; this visual rhetoric, though
not historically accurate, serves to designate the protagonist’s enemies. In the 2004 ﬁlm
The Alamo, portions of letters written by the defenders to their families are heard in
voice-over during a montage scene the night before the ﬁnal assault; this aural rhetoric
lets the ﬁlmmakers to include parts of actual period documents while conveying
information about the characters’ thoughts and feelings. Consideration of a ﬁlm’s
composition techniques serves as an overarching lens that informs the analyses within the
pedagogical content analysis rather than a discrete analytical category.

Concepts drawn from literary and cinema studies can aid in studying the visual
and aural rhetorics used by a ﬁlm. Diegesis concerns the “telling” of the story, the
narrative directly conveyed to the audience through what is said by the characters or a
narrator. It consists of all auditory parts of the primary narrative, including background
events that have led to the present action, other people talked about, and concurrent off-
screen events referred to by the characters (extradiegetic narratives). All frames, spaces,

and actions not focused on visually are diegetic elements. Sound (including music) is

64

considered diegetic if it exists within the narrative sphere of the ﬁlm as experienced by
the characters: Davy Crockett’s ﬁddle performance in the 2004 ﬁlm The Alamo is
diegetic, while orchestral scoring not heard by the characters is non-diegetic.

A related concept, mimesis, concerns the “showing” of the story, the visual
narrative devices through which the audience perceives the unfolding events and
character development. Visual and potentially aural devices that infer meaning about the
characters’ thoughts and feelings are mimetic elements. For example, in the 1999 ﬁlm
The 13‘” Warrior, an Arab poet captured by Vikings observes the lips of his captors as
they sit around a campﬁre, and gradually their Nordic words are replaced by English; this
mimetic technique symbolically shows him learning the Viking language.

Cumulatively, a ﬁlm’s diegetic and mimetic devices service its composition of
visual and aural rhetorics. These rhetorics communicate notions about the past and the
people in it to the viewer. When analyzing a ﬁlm along the six pedagogical functions
described above, it is important to pay attention to how the ﬁlm’s visual and aural
composition conveys, both implicitly and explicitly, historical information, meanings,
and messages.

Application: Emerging Educative Questions

At this point, we have looked at six pedagogical functions for analyzing history
movies and how they are informed by considering a ﬁlm’s visual and aural composition.
So what are the uses of pedagogical content analyses? Chieﬂy, pedagogical content
analyses can equip educators with a stronger understanding of a ﬁlm’s educational
potential. To activate this potential, the teacher needs to meaningfully connect the ﬁlm-

based lesson to the broader curricular unit and provide opportunities to interpret the

65

ﬁlm’s historical events and what they mean. This is the kind of historical subject matter
that Michael Whelan (1997) has argued matters most—signiﬁcant issues and
generalizable knowledge that provides a richer understanding of how the past relates to
our world today. Teachers can scaffold the educational potential inherent in ﬁlms in
ways students can comprehend and will be open to receiving.

Used as instructional texts, ﬁlms can convey both intended and unintended
messages. Left on their own, students might take away lessons very different from those
the history teacher would want. Thus, skillful teacher guidance is essential. There is no
one best way for teachers to use ﬁlms. They can be used as a springboard for activities in
which students apply knowledge and interpretations learned. They can serve as a foil to
contrast differing accounts of the past. They can be a provocation that gets students to
think about a particular problem or to look at the past from particular perspectives that
they otherwise might not consider. They can function as a capstone to a broader unit in
which students recognize elements studied previously as they are depicted in a dramatic
narrative. They can even be used as an act of imagination, a way to get students to
consider “what if?” certain events happened in different ways.

This kind of powerful subject matter and learning about history is the educative
potential of history feature ﬁlms. Whatever the active intentions of the ﬁlmmakers
(which may or may not have included teaching the audience something), a history ﬁlm
functions as a depiction, generalization, representation, or interpretation of the past and
raises or implies historical questions. Both “good” and “bad” history ﬁlms do this.
Indeed, a “bad” movie may raise some penetrating questions for thinking about history—

from “What is wrong with this scene?” to more conceptual questions like “What is the

66

ﬁlm’s narrative trying to say about the relationship between the past and present?” These
kinds of questions are useﬁrl ways for viewers to engage with the historical ideas
conveyed by the ﬁlm. A pedagogical content analysis needs to yield potentially
educative questions that emerge from a close consideration of the ﬁlm along the six
pedagogical functions. These emerging educative questions can be used as the basis for
activities, discussions, and assessments that help students get the most out of watching a
history movie in the classroom.
Using the Pedagogical Content Analysis Framework

Before moving on to actual uses of the pedagogical content analysis framework,
several concepts need to be deﬁned. The term history can cause some confusion.
Colloquially, it describes anything that happened previously (“Oh, that’s all history
now”). In academic use, greater care must be taken with the word. The past is what
actually occurred in earlier times, independent of memory and surviving knowledge.
Since it cannot be revisited the past cannot be known with complete certainty. The past
is approached or explored through the work of history, though historians disagree
whether historical knowledge is discovered (objective facts revealed), reconstructed
(putative understandings represented), or created (narrative understandings made) (Evans,
1997; Jenkins, 1991; Novick, 1988). History refers to the disciplined study of
constructed understandings of the past. In the modern Western tradition, history is a
logical, or alternatively humanistic, discipline based on evidence and critical debate over
interpretations of evidence. Historical can be a descriptive adjective for either the work

of history or the past itself, and context of usage must distinguish the meaning.

67

Two additional concepts concern the structure of a ﬁlm: scene and narrative. A
scene is a discrete, self-contained sub-unit of a ﬁlm, separated from the other sub-units by
cinematographic devices (cut, fade, blackout, montage) or by a narrative shift (a sudden
new event, a turn to a different point-of-view). A scene may contain multiple devices or
shifts, so long as each is not substantive enough to serve as a separate scene on its own
and all of them cumulatively construct a discemable sub-unit of the ﬁlm. A narrative is a
distinctly identiﬁable, ongoing story perspective that runs throughout the ﬁlm. Narrative
relates to the point-of-view(s) of the ﬁlm’s characters and plot. Narrative is built through
a string of connected, cumulative scenes. The typical mainstream ﬁlm features a
dominant narrative in which the story is presented (either passively through point-of-view
or actively through voice-over narration) through the perspective, voice, and experience
of one or a small number of main characters. Other narratives in a ﬁlm usually play a
secondary or supporting role. A pedagogical content analysis of a history ﬁlm examines
the pedagogical functions through the ﬁlm’s scenes and narratives, both discretely and
cumulatively.

In testing the pedagogical content analysis framework for this dissertation, I used
the following process. First, I watched the ﬁlm uninterrupted at home to get an overall
impression of the ﬁlm. My attention was focused on watching the ﬁlm rather than taking
notes—I occasionally jotted down questions, names, or events to look up later. Next, I
consulted recent informational sources (published scholarship, educational
documentaries) that directly related to the ﬁlm’s historical period and elements provided
current historical knowledge with which to analyze the ﬁlm. With the rise of specialty

cable television like the History Channel, useful educational documentaries often are

68

produced to coincide with the release of a major history motion picture (and are
frequently included as extras on a ﬁlm’s DVD release); I used these whenever available.
After doing this background research, I watched the ﬁlm two more times. The ﬁrst of
these viewings was another uninterrupted general reaction to the ﬁlm, focusing on its
themes and historical messages more broadly. The latter viewing was a scene-by-scene
breakdown of the ﬁlm, taking careful notes about what occurs in each scene, how each
scene constructs historical elements, and what visual and aural rhetorics were employed
to convey meaning about the past.

Finally, I applied the scene-by-scene breakdown to the pedagogical content
analysis dyads. My notes from the background historical research, my notes about the
ﬁlm’s narratives, scenes, and composition, and my notes about its themes and historical
messages were organized along the six pedagogical functions. The product of this
synthesis was a written pedagogical content analysis of each selected history movie. It
must be noted that the written analyses are quite long. Given the dense information load
contained in a feature ﬁlm—characterizations, narratives, visual and aural composition,
themes-—there is a lot to observe and analyze. My goal in this dissertation is to offer
examples of full analyses in maximum scope and detail.

Film Choices for Testing the Framework

This chapter tests the framework by performing a pedagogical content analysis on
three commercial mass-media history motion pictures: The Alamo (2004), The Last
Samurai (2003), and The Patriot (2000). These three ﬁlms were intentionally selected
for several reasons. First, all are about major historical events commonly taught in

history classes. Second, all have potential to be used in secondary-level U.S. or World

69

History classrooms. The Last Samurai and The Patriot are R rated due to graphic
violence, but since they do not contain sexuality or profanity, grade 9-12 schoolteachers
could feel comfortable using at least select scenes from them. The Alamo is rated PG-13
due to battle violence and could be used for grades 7-12. Third, all are recent ﬁlms made
in the current decade. The actors appearing in them are still recognizable to students as '
contemporary Hollywood ﬁgures. Students would be most likely to respond to all of
these ﬁlms as current cultural products rather than older pieces associated with previous
generations. A ﬁnal criterion guiding the selection of these speciﬁc titles as opposed to
other possible ﬁlms: all three feature Americans as central characters in relation to other
peoples in the world. The Patriot depicts colonial Americans in relation to the British.
The Alamo features Americans in relation to Mexicans and Texans of Mexican origin.
The Last Samurai primarily is about the Japanese, but the main character and his rival are
Americans. This theme of Americans in the world connects the three ﬁlm choices.

The pedagogical content analyses of these ﬁlms were conducted prior to
observations of teachers using ﬁlm in their classrooms (see chapter 4). Ideally, I would
have been able to conduct in advance analyses of the ﬁlms used in the observed lessons.
However, testing the pedagogical content analysis framework prior to observing ﬁlm-
based classroom lessons allowed me, as researcher, to reﬁne my own sensibilities about
history ﬁlms as a genre, about how to watch such ﬁlms, and about what other viewers
might see in them. Indeed, the exercise led me to be much more open to the educational
possibilities of history movies before 1 ever stepped into a classroom. Chapter 2

discusses these issues in more detail.

70

Before proceeding to the individual pedagogical content analyses, it may be
helpful to review the framework. Table 3.1 summarizes the dyads; the paired ﬁrnctions
are separated by a permeable line to signify the close interplay between them.

Table 3.1

Summary of the Pedagogical Content Analysis Framework

 

Content c 0v era 6 what historical knowledge is incorporated into the ﬁlm narrative, what
g knowledge is left out, and what knowledge is compressed or altered

. extent to which a ﬁlm recreates a past era based on historical knowledge,
Perrod .
reinterprets a past era colored by a broader phenomenon or metaphor

 

 

representation about history, or reinvents a past era with imagined details
Historical how authentic elements of historical evidence used in the ﬁlm narrative,
construction and how the ﬁlm signals its decisions regarding historical uncertainties
Social how the ﬁlm depicts issues of identity, power, conﬂict, cooperation, and
construction awareness between different groups of people in the past
Empathy with which historical actors and perspectives does the ﬁlm narrative

sympathize and inspire emotional identiﬁcation on the part of the viewer

.-----oo---o—-.----0--.----ou-o-nos-o---u-u.--o-----------.—-------coo-ccuuncoucuuuuuuo----------n-.---------.o-a

How the ﬁlm simpliﬁes or complicates understandings of people and

Moral response events in the past in light of our contemporary society and values

 

 

 

 

Pedagogical Content Analysis of The Alamo
The Alamo (Hancock, 2004) tells the story of the battle for Texas independence
from Mexico in 1835-1836. Its central event is the battle for the mission-tumed-fort
called the Alamo, in what is now San Antonio. The historical background and factual
details in this analysis come from my research using historical reference texts, recent

published scholarship, and educational programming about the war for Texas.1

 

' Rather than interrupt the ﬂow of the analysis, I will reference upfront materials used. Brands (2004) is a
recent, highly readable account of the Texas conﬂict. Woodmﬁ (2002) situates the conﬂict with Mexico in
a broader continental and global context. Dupuy and Dupuy (1993) and Dupuy, Johnson, and Bongard
(1995) are useful reference texts for military ﬁgures and events. Several documentary ﬁlms about the
Alamo are also very informative (Haffner, Lusitania, Alper, & Rehr, 2003; Haﬁ‘ner, Lusitania, & Drooker,
1992; Tovares, 2004).

71

Plot Summary

The ﬁlm opens with images of the aftermath of the March, 1836, battle at the
Alamo before ﬂashing back to events one year earlier. Texas is a sparsely settled
province populated by American immigrants and ethnically Mexican Tejanos. Mexican
general Santa Anna (Emilio Echevarria) has recently overturned Mexico’s federal
constitution and made himself dictator. An army sent by Santa Anna to crack down on
Texan autonomy has just been defeated at San Antonio de Bexar. A convention of Texan
leaders meets to plan the next course of action. In attendance are the hard-drinking Sam
Houston (Dennis Quaid), the famed frontier knife-ﬁghter James Bowie (Jason Patric), the
young slave-owner William Travis (Patrick Wilson), and Tejano volunteer Juan Seguin
(Jordi Molla). Dismissing the Texans’ ﬁxation with the Alamo, Houston dispatches
Bowie to retrieve the guns from the fort. However, the seriously ill Bowie recalls his life
in nearby Bexar with his deceased wife and decides not to abandon the fort. Meanwhile,
Travis has been sent to take command of the Alamo garrison. The two men quickly
clash, and only news of the advance of Santa Anna’s army convinces them to put aside
their differences and work together to defend the fort. Menial work at the fort is
performed by Travis’s slave Sam (Afemo Omilami) and Bowie’s slave Joe (Edwin
Hodge), who refuses to die for a Texas that keeps him enslaved.

The defenders are reinforced by band of volunteers including famed frontiersman
and former U.S. Congressman Davy Crockett (Billy Bob Thornton). Santa Anna’s
Mexican army arrives soon thereafter and lays siege to the fort. Bowie is taken fatally ill,
and Travis must assume sole command. Travis dispatches Seguin to smuggle

communiqués to the Texan leaders calling for help. Houston convinces the government

72

to appoint him as commanding general. When Seguin arrives with the letter, Houston
decides that the army must wait for reinforcements before moving to relieve the Alamo.
Santa Anna orders a frontal assault to reduce the Alamo and kill the fort’s rebel
defenders. The Mexicans take the fort in a predawn assault. Travis is killed ﬁghting on
the ramparts, and Bowie dies ﬁghting from his sickbed. Crockett is taken prisoner and
executed at Santa Anna’s command. In the aftermath, Houston retreats east across Texas
with his army, burning the settlements along the way that cannot be defended. When a
Mexican courier is captured and reveals that Santa Anna has divided his army into
smaller columns, Houston turns to ﬁght and captures Santa Anna himself in a surprise
assault at San Jacinto. The ﬁlm closes with a text block stating that Santa Anna signed
over Texas independence in return for his life.
Content Coverage / Period Representation

The Alamo is a challenging type of history movie to make: a re-creation of events
that actually happened, using actual historical ﬁgures as characters. The challenge of this
type of history ﬁlm is how to provide a narrative story, an essential ﬁlmic convention in
mainstream Hollywood movies, that conveys a large amount of historical knowledge and
makes reasonable decisions about gaps or uncertainties in the surviving historical records.
To a remarkable degree, The Alamo presents a narrative story richly grounded in the
historical record.

Of course, the ﬁlm cannot include every complex detail in a running time just a
little over two hours. In order to avoid conﬁrsing viewers, the sheer volume of dates,
places, and people needs to be limited. At times, too, protracted or dense events need to

be presented in simpler, shorter form more readily digestible by the viewer. The ﬁlm

73

opens with Sam Houston back in the U.S. at a theatrical performance of The Lion of the
West, a play inspired by the life of Davy Crockett, trying to drum up investment and
immigration to Texas. Crockett is in attendance and chats with Houston, who convinces
him to start a new political career in Texas. Houston did indeed travel back to the U.S. -
on behalf of Texas, but in 1835 the Texan leader sent to the U.S. was actually Stephen
Austin. Crockett, for his part, had been considering a move to Texas for many months,
and his defeat in the 1835 congressional elections made up his mind. The Lion of the
West was a real play from the time, and this scene charmingly imagines Crockett’s
reaction to seeing his alter ego on stage. But it did not take a quick-sell by Houston at
this play to talk Crockett into moving to Texas.

The ﬁlm provides different takes on the value of the Alamo. In an early scene,
Houston complains to Bowie that the Alamo has little strategic value despite the fact that
people run to it whenever there is trouble. In a later scene Colonel Neill tells Travis, “As
goes the Alamo, so goes Texas.” Since the movie’s climax is the heroic defense of the
fort, and it is not exactly heroic if the characters’ deaths are a waste, the narrative seems
to favor Neill’s verdict over Houston’s. The Alamo clearly was not strategically
essential. The fort did not block access to Texan settlements, and Santa Anna simply
could have kept its garrison bottled up inside with a small portion of his army. Rather,
the Alamo was chieﬂy of symbolic value for both sides, but the ﬁlm’s heroic storyline
requires the Alamo to have heroic signiﬁcance. The ﬁlm’s opening frames feature a text
block that implies “fate” has made the Alamo an important battleﬁeld.

Sometimes the ﬁlm shunts around events in order to ﬁt as many as possible into

the limited timeframe. In the ﬁlm, Crockett’s party approaches the Alamo at night some

74

days before the siege and is held at gunpoint by wary defenders until Crockett reveals
who he is. Historically, Crockett’s party arrived before the Texans even knew Santa
Anna was in Texas. However, this scene is close to what actually happened on the night
of February 29, when 32 men from Gonzales sneaked through Mexican lines to reinforce
the Alamo. The nervous defenders opened ﬁre, hitting a man before the arrivals revealed
that they were ﬁ'iends. On a similar vein, Seguin’s mission is moved to an earlier date.
In the ﬁlm, he is sent to deliver a letter to Houston shortly after the Mexicans surround
the fort. In the historical accounts, Seguin’s ride came days later when Travis realized
that reinforcements might not be coming. Shifting the timing of Seguin’s ride
compresses Travis’s numerous letters to compatriots outside the Alamo into one scene.
At one point, the ﬁlm uses a generic scene to represent more drawn-out real
events. In a scene during Santa Anna’s march into Texas, his army rounds up prisoners
outside a small border village by a river and Santa Anna orders them all shot. The order
is reluctantly carried out in front of the screaming women of the village. It is a generic
display similar to but not deﬁnitively based on speciﬁc events. Weeks before the Alamo,
a Mexican rebel named Mexia recruited a troop of volunteers at New Orleans for a raid
on Tampico in Mexico; their ship ran aground, and local loyalists obeyed Santa Anna’s
standing order to execute the captured foreigners as pirates. Weeks after the Alamo,
James F annin and nearly 400 men were captured as they belatedly followed Houston’s
order to retreat fi'om Goliad; Fannin and most of his men were executed at Santa Anna’s
express order. Colonel Fannin is mentioned in The Alamo (in scenes during which
Houston complains that reinforcements are not gathering at Gonzales fast enough),

though the narrative does not include Fannin’s sorry end.

75

In other places the ﬁlm omits historical details that would confuse or overburden
the narrative. Sam Houston, while crucial to the story of Texas, is a sideline in the story
of the Alamo. Historically, he did not want to waste men defending or relieving it and
was not present with the Texan leadership until early March. The ﬁlm’s Houston is
always present in the ﬁeld, there to receive Travis’s letters requesting help and to gather
reinforcements. On a similar note, the ﬁlm makes scant reference to who these
reinforcements are. Clearly they are Anglo men (“Texians” in the parlance of the
period), but the ﬁlm seems to imply that they are Texas residents. In reality, the vast
majority of “Texian” ﬁghters were recent arrivals from the U.S. American newspapers
publicized the conﬂict with Santa Anna and the opportunities available to volunteers who
went to Texas. By early 1836, around 1,000 Americans were arriving every month, and
the majority of the Alamo defenders were Americans who came to Texas in previous
months. The only element in the ﬁlm which touches on this point is Travis’s
motivational speech the day before the battle, in which he states the many settlers have
come to Texas for a “second chance” in life.

The battle of the Alamo, like virtually every historical event, has lingering
questions that the surviving records do not conclusively answer. When Santa Anna’s
army overran Bexar, there was some confusion among the defenders as they retreated
into the Alamo. The Mexicans hoisted a red ﬂag up the church tower, which the rebels
interpreted as a sign of no quarter. Travis apparently ordered a cannon ﬁred in the ﬂag’s
direction. Meanwhile, Bowie may have tried to arrange a parley—he exchanged letters
with Santa Anna’s secretary but received only a demand for “surrender at discretion”

from the Mexican dictator. Certainly Bowie and Travis were at cross purposes. The ﬁlm

76

addresses the confusion by having Bowie physically ride out to parley with a Mexican
general. Travis sees Bowie negotiating with the enemy on his own initiative and orders a
cannon ﬁred to break up the talk. In response, the Mexicans hoist up a red ﬂag labeled
“Death to Traitors.” It is a clear depiction of an ambiguous situation.

The death of Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie are also open to debate. Earlier
Alamo ﬁlm versions have shown Crockett ﬁghting to the death atop the Alamo’s walls.
However, Crockett and a handful of other prisoners may have been executed after the
battle. There are several different surviving accounts of what happened. Mexican ofﬁcer
de la Pena reported in his memoirs that Crockett and his mates were painfully hacked to
death by the swords of Santa Anna’s guards. Sergeant Frank Dolson wrote a letter to his
brother reporting the account of a Mexican prisoner that Crockett and the other survivors
were shot at Santa Anna’s order. The ﬁlm depicts, by and large, de la Pena’s version.
Likewise, depicting Bowie’s death requires imagination to ﬁll in the blanks. The
surviving accounts testify that Bowie was incapacitated with sickness, possibly
consumption or pneumonia. Whether he was already dead by the time of the battle is
uncertain. His bloody body was recovered after the battle, but the Mexicans might have
stabbed the body if they thought he was hiding. In the ﬁlm, Bowie is barely still alive
when the Mexicans attack, puts up a brief ﬁght from his bed, and is bayoneted by the
enemy. It is not possible to know how Bowie actually died, and this scene is a plausible
piece of guesswork.

The March 6 battle of the Alamo is the climax of the ﬁlm. The most notable
visual choice is setting the battle during the pro-dawn hours, when Santa Anna actually

ordered his men to attack, rather than during daylight when it would be easier for an

77

audience to watch what was happening. The battle scene in the movie follows what is
known of the attack in great detail, except for a serious blunder on the part of the
defenders. In the ﬁlm, the defenders are eventually driven into the long barracks in the
heart of the mission after the Mexicans overrun the north wall. According to surviving
accounts, the Mexicans used the defenders’ own cannon against them. Apparently when
the defenders were driven back, somebody forgot to spike the gun (making it inoperable
by driving a spike into the ﬁring hole). The Mexicans turned this gun on the barracks. '
Some defenders seem to have tried to ﬂy a white cloth and surrender, but others kept
ﬁghting. The Mexicans, outraged at being ﬁred at even while some were raising white
ﬂags, violently counterattacked. The cannon blunder also would have been diﬂicult to
communicate visually in the ﬁlm, and so the ﬁlmmakers chose to omit it.

The Alamo was clearly made by people who know and love the period.
Considerable work was put in to re-creating the Alamo mission as it must have looked
during the ﬁght. Appropriate period artillery and muskets are used to great effect in the
battle scenes. A tactical advantage of the defenders was provided by the Kentucky long-
riﬂes many brought with them, more powerful and accurate than the Mexican muskets.
This edge is underscored in a fanciful scene in which Crockett shoots the epaulet off
Santa Anna’s shoulder at extreme range. It is a kind of legendary feat for which Crockett
was famous. Indeed, the historical Crockett occasionally engaged in trick-shooting
contests during his travels, though probably not during the grave Alamo crisis.

For all the merits of the Kentucky riﬂe or the skill of famous ﬁghters like
Crockett or Bowie, the balance of military power greatly favored Santa Anna. The ﬁlm

amply conveys this in the scenes of the Mexican army surrounding the Alamo and

78

swarming over the mission. Less on display is the Mexican artillery which over the two-
week siege softened up the Alamo’s walls. Santa Anna conducted an able Napoleonic-
style siege appropriate for his era. The only reference to it in the ﬁlm is in the strategy
session the night before the battle. An oﬂicer urges Santa Anna to postpone the attack
and await the arrival of a heavy siege gun that will knock down the Alamo’s defenses.
Santa Anna dismissively rejects the advice and orders the attack. Historically, Santa
Anna had a good reason to hurry: The longer be was away from Mexico, the more time
he gave political opponents to organize against him.

Another period element evoked by the ﬁlm is the condition of Texas in 1836. It
was very much a frontier society, with less than 50,000 inhabitants. Except for Bexar,
most settlements were recently built and scarcely populated. The scenes of Bexar and
San Felipe show the viewer unpaved streets and scattered wood buildings, the humble
beginnings of future cities. The ﬁlm tries to convey the condition of the Texan leadership
of the period, too. The Alamo incorporates more historical ﬁgures by name than many
history ﬁlms, and the ﬁlm shows the famous Sam Houston quarreling with lesser-known
ﬁgures like Governor Smith, President Bumet, and the Scotsman Dr. Grant.

The ﬁlm’s ﬁrst full scene set in Texas opens with a ﬁrndamental conﬂict: Should
Texas remain loyal to Mexico but resist the dictator Santa Anna, or should it break away
and become independent? This brief debate in the ﬁlm was of grave importance to Texas
in the 18305. Many Texians (like Stephen Austin) had sworn to become loyal Mexican
citizens and did not accept the need for independence until very late in 1835. The
personal difﬁculty of the independence question for many Texan leaders is not conveyed.

Three scenes in the ﬁlm speciﬁcally depict the San Felipe “consultation” that established

79

the provisional government of Texas. They follow a progressive ﬂow: At ﬁrst there is
great dissention and Houston’s position is challenged, then the Alamo crisis forces the
leaders to rally around Houston, and ﬁnally the council gives Houston the necessary
authority to lead Texas to independence.

It is a simpliﬁed depiction of a complex situation. The ﬁlm does not show that
Houston, for all his effort, was unable to block Grant’s ultimately disastrous raid on
Matamoros. When the Alamo was attacked, Texan leaders turned to Houston because he
was an experienced commander. The ﬁlm shows Houston promising to relieve the
Alamo if the government gives him full command over all troops. In actuality, Houston
felt the Alamo was unsalvageable and retreated east across Texas. The ﬁlm shows the
retreat but not the purpose: Houston was trying to overextend Mexican supply lines and
draw Santa Anna close to the U.S. border, hoping to provoke a border ﬁght that would
bring in a U.S. army in Louisiana in support of Texas. Houston never really had
unquestioned command. Most Texian ﬁghters were volunteers in units that elected their
own officers and decided for themselves which orders they would obey. The scene in
which Travis calls for the Alamo men to vote on whether they would follow him or
Bowie was applicable to how many militia units operated. Even in the San Jacinto
campaign, Houston’s command required pleading and cajoling more than orders, and
when his men ﬁnally insisted on ﬁghting he had little choice but to give in.

The ﬁlm is most effective at period representation when it puts the limited events
of the Alamo in a broader strategic and political context. That the closing scenes depict
the decisive battle of San Jacinto is appropriate. In the ﬁlm, Santa Anna pursues

Houston’s army across Texas and divides his own forces. What is missing from these

80

scenes is why Santa Anna took such a gamble. Historically, when Santa Anna learned
that even the Texan provisional government had taken ﬂight to Galveston Bay, be split
his army and rushed south with a small force to try to capture them. At this favorable
turn of events, Houston gave in to pressure to attack and moved south after Santa Anna.
One scene in the ﬁlm tries to capture the pressure put on Houston—a letter from
President Bumet (the actual historical document is used) is read to Houston shaming him
for retreating.

The battle at San Jacinto is another example of how the ﬁlm presents a contained,
simpliﬁed scene for a more drawn-out event. In the ﬁlm, Houston comes across the
battleﬁeld through an almost mystical vision: He sees it and knows it is where he is
destined to win. The successful battle takes place there almost immediately.
Historically, Houston drew up his army in a solid defensive position and waited, hoping
to goad Santa Anna into attacking him. Mexican reinforcements arrived that night. Santa
Anna believed that the rebels would never dare give up their defensive ground to attack
and gave his exhausted troops the next day to rest. Houston’s men insisted on attacking,
and Houston gave in. It was through a combination of boldness and good luck that the
Texans caught the Mexicans utterly by surprise and were able to rout them. Here the ﬁlm
scenes pick up what is known fi'om the historical record. The Texans fell upon the
ﬂeeing Mexicans and slaughtered many without mercy in revenge for the Alamo (and
Goliad). A panicked Santa Anna ﬂed but was subsequently captured.

Historical Construction / Social Construction
The Alamo contains direct quotes from letters or diaries written by the historical

ﬁgures or by witnesses who knew them. Travis’s letters to the provisional government

81

 

 

and Sam Houston are quoted in the ﬁlm (“Victory or Death”). Later, Sam Houston is
read an actual letter from President Bumet: “Sir, the enemy are laughing you to scorn.
You must ﬁght them.” The screenplay also inserts famous stories about the characters
that, while not occurring at the Alamo, help to establish their reputations. In an early
scene in San Antonio, Bowie tells a story of a ﬁght in which his friend had failed to back
him up. “Jim, you were in the wrong,” the friend protests. “Exactly,” Bowie returns,
“that’s when I need you the most.” It is an amusing paraphrase of a surviving account of
a brawl Bowie got into after his wife’s death. Twice in the ﬁlm, Bowie and Crockett
discuss Bowie’s famed “Sand Bar” ﬁght which he won despite suffering extraordinary
wounds. When Crockett arrives at the Alamo, the ﬁlm has him regale his new comrades
with the clever line that Crockett actually told to newspapers on his journey out of
Tennessee: If the Tennessee voters don’t want him anymore, they can “go to hell, and I
will go to Texas.”

At other times, invented dialogue is used to convey information about the
historical ﬁgures. In an early scene, Travis and Bowie pass each other; Travis calls
Bowie a drunk and Bowie calls Travis a dandy. In a later quarrel during the welcoming
dance for Crockett, Bowie calls Travis a debtor who has run out on his pregnant wife, and
Travis denounces Bowie a5 a land swindler who married a girl for her money (referring
to the deceased Ursula Veramendi, daughter of the Mexican administrator of Bexar). It is
highly unlikely that the men really exchanged such conveniently packaged insults, but in
the context of this ﬁlm the words establish the tense relationship between them while at

the same time giving the viewer additional information about their backgrounds.

82

..l .‘ .,.,. ,_ . _ . - . , .
“"'J"“|O uni-A. K " “It _-'_- L. v .
' . r . 4 ‘ ‘ ' .
5' I Q.

gilt-433;?”

. ' r . -

t4 . , .. '

0",“. a“? :' £..
a u

:3

_ my:

 

 

V

In 1. T "<4“
if! retire-ﬁéu’rl’oi‘ 51"? "'

U
n

r, Hr "

The Alamo uses ﬁlmic techniques to offer interpretation about two of the main
characters, Bowie and Crockett, and their signiﬁcance to the era portrayed in the ﬁlm. At
the time of the Alamo, both were already famous men. Crockett, who had already served
several times in Congress, was one of the most famous men in the U.S. Bowie was a
legendary frontier ﬁghter whose exploits were well-known throughout the West. In
several scenes, this ﬁlm gives these men the opportunity to discuss the myths that grew
up around them. Each man, in a sense, is trapped by his reputation. The screenplay even
lets Crockett say as much, when he tells Bowie that if he were just plain David Crockett
he might slip out and try to ﬂee, but as the hero Davy Crockett he has no choice but to
stay and ﬁght. In a touching scene just before the battle, Crockett visits a comatose
Bowie and puts a pistol in his unmoving hand. It is a gesture from one legend to another;
both must go down ﬁghting.

At times the ﬁlm engages in pure historical imagination. We do not know if
Travis ever gave an inspiring speech to the men about the importance of Texas, but it
feels important that he should have. The surviving accounts only suggest that Travis
talked to the men about when reinforcements might come and why they should not
surrender to the Mexicans. The ﬁlm imagines what inspiring words Travis might have
said to convince the men to ﬁght for Texas. The ﬁlm’s Travis says that Texas represents
a “second chance” to “become a different man.” The camera cuts to a close-up looking
directly into Travis’s face as he adds, “And I hope a better one.” The historical William
Travis squeezed a lot of hard living into his 26 years, and he had no shortage of character
ﬂaws (he was a chronic womanizer and an ardent pro-slavery agitator). Yet at the Alamo

he rose above his ﬂaws and fulﬁlled his duty at the cost of his life. The close-up on

83

 

 

Travis’s face as he says that he hopes he has become a better man implies the
ﬁlmmakers’ ultimate assessment of Travis’s worth.

Only one major scene in the ﬁlm seems to be wholly imagined. At dusk before
the battle, Mexican musicians play the cavalry tune deguello to remind the Alamo
defenders that there will be no quarter. Crockett runs to the walls with his ﬁddle and
accompanies the grim march with a lively counterpoint. As the music fades Crockett
muses, “It’s amazing what a little harrnony’ll do.” It is a piece of historical imagination
that lets the ﬁlmmakers convey the message that the world is a better place when
Mexicans and Anglos live in harmony rather than in conﬂict. That the ﬁlmmakers chose
the good-humored Crockett to deliver the humane message seems appropriate, even if
there is no surviving evidence that this happened.

In terms of social construction, The Alamo incorporates perspectives beyond just
the Anglo males who died defending the fort. A number of scenes include Tejanos, the
men and women of Mexican origins who shared Texas with the Anglo Texian settlers.
The cooperation of Tejano rebels like Juan Seguin was important to the Anglo Texians
during the war against Santa Anna. Seguin and his men are also Texan heroes, the ﬁlm
suggests—and if they have been forgotten in previous ﬁlm version of The Alamo, it is
time to reinsert them in the Alamo story.

The ﬁlm has a difﬁcult line to walk between incorporating an integral but
previously neglected people and overstating their position. Tejanos probably did not
number much more than 3,000-4,000 in the 18305, while the population of Anglos had
grown to more than 30,000. Some Tejanos, like Seguin’s family, were actively allied

with the Texians, but the bulk of them probably only wanted to avoid getting caught in

84

 

 

 

 

the ﬁghting between the rebels and Santa Anna. Indeed, hesitance to alienate Tejanos
who opposed Santa Anna but nonetheless still considered themselves Mexicans was a
chief reason why the rebel provisional government held off so long on declaring
independence.

In the ﬁlm, Seguin is asked by his friend Esparza why he ﬁghts for men like this.
“Santa Anna only wants to rule Mexico,” Esparza wryly notes, “these disgraces want the
whole world.” Seguin has no answer for his friend. It is an ambiguous exchange that
hints at the tension Tejanos must have felt. Santa Anna was a dictator who had
unlawfully seized absolute power and overturned the federal constitution, but he was a
Mexican nationalist. For most Anglo Texians, independence was a prelude to joining the
United States—and the ﬁrture of Tejanos in this arrangement must have given many of
them pause. This uncertainty is reinforced only a few moments later when Crockett tours
the streets of Bexar and notices how many Tejano families have ﬂed. When he passes
one such house, the father tells a son to close the door. “Do they know something we
don’t?” he asks a companion. The implication is that, for some Tejanos, the Texian ﬁght
was not theirs.

Another crucial tension for the Tejanos was the fact that the Texan war was for
them a civil war against fellow Mexicans. Like the U.S. Civil War that Texas statehood
contributed to causing a few decades later, the Texas rebellion pitted brother against
brother. Though the need for Tejano cooperation prevented Anglo Texians from openly
trumpeting the war as a racial struggle, killing Mexican soldados weighed less heavily on
them. In the ﬁlm, after Travis orders a cannon ﬁred at the arriving Mexican army, Santa

Anna’s army raises a red ﬂag marked “Death to Traitors” atop a church tower in Bexar.

85

Seguin asks Esparza if his brother is in the enemy army. Esparza rueﬁrlly answers that
his brother could be one of the men raising the red ﬂag.

Ultimately, The Alamo squarely aligns Tejano interests with the struggle for
Texan independence. Juan Seguin’s passion for Texas becomes the most important
perspective. When a letter must be delivered to General Houston, Travis calls on Seguin
to do it. This mission prevents him from being with his fellows at their hour of need, but
he fulﬁlls it without complaint. In the scenes at San Jacinto, Seguin and a cavalcade of
Tejanos charge the surprised Mexicans to Seguin’s cry, “A Id batalla, tejanos!” It is a
rousing image that stands in contrast to Westerns of earlier decades—here comes the
cavalry, but this time they are Mexican Americans.

Another aspect of inclusive representation is the depiction of female historical
ﬁgures. There actually were women at the Alamo, some of the defenders’ female
relatives. Captain Almaron Dickison’s wife Suzanna and daughter Angelina appear in
the ﬁlm several times, notably in a tearful separation when Almaron rushes off to his
death during the battle. Two Tejana women tend to Bowie on his sick bed, one of them
the sister of his dead wife, Ursula. Ursula Veramendi herself appears in visions in
Bowie’s mind. Travis’s wife appears as well, reluctantly signing divorce papers and
telling their children to say goodbye to their father.

Overall, however, the women of The Alamo are a sideline to the narrative. After
all, the women did not ﬁght at the Alamo or San Jacinto and did not participate in the
provisional government. Women played important roles in the lives of all of the leading
men—Houston, Crockett, and Travis all came to Texas leaving behind failed marriages.

In The Alamo, female characters appear only to establish male characters. Ursula is used

86

to express Bowie’s pain and loss. Rosanna Travis is used only to depict Travis’s personal
failings. Suzanna and Angelina appear only to weep for Dickinson.

Black slaves are highlighted in the ﬁlm’s narrative. At least a couple were
actually at the Alamo, although the only one known for certain is Travis’s manservant,
Joe. Joe was in the Alamo throughout the battle, saw Travis die, and was later set free by
Santa Anna (Mexico had banned slavery). Joe traveled back Texas and was returned as a
slave to Travis’s estate. The ﬁlm portrays a second slave, Bowie’s servant Sam. Bowie
owned a slave named Sam but it is not known whether he was at the Alamo or what
happened to him after Bowie’s death. Sam plays an interesting role in the ﬁlm: He is an
older man who takes the young, na'r've Joe under wing. Sam teaches Joe how to surrender
in Spanish and tells him that he has done all manner of unpleasant work for White folks
and that he “ain’t gonna die for them.” The kinds of physical labor Black slaves would
have been assigned is represented in the ﬁlm by a scene in which Travis orders Sam and
Joe, when they are not busy doing other work, to dig a well.

Later in the ﬁlm, when Santa Anna offers to let non-Anglo occupants out of the .
Alamo, Sam readily obeys Bowie’s instruction to return home. Sam asks for
manumission papers, but Bowie snaps that Sam is his property and will be until he dies.
Joe, on the other hand, sticks it out with Travis, helping load muskets until his owner is
killed. The implication of these scenes involving slaves is ambiguous. The Texan
rebellion was not their ﬁght—who can blame Sam for leaving the White people who
enslaved him? Joe is the obedient slave who helps his master in a noble cause—but only
until the master is killed. Slavery was a thorny issue for Texas, and the ﬁlm’s

representation of Blacks conveys this only partly. The Texians claimed to be ﬁghting for

87

liberty—but most were slave-owners, while the Mexican government had abolished
slavery. Many Texians during the crisis worried that their slaves hoped for a Mexican
victory, since that would bring liberation. These tensions are left unmentioned in The
Alamo.

Another missing element is the presence of American Indians. Though probably
no more numerous than the Tejanos, they exerted an inﬂuence beyond what their
population suggested. A chief reason why Spain built missions like the Alamo was to
monitor and Christianize the native peoples, and pressure from Comanche raids was one
reason why Spanish, and subsequently Mexican, settlement was so restricted. The U.S.
settlers who came to Texas in the three decades before the Alamo battle often had to
contend with Indian raids. The Texians who left their farms and ranches in order to join
the army were making a risky sacriﬁce—while their militias were out ﬁghting the
Mexicans, their homesteads were left open to Comanche raids. Texian ﬁghters, thus, had
a strong motivation to push for a quick decision against the Mexicans in order to get back
to their homes and strike back against the Indians. This complication fails to appear
anywhere in the ﬁlm.

In constructing people of Mexican origin, Mexican officers and soldiers are on the
whole brave and professional, which the historical record suggests they truly were.
Interestingly, the ﬁlm tries to avoid a characteristic limitation of the war-movie genre:
reducing the enemy to faceless masses or evil villains. In many of the scenes in which
the Mexican army appears, the point of view is from two nameless soldados, one older
and one still a boy, who humanize the conﬂict even though they are never named.

Indeed, it seems to be the boy who ﬁres the fatal shot at Travis. In another scene,

88

Crockett leads a raid outside the Alamo to burn surrounding building and a young
soldado is shot. The viewer is given a close-up of the dying man’s face, and Crockett’s
expression conveys the sad waste of a young life.

Witnessing some scenes from the perspective of a pair of imagined Mexican
footsoldiers is a step toward humanizing the “other” side. Much more is known about
Santa Anna’s ofﬁcers, and many of them are identiﬁed in the ﬁlm by actual name. In
general, they too are honorable and brave. They put up token resistance to Santa Anna’s
furious outbursts but back down under his scorn. One noble general, Castrillén, protests
Santa Anna’s orders to kill all prisoners but without effect. His reward is to be struck
down by the Texian charge at San Jacinto (which was indeed the man’s actual fate). The
cumulative effect of how Spanish-speaking peoples are used in the ﬁlm might be called a
limited multicultural message. Each side was brave, each side was ﬁghting for what it
believed, and each side could give in to rage or vengeance. The ﬁlm suggests that the
Texan cause was right, but that does not mean the Mexicans were in the wrong—they
simply had the misfortune of following a bad leader. The Tejano rebels offer the ﬁlm’s
hopeful image of inclusion: people of Texas, Anglo and Hispanic, joined together to
build a new state.

Empathy / Moral Response

A core convention of Hollywood movies is the need for heroes and villains.
Clearly made for U.S. audiences, The Alamo is loath to depict Texian Anglo settlers as
villains. Personal failings can be pointed out (T ravis’s callous abandonment of his wife
and children, for example), and a dark underside can be highlighted (the Texian

ownership of slaves or the vengeﬁrl slaughter of ﬂeeing Mexicans at San Jacinto), but in

89

the end the Texians are ﬁghting for a noble cause. They come ﬁom the U.S., the land of
liberty, and even in a Mexican territory they still defend freedom.

A more detailed accounting is never really given in the ﬁlm. Toward the end of
the siege of the Alamo, Travis is called on to give a motivating speech to the men. He
has to convince them why they should die for Texas. He tells them that Texas means a
second chance, a place to make a new beginning. Each man should envision for himself
what is most important in life, and that is represented by Texas. No mention is made of
U.S. expansion, of the land-hungry White settlers, or the longstanding U.S. interest in
acquiring Texas. The Alamo patriots were heroes, imperfect perhaps, but still defenders
of American freedom. The ﬁlm offers one particularly moving scene in tribute to them.
The night before the battle the camera view moves throughout the Alamo, focusing on
individual men with their ﬁnal letters or diaries—actual period documents—read in
voice-over. It is a poignant choice that gives the viewer empathy for the authentic voices
of men who chose to sacriﬁce their lives for a cause.

Then who is the villain in this historical tale? Mexico is not cast as the enemy.
The ﬁlm absolves the Mexican soldiers and officers of blame for the war, hoisting it
entirely on Santa Anna. The real Santa Anna was a notorious opportunist who seized
power through an unlawful coup, abrogated Mexico’s constitution, and forced armed
conﬂict in Texas. Beating up on Santa Anna was a popular activity among Mexican
leaders after he was deposed, and the ﬁlm models its Santa Anna on accounts from his .
many disgruntled followers. Throughout the ﬁlm, Santa Anna comes off in a very
negative light. In one scene, Santa Anna retires to bed where a frightened Tejana girl is

waiting for him. As Santa Anna closes the door, the scene cuts to Almaron Dickson

90

comforting Suzanna and Angelina in the Alamo. It is a subtle contrast—Santa Anna the
ravisher versus a noble Alamo defender who loves his wife and daughter.

The Alamo fails to establish a multidimensional Santa Anna. Emilio Echevarria
ably conveys Santa Anna’s temper, arrogance, and selﬁshness, but missing is the noted
allure of the real man. Echevarria looks much older than the mid-405 that Santa Anna
actually was at the Alamo. It is diﬁicult to see in his grirn-faced portrayal the
handsomeness that won over many supporters and the personal charisma the kept the
loyalty of the common soldiers.

By contrast, the Texan rebels come off as remarkably appealing. The handsome
William Travis is well-represented by (the probably handsomer) Patrick Wilson, who
captures Travis’s youth but not his hard-living edge. The ﬁlm’s Travis is several times
called a “dandy” by other characters, and Wilson’s gentle demeanor reveals nothing of
the pro-slavery ﬁrebrand who was always at the fore calling for Texan independence.
Dennis Quaid as Sam Houston looks the part and gives the role a surprising amount of
sobriety; the likely alcoholism that ruined whole portions of Houston’s life (and dogged
his reputation even in Texas) is represented by just two scenes in which Houston is
shown pounding a shot of whiskey. Jason Patric as Bowie, like Wilson, is probably
handsomer than the real man. Bowie’s reputation as a criminal forger of land deeds and a
super-human brawler is only alluded to in passing. Billy Bob Thornton creates an
enormously appealing Crockett, winning over the viewer with his portrayal of the famous
man’s legendary good humor and folksiness. Thornton’s Crockett is a man on the run
from his reputation, which he cannot escape even in frontier Texas. The real Crockett

never forgot the need for publicity and boasted to newspapers that he would cut off Santa

91

Anna’s head. Unlike many Western historical ﬁlms prior to the 19905, The Alamo does
show the dark sides of its protagonists, but the performances work to reinforce their
image as imperfect heroes. Santa Anna comes off badly by comparison—raging, petty,
and (worst of all) a bad loser.

The ﬁlm tries only once to give Santa Anna’s perspective its due. During the
strategy session before the Alamo attack, he denounces the defenders as “pirates” and
orders no prisoners taken. If Mexico allows American “bandits” to take Texas from
Mexico, he says, “our grandchildren and their grandchildren will suffer the disgrace of
begging for crumbs.” This statement put in Santa Anna’s mouth seems to hint at the
poverty many Mexican Americans (both citizens and illegal immigrants) face today. It is
one reason why Santa Anna wanted to crush the Texan revolt, execute prisoners, and
drive illegal immigrants of Texas.

Perhaps this is the most pressing moral connection between the struggle for Texan
independence and U.S. society today. Millions of Mexican nationals illegally cross the
border into Texas and the U.S. Southwest every year, in a reverse of what occurred in
Texas almost 200 years ago. A fundamental theme of The Alamo is a multicultural
message of harmony—Mexicans and Americans ﬁnally resolving a peaceful border,
Tejanos and Anglos uniting to form a new American state. The ﬁlm’s closing text blocks
underscore the ﬁnality of the events: “In exchange for his life, Santa Anna signed over all
Mexican rights to Texas. Nine Years after the fall of the Alamo, Texas became the 28th
state of the United States.” Yet 1836 did not mark a ﬁnal resolution, nor did 1844.

When the U.S. annexed Texas, it directly sparked the Mexican War, as Mexican troops

moved across the disputed border held by the U.S. army. The Mexican War conﬁrmed

92

U.S. control of Texas and the Southwest but not the movement of peoples across a porous
border. Even 150 years later, the U.S. and Mexico remain divided over this issue.

The Alamo elicits its most powerful moral response when dealing with the
execution of prisoners. The ﬁlm drew some public attention during its initial release for
depicting Davy Crockett’s execution, contrary to decades of popular mythology that he
died ﬁghting. There is no shame to Crockett that he was overpowered in battle and
subsequently executed, but the ﬁlm puts the shame entirely on Santa Anna for ordering it.
The Alamo executions pale in comparison to the nearly 400 men shot to death outside
Goliad, but perhaps the emotional impact of Crockett’s death is representative enough.

Yet by minimizing the execution of prisoners, treating the affair as the cruel act of
one cruel man, the ﬁlm sidesteps one of the most important issues facing the world today.
Had Santa Anna had access to our contemporary political rhetoric, he surely would have
denounced the Texians as terrorists, extremists, and foreign ﬁghters. Today there
remains uncertainty over what can be done with captured combatants who technically do
not serve any national army and who, if released, would likely just take up arms again.
Santa Anna faced this same problem 170 years ago and applied an unequivocal
headsman’s solution. By dismissing the complexities of the issue, The Alamo misses an
opportunity to help people today see how a similar problem faced today played out in the
past.

Taking Stock

Thus far, I have described my framework for conducting pedagogical content

analysis of history movies and tested it on the 2004 ﬁlm The Alamo. The ﬁlm represents

one kind of historical storytelling: dramatized recreation of actual events. Most

93

characters are real historical ﬁgures or reasoned representatives of groups (for example,
the two unnamed Mexican soldados). Almost all the events are drawn from period
accounts, and authentic artifacts (for example, letters) are incorporated into the
screenplay. Of course, some events must be compressed or altered to ﬁt sensibly into the
ﬁlm’s narrative and running time, and some confusing or uncertain details or deeper
complications are left out. Furthermore, the ﬁlm’s factual basis and use of historical
evidence do not by themselves provide broader meaning. The ﬁlm offers one possible
interpretation of the meaning of the Alamo crisis (a symbolic defense of liberty against
tyranny) and encourages a multicultural moral response (White and Hispanic harmony in
Texas, peaceful cooperation between Mexico and the U.S.). Table 3.2 brieﬂy summaries
main points of the analysis along the six pedagogical functions deﬁned at the beginning I
of the chapter. Furthermore, it points out some implications of this ﬁlm for teachers and
students.

Table 3.2

Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary: The Alamo

 

 

The Alamo (2004)
Content Incorporates remarkable number of historical details (real ﬁgures, Texas
coverage politics, Alamo siege and battle), but exaggerates strategic value of Alamo and

cannot include every possible detail (e.g., cannon at the long barracks)

Accurate evokes period with sets (Alamo, frontier towns) and props (riﬂes);

Period downplays effectiveness of Mexican artillery and competence of Santa Anna’s
representation siege; simpliﬁes scope of Santa Anna’s strategy and actions (e.g., San J acinto'
taken out of its broader context)

 

Historical Incorporates many recorded anecdotes (Crockett, Bowie reputations) and
construction period documents (letters) into screenplay

Features Tejano characters (Seguin) and emphasizes Tejano importance, but
downplays racial dynamics and aligns Tejano interests with Anglo Texians;
Mexican perspective reﬂected through soldiers (Castrillén, two unnamed
soldados); slavery issue highlighted through Joe and Sam; women used
mostly to establish male characters

Social
construction

 

 

 

 

94

 

Despite their dark undersides, Anglo Texians depicted as heroes;
Empathy Tejanos/Mexican people depicted sympathetically; Santa Anna presented as
the villain and comes off badly compared to Texian leaders

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Alamo represents defense of liberty against dictatorship; the ﬁlm emphasizes
Moral response multicultural message of racial unity, but ignores how events relate to ongoing
issues of border conﬂict and treatment of captured enemy insurgents

 

Dramatized recreation of historical events; teachers may be attracted to its
Implications factual basis but need to distinguish content coverage from its debatable
for Teachers choices in empathy and moral responses; ﬁlm offers one meaning of the
Alamo, but a lesson could investigate multiple possible interpretations

 

 

Box ofﬁce failure, so many students may not have heard of this movie before
Implications seeing it in class; dense amount of factual detail may be overwhelming for
for Students some students; students may ﬁxate on period details and battles without
necessarily considering the story’s connection to our world today

 

 

Pedagogical Content Analysis of The Last Samurai

The Last Samurai takes place during the modernization of Japan aﬁer the 1868
overthrow of the last Tokugawa shogun in the name of the young Emperor Meiji. Its
central event is the defeat of the ﬁnal major uprising by the samurai, Japan’s traditional
feudal warriors. The historical background and factual details in this analysis come from
my research using historical reference texts, recent published scholarship, and
educational programming about the Meiji Restoration and Japan in the 19th century.2
Plot Summary

The ﬁlm opens in 1876 in San Francisco, where drunken former Civil War hero
Captain Nathan Algren (Tom Cruise) is selling Winchester riﬂes. An old Army comrade,
Zebulon Gant (Billy Connolly), convinces Algren to consider a new job opportunity as an

advisor in Japan. Algren dines with his despised former commander, Colonel Bagley

 

2 Keene (2002) offers a highly detailed study of the personality and times of Emperor Meiji. McClain
(2002) provides a helpful overview of the period and supplied most statistics used in this analysis.
Woodruff (2002) situates Meiji Japan in a broader global context. Dupuy and Dupuy (1993) and Dupuy,
Johnson, and Bongard (1995) are useful reference texts for military ﬁgures and events. Goldfarb, Desnoo,
and Toshihiro (2003) give a fascinating visual account of Japan in the samurai period. Some useful
background material also is included in the special features contained on The Last Samurai DVD.

95

 

(Tony Goldwyn), and the Japanese emissary Mr. Omura (Masato Harada). Algren
accepts ajob helping train the new Japanese Army to put down a rebellion of samurai
warriors under the leadership of the young emperor’s former teacher, Katsumoto (Ken
Watanabe). Algren is haunted by memories of participating in massacres of American
Plains Indians while under Bagley’s command. In Japan, he befriends the translator
Simon Graham (Timothy Spall), an Englishman who resigned from a trade mission some
years earlier. Algren learns that the American ambassador is trying to convince Omura
and the Emperor to sign an exclusive trade agreement with the U.S. in return for modern
armaments. Algren, Gant, and Bagley begin training an army of Japanese peasant-
conscripts, ordered into battle before they are ready. Omura, who dominates the
Emperor’s governing council, is personally suffering ﬁnancial losses and wants the
rebellion crushed immediately. The armies clash in a night battle in a forest, and the
peasant-conscripts are routed. Gant is killed, and Algren is taken prisoner at Katsumoto’s
request after he watches the badly wounded American craftily slay a samurai.

Algren is taken to a mountain village under Katsumoto’s control for the winter,
during which time he recovers from his wounds, gradually overcomes alcoholism, and
gains a deep respect for the traditional samurai way of life. He is put under the care of
Katsumoto’s sister Taka (Koyuki), the wife of the warrior whom Algren slew. He later
learns the identity of the slain warrior, falls in love with Taka, and becomes a surrogate
father-ﬁgure to her children. Katsumoto befriends Algren and encourages him to train in
the samurai code and style of warfare. In the spring, Algren is taken to Tokyo by
Katsumoto, who has come to the capital in one last effort to convince Emperor Meiji

(Shichinosuke Nakamura) to turn his back on Omura’s policies. Katsumoto is arrested by

96

Omura’s men. Algren learns Katsumoto is to be killed and joins with Simon Graham and
the samurai to rescue him. They escape Tokyo and ﬂee back to the mountain village, but
Bagley, Omura, and a well-trained modern army are in pursuit. Algren is accepted as a
samurai and given the armor of Taka’s dead husband, and he helps Katsumoto plan and
ﬁght a ﬁnal battle. The samurai brieﬂy gain the upper hand, but eventually the superior
ﬁrepower of the modern Japanese Army turns the tide. Algren charges Bagley and kills
him, but machine guns quickly cut down the samurai. Katsumoto dies in the arms of his
friend Algren, who survives and brings the samurai leader’s sword to the Emperor.
Moved by Algren’s gesture, Emperor Meiji turns on Omura, strips him of his wealth and
power, and refuses the sign the exclusive trade agreement with the United States. Simon
Graham narrates the ﬁlm’s closing images, speculating that Algren returned to the
mountain village and found happiness there with Taka and her family.
Content Coverage / Period Representation

The Last Samurai is probably best described as a ﬁctional story inspired by real
events. The ﬁlm is an amalgam of a signiﬁcant number of historical elements and
ﬁgures. Several of the key Japanese characters, though ﬁctionalized, are clearly based on
actual historical persons. Katsumoto is modeled on Saigo Takamori (1828-1877), a
leading samurai from Satsuma, the southern province in Kyushu that sparked and
sustained the revolution against the Tokugawa shogunate. Saigo was one of the “heroes
of 1868” who led the imperial forces to overthrow the last shogun and became a close
advisor of the young emperor. Like Katsumoto, Saigo was a defender of samurai class _
and was driven from the governing Council of State (Dajokan) by political rivals. While

Katsumoto’s differences with his rivals are only generally depicted in the ﬁlm as a

97

disagreement over samurai traditions and their role in modern Japan, Saigo left the
government speciﬁcally when the emperor refused to support his proposal to go to war
with Korea. Korea had declined to recognize the Meiji government until China did ﬁrst,
and Saigo hoped war against Korea would restore samurai prestige and make the
government need them again. After this rejection, Saigo asked to be appointed
ambassador to Korea, hoping that the Koreans would assassinate him and thereby provide
a pretext for Japan to declare war. When this request was turned down, Saigo and his
followers quit the government. This somewhat Machiavellian side to Saigo is expunged
from the handsome and sympathetic Katsumoto.

Mr. Omura seems to be based on Okubo Toshimichi, another leading samurai
from Satsuma province instrumental in the Meiji Restoration. He reformed Japan’s
ﬁnancial system and was appointed interior minister. In 1871 he was part of a delegation
of 50 Japanese leaders who visited Europe and the United States to get ideas and recruit
advisors for Japan’s modernization. Probably to keep the number of characters
manageable and to simplify the complexities of the imperial government, the ﬁlm gives
Omura more political control than Okubo had. Omura is shown controlling the Council
of State, but Okubo shared power with other ruling ministers like Iwakura Tomomi. It
was Iwakura who convinced Emperor Meiji to reject Saigo’s plans for Korea. In the
sense that Omura is depicted as Katsumoto’s rival, he is a composite of Okubo and
Iwakura. At the ﬁlm’s conclusion, Omura is punished as the emperor strips away his
family’s wealth. This is perhaps the character’s most ﬁctionalized aspect. Far from
being punished, Iwakura later became Prime Minister and was eulogized by the emperor

after his death in 1883. Okubo, on the other hand, paid with his life not his wealth: in

98

May, 1878, six ex-samurai sympathetic to Saigo ambushed Okubo’s coach and killed
him. Meiji did not strip Okubo’s family of its wealth; the emperor posthumously
promoted Okubo.

General Hasegawa perhaps can be compared to Yamagata Arimoto, Japan’s chief
of general staff and army minister. It was Yamagata who commanded the 60,000 troops
dispatched by Okubo to southern Japan to put down Saigo’s rebellion in 1877. In the
ﬁlm, Hasegawa is captured in the forest battle and, with Katsumoto’s assistance, commits
ritual suicide. The real Yamagata did not die on the battleﬁeld. He pursued the
campaign to its conclusion and later served as Prime Minister for a time. Hasegawa is a
ﬁctionalized ﬁgure used by the ﬁlm to show that not all samurai opposed modernization.

The only historical ﬁgure portrayed under his own name in the ﬁlm is Emperor
Meiji. In the ﬁlm, the emperor is depicted as a quiet young man who keeps his personal
feelings somewhat of a mystery. Mutsuhito, the Meiji Emperor, was only 25 years old
during the 1877 rebellion, and had already been on the throne for a decade. He did not
keep a personal diary and wrote few letters—only his poetry provides some insight into
his feelings. The ﬁlm emphasizes the personal closeness of Meiji and Katsumoto. The
young emperor is unsure how to rule and in one scene even begs Katsumoto, his former
teacher, to tell him what to do. The real Meiji did depend heavily on his advisors and let
his Council of State direct most national business. Saigo Takamori, the inspiration for
Katsumoto, was a close advisor for whom Meiji felt personal affection. Saigo wrote a
letter to the emperor during his rebellion and claimed to be marching on Tokyo to meet
with him, but Meiji never wrote back or saw him again. At the ﬁlm’s end, Meiji reveals

his grief for Katsumoto’s death to Algren when he visits the throne to present

99

Katsumoto’s ceremonial sword. The real Meiji did mourn Saigo’s death. One of his
ministers, Kido Takayoshi, wrote how he was moved to tears by the emperor’s display of
affection for the slain Saigo, and Meiji asked the empress to write a poem mourning the
dead samurai.

Katsumoto’s rebellion is a composite of three different historical uprisings in
Japan in the 18705. In the ﬁlm, Katsumoto’s rebellion is already under way by 1876 and
targets the infrastructure of modernization, notably railroads. When the ﬁrst army of
peasant conscripts sent against him is repulsed, Minister Omura himself takes command
of the modernized army trained and equipped by Colonel Bagley and the Americans.
These ﬁctional story elements seem drawn from the Saga uprising in early 1874, when
Eto Shinpei, the former justice minister, gathered 300 dissident samurai and began
attacking banks and government offices. Interior Minister Okubo personally took charge
of an expeditionary force and quelled the uprising. Eto was executed two months later
and his head displayed in public as a warning. Katsumoto’s rebel samurai are
traditionalists who refuse to use modern Western armaments. This story element has
some basis in reality. In late October of 1876, the shinpuren (200 or so former samurai)
tried to attack the garrison at Kumamoto Castle, in Kyushu. Strongly anti-Westem, they
fought only with traditional samurai arms and were crushed.

Katsumoto’s rebellion is mostly based on Saigo Takamori’s uprising from
January to September in] 877. The ﬁlm places this last samurai rebellion in Yoshino, a
mountainous region in southern Honshu, though Saigo’s revolt actually occurred in
Satsuma in southern Kyushu. After resigning from the government, Saigo retired on a

large stipend. He became a sponsor of disaffected samurai in Satsuma, funding a

100

network of private military academies to help them organize. Late in 1876, the
government sent agents to investigate the academies. The cadets captured one man and
tortured him into confessing that he was a spy and that the government was plotting to
kill Saigo. In January, 1877, the cadets broke into government arsenals and seized the
guns and ammunition after learning Tokyo had dispatched ships to transfer the ordnance
to Osaka. Saigo was away at the time and did not condone the cadets’ actions, but upon
his return he took command of the rebellion. Unlike the ﬁlm’s Katsumoto, Saigo knew
well the power of modern weapons and used them. The army he led in 1868 against the
last shogun also had used modern weapons imported from the West.

The ﬁlm depicts Katsumoto’s rebellion as a last stand of the traditional samurai
way of life, a pure culture untainted by Western technology and industrialization.
Saigo’s rebellion surely attracted some anti-foreign ex-samurai, but the rebellion was not
so much anti-Westem as it was a protest against the dismantling of samurai caste.
Throughout the previous decade, Saigo had seen the imperial government strip away
samurai privileges one by one. In 1871, Japan’s feudal domains were abolished and
replaced by prefectures. Another law permitted all citizens to take surnames, formerly a
samurai privilege. The establishment of a modern army based on mass conscription in
1873 did away with any military need for samurai. The ﬁnal blow came in 1876, when
the government banned ex-samurai from publicly bearing swords and replaced their
traditional stipends with lower-paying government bonds. It was the loss of traditional
status of the samurai that convinced Saigo to lead the 1877 rebellion. When his rebels

took to the ﬁeld, it was not exclusively with feudal arms and armor. His forces fought

101

with swords, riﬂes, and artillery, and they wore a wide variety of uniforms—the men who
quit the government to join him even wore their old governmental uniforms.

In terms of actual historical events, Katsumoto’s uprising is largely ﬁctionalized.
The ﬁlm narrative consists of an early victory against the peasant conscripts in the forest
battle in 1876 and then, after Algren’s lengthy interlude among Katsumoto and the
samurai, one decisive last battle in 1877. In reality, Saigo’s rebellion was a seven-month
campaign waged ﬁ'om Kumamoto Castle to Kagishima. Only the battle scene in which
Algren is taken prisoner seems inﬂuenced by an actual historical event. Algren
reluctantly leads the peasant conscripts into a dark, foggy wood, where they are overrun
by a ﬁerce samurai charge. Something similar actually occurred on February 22, 1877,
when a governmental regiment clashed with Saigo’s rebels in a moonlight battle. The
rebels attacked at close quarters with swords drawn and drove back the government
troops, who lost their regimental banner (in the ﬁlm, it is Algren who captures the tiger
pennant and uses it to ﬁght off the samurai attackers).

In many ways, how historical content knowledge is incorporated into the
screenplay closely relates to how the historical period is represented in general. This is
most true regarding the end of the samurai rebellion. The ﬁlm’s principal narrative is
almost entirely invented. Saigo did not capture an American ofﬁcer who later fought at
his side; Saigo did not ride to Tokyo and was never arrested by the government; the
government did not send assassins against Saigo (though his young cadets suspected it).
The scenes in which ninja attack Katsumoto’s village at night and ex-samurai (ronin)
ambush Algren in the streets of Tokyo are visually exciting, violent interludes (expected

in action movies), but they have little historical basis.

102

The ﬁlm’s ﬁnal battle between the modernized Japanese army and Katsumoto’s
rebel samurai is heavily ﬁctionalized but does offer some historical insights. Katsumoto
and Algren engage Omura’s army in one ﬁnal set-piece battle in May, 1877. Colonel
Bagley parleys with Katsumoto and Algren and asks for their surrender, but Katsumoto
answers that Mr. Omura knows this is not possible. Taking advantage of the terrain and
some carefully laid traps, the few hundred samurai rebels brieﬂy gain the upper-hand but
soon are overwhelmed by the superior ﬁrepower of the govemment’s forces. At the very
end, Katsumoto and Algren are brought down under a hail of machine-gun bullets.
Helped by Algren, Katsumoto is able to kill himself with his sword rather than suffer
capture or a slow death. Historically, Saigo’s army peaked at 20,000-30,000 in March.
After his siege of Kumamoto Castle was broken, the rebels were forced into a bloody
retreat to Kagoshima and their numbers dwindled. In September, Saigo and a few
hundred remaining followers dug into the low hills north of Kagoshima Castle.
Yamagata Arimoto wrote a letter to his former friend asking him to surrender, but Saigo
sent no response. The next morning Yamagata’s army attacked the rebels. Saigo was
shot through the pelvis and probably died almost instantly. However, afterward a legend
sprang up that he lived long enough to face the far-off Imperial Palace and take his own
life by ritual seppuku.

The ﬁlm’s last battle viscerally shows the power of modern weaponry, most
notably the machine gun. It also suggests the effectiveness of a trained national army of
infantry armed with riﬂes over the individualistic skill and courage of warriors with pre-
modern arms and training. On the other hand, the visual rhetoric of this extended scene

emphasizes ﬁctional adventure. Historically, heavy artillery became the most powerful

103

ranged battleﬁeld weapon in the late 18005 and early 19005, and the ﬁlm does show a
howitzer having some distant impact on the samurai ranks. However, it is the machine
gun that most contemporary viewers can understand: it lets the ﬁlmmakers show a more
personal visual mode of killing, with men aiming directly at the other characters and
mowing them down. Filmic convention also demands that The Last Samurai let the
ultimately doomed heroes put up a good ﬁght ﬁrst. Hence, the extended battle scene
begins with the samurai luring the ﬁrst government regiment into close combat, trapping
them behind walls of ﬁre. In reality, Saigo’s last stand was short and hopeless, even
though his men also fought with modern arms. As colonial battles throughout Asia and
Africa in the late 1800s amply demonstrated, a pre-modem army with traditional arms
almost never could hold out against a trained army with modern weapons.

The Last Samurai represents the broader period of Meiji-era Japan in both
historically compelling and problematic ways. The ﬁlm narrative from start to ﬁnish
emphasizes the role of Western foreign pressure on Japan and the struggle of the Meiji
government to pursue modernization on its own terms. From the 18505 to the 18705, the
United States, Russia, Britain, Holland, and France all vied for inﬂuence and trade with
Japan, and the ensuing treaties and trade agreements are a complex historical topic. By
ﬁlmic convention, movies must avoid bombarding the audience with excessive detail, so
The Last Samurai depicts a simpliﬁed foreign presence to represent the difﬁculty Japan
faced in dealing on an equal footing with Western nations. The Americans are shown
exclusively, though the screenplay implies representatives from other Great Powers are
present in Japan. Graham originally came to Japan with a British delegation. In one

scene, U.S. ambassador Swanbeck tries to pressure Omura into concluding an exclusive

104

trade bargain with the U.S., and Omura counters by threatening to turn to European
nations for trade. As an American-made ﬁlm, it is hardly surprising that the main
character is American and the role of Americans is exaggerated. In reality, the Japanese
used the U.S. as a model for their school system and some ﬁnancial reforms, not their
military. The Meiji government turned to the British to modernize its navy and to the
French and later the Germans to modernize its army. Yet, Swanbeck’s impatience in the
ﬁlm illustrates the historical reality that the Japanese government often used delaying
tactics against foreign diplomatic pressure.

The ﬁlm careﬁrlly, even lovingly, depicts the culture and appearance of
traditional, feudal Japanese society. The screenplay makes many references to bushido
(the “way of the warrior”), kendo (the art of swordﬁghting), and Zen Buddhism (the
spiritual philosophy of inner peace embraced by many samurai). A particularly touching
recurring motif in the ﬁlm is the cherry blossom (sakura), a popular element in traditional
Japanese art. A famous Japanese poem compared samurai armies to a ﬁeld of cherry
blossoms—an array of beautiful colors and forms blown apart by a strong wind. At the
end of the last battle scene, after stabbing himself with his sword, Katsumoto observes
blossoms drifting nearby on the wind and notes, “They are all perfect.” The blossoms are
beautiful and glorious but ultimately cannot last in the world.

The strangest assertion made by the ﬁlm about the period is that the samurai are a
native tribe. In numerous scenes, the samurai are compared to Native Americans of the
Great Plains. Algren is brought to Japan because of his intimate knowledge of the
Cheyenne. He laments that suppressing tribal rebellions is the only work for which he is

suited. On many occasions, Algren has ﬂashbacks to the slaughter of a Native American

105

village. Algren only regains his mental health after coming to identify with the samurai
warrior-tribe. This “tribal” conception of the samurai would have made no sense to the
Japanese of the period. 3 Although it is true that Saigo’s rebels largely consisted of men
from the Satsuma region, they were not a distinct tribal group and sympathetic ex-
samurai could be found all over Japan. More accurately, the samurai were an elite social
caste of warrior-families. A more defensible choice might have been to compare the
rebel samurai to another defeated American group—the Southern Confederacy. Like the
Confederates, Saigo’s Satsuma rebels came from the deep south of their country, felt
abused by the national government, and claimed to be defending their traditional way of
life. The ﬁlm ignores the Confederate comparison except to construct Algren as a Civil
War veteran.

Arguably, the ﬁlm is most educational in its symbolic representation of the
period. How the ﬁlm depicts the Council of State (Dajokan) is particularly insightful,
with the panel of ministers seated around a table in rank order while the emperor
observes them quietly from his own table at the head of the room. The emperor is
separated, distant, and not expected to join the debates. The ministers debated and
formulated policy; the emperor listened and intervened only when a choice between
policy options had to be made (such as when the emperor supported the peace faction
over Saigo’s faction calling for war against Korea). Although the Dajokan was replaced
by a formal cabinet system in the 18803, the dominance of head ministers and the limited

but important role of the emperor continued through WWII. The ﬁlm skillfully depicts

 

3 There is some irony in this “tribal” depiction of the samurai. Through the 18705-18905, the same decades
in which the U.S. government subdued the native peoples of the American West, Japan’s government
subjugated the Ainu, the indigenous people of Ezochi (Hokkaido), by seizing their hunting grounds and
settling ethnic Japanese in subsidized homesteads. By 1908, the Ainu were only 1.25% of Hokkaido’s
population. The American Plains Indians are far more analogous to the Ainu than to the samurai.

106

the ceremonial world of the emperor (tenno, “heavenly ruler”), who was revered as a
semi-divine ﬁgure. Especially perceptive is the scene in which Graham ﬁrst takes Algren
and Bagley to meet the emperor, lecturing them on the intricate protocols of the imperial
throne.

The ﬁhn further evokes the period through a pair of visual metaphors. When
Algren ﬁrst arrives in Yokohama in 1876, he sees a traditional Japanese town. After
spending many months with Katsuomoto, he returns to a modernized Japanese town
symbolized by streams of telegraph lines running across the skyline. In a separate scene
in between, Algren’s poorly trained conscript regiment marches alongside a great railway
being built in the countryside. An old, traditional village is being demolished to make
way for the railroad. Graham tells Algren that Mr. Omura owns all the railroads, which
is why he needs Katsumoto’s rebellion to be crushed as quickly as possible. These
scenes are more useful metaphorically than literally. The modernization of Japan was a
shockingly rapid process (from the 18605 to the 18905), and the ﬁlm tries to convey this
by showing differences in Yokohama over a single year. The train was an immensely
important technology for Japan, a mountainous country that beneﬁted greatly from rapid
land transportation. Locomotives were one of the ﬁrst Western technologies acquired by
Japan, and the government supported the rapid construction of railroads. Having all the
railroads owned by just one minister, Mr. Omura, is a simpliﬁcation for the sake of the
plot. Yet, this simpliﬁcation points to a larger omission. Japan was rapidly industrialized
through the creation of zaibatsu, powerful families that were given control of factories by
the government. The zaibatsu formed the genesis of industrial and commercial

corporations, becoming a capitalist oligarchy. The monopoly over the railroads that the

107

ﬁlm gives to Omura perhaps is meant to represent the power of the zaibatsu, but it fails to
capture their full reach over the economy and the role they played in swiftly building up
Japanese industrial production.

Historical Construction / Social Construction

The Last Samurai constructs its historical narrative to a limited extent with
language that comes from Meiji-era Japan. The most immediately obvious choice on the
part of the ﬁlmmakers is to include a signiﬁcant amount of J apanese-language dialogue
with English subtitles. This aural rhetorical choice augments the authenticity of the
historical narrative for the English-language viewer, who feels immersed in the period
language. It also gives the ﬁlmmakers the opportunity to include actual period Japanese
phrases that can be discerned by an informed listener. Meiji is called tenno, the
ceremonial mode of addressing the emperor. In the scene when Algren is leaving the
village to ride to Tokyo, Taka’s son addresses him as Algren-son, using the honoriﬁc
sufﬁx attached to the name of a samurai to indicates he has been accepted by Taka’s
family.

Also instructive are the use of actual political slogans promulgated by the Meiji
government. In the council scene in which Katsumoto appears before the emperor
bearing a sword and is arrested, Omura tells the other ministers, “We must resist the
Western powers by becoming powerful ourselves. Our army, our economy must be
strong.” This is a skillful inclusion of the official slogan “Prosperous Nation, Strong
Military” (ﬁtkoku kyohei). Other slogans are referenced more indirectly. Earlier in the
ﬁlm, Colonel Bagley tells Algren that the Japanese have decided to become a civilized

nation. This echoes the Meiji slogan, “Civilization and Enlightenment” (bunmei kaika).

108

The symbolic presence of the telegraph wires, trains, and steamships, as well as Omura’s
insistence that Japan needs a strong economy evokes the slogan, “Increase Production,
Promote Industry” (shokusan kogyo). In a similar vein, the screenplay incorporates a
touch of the rhetoric actually employed by the anti-govemment rebels of the period. In a
voice-over early in the ﬁlm, Algren admits surprise to learn that Katsumoto feels his
rebellion is in service to the emperor. In reality, many who participated in the overthrow
of the last shogun and the “restoration” of imperial rule embraced the slogan “Revere the
Emperor, Expel the Barbarian” (sonnojor). When some of these sonnojoi partisans felt
betrayed by the Meiji government and resisted, they claimed they were rebelling in
service to the emperor in order to rid him of corrupt advisors. This rhetoric of loyalty to
the emperor was employed by the real Saigo Takamori—a5 well as by the ex-samurai
who assassinated Okubo Toshimichi.

Linguistic elements are not the only kind of historically authentic documentation
used by the ﬁlm in its construction of history. Costumes, sets, and props (especially
weapons and armor) visually evoke the period in visually moving ways. Saigo’s last
rebellion may have used modern weaponry, but nonetheless the ﬁlm adeptly imagines
what a samurai army might have looked like at the end of the Tokugawa era. In a scene
shortly after Algren is brought to the samurai village, he observes the warriors engaging
in sword drill and mounted archery—two skills long prized by samurai.

Ultimately, The Last Samurai is a created story. In that it seeks to comment on
the historical legacy of the period, the ﬁlm is more than a strictly entertaining costume
drama or action movie. Most characters (including the hero Algren and the villain

Bagley) and most of the plot events (including the ﬁghts) are wholly or mostly invented.

109

The ﬁlmmakers shrewdly straddle the divide by changing names but keeping the
historical period: the rebel leader is Katsumoto not Saigo, the last rebellion occurs in
Yoshino not Satsuma, but the period setting is still 1876-1877.

As telling as the ﬁlm’s historical construction is how the narrative constructs
different social identities and groups. One of the chief goals of the Meiji government was
to modernize the Japanese people, to turn the traditionally stratiﬁed population into
“national citizens” (kokumin) bonded together by loyalty to the state. The ﬁlm hints at
the transformation of the people in two scenes. When Algren ﬁrst takes charge of
training the Japanese army, the soldiers are basically peasants straight off the farms.
Their conical helmets evoke the traditional peasant ﬁeld hat. These peasant-conscripts
quickly break in fear when Katsumoto’s samurai charge them. At the ﬁlm’s end, Bagley
leads a new army of national soldiers against Algren and Katsumoto. They wear
European-style uniforms and ﬁght with discipline. This new army represents the
kokumin ideal. What is missing from the depiction of this transition is any kind of
resistance or agency. The common people who go along with the changing times are
obedient and deferential to their leaders. The peasants who hold to the traditional
lifestyle are obedient and deferential to the samurai. There is no glimpse of the kind of
wild independence that led hundreds of thousands of ordinary Japanese to take to the
streets across Japan in the autumn of 1867, uncertain months when the Tokugawa
shogunate was collapsing, in a bacchanal of fatalistic celebration taking up the chant eeja
nai ka (roughly “It’s okay! What the hell!”). Neither do we see the popular agency that
led some Japanese to advocate local constitutional reform in the two decades before 1900

or to push for socialism in the decades after.

110

The world of The Last Samurai is a man’s world. Women and children only
function in the ﬁlm in relation to their men. Perhaps in some ways this is an appropriate
metaphor for traditional Japan, in which women were expected to be visibly deferential to
men. Yet, the ﬁlm never explores these individuals from their own perspectives or
observes the world from their point of view. The only substantial female character is
Taka, Katsumoto’s sister. She and her children mourn the samurai slain by Algren,
respect the wise Katsumoto, and accept the changing Algren. The narrative confirms that
Algren has changed as a person when he is embraced by Taka’s family. Taka, in a sense,
is used in the traditional female role of securing an alliance between men, as she is
symbolically passed from Katsumoto’s control to Algren when Katsumoto commands
Taka to take Algren into her home. Of course, Taka also serves the powerful ﬁlmic
convention of the “love interest” for the main character. The racial dimensions are worth
contemplating. How would American audiences react to a movie set in the Old West of
the 18705 in which a lone Asian man came into their world, killed a White woman’s
husband in a duel, and then fell in love with the widow and took the slain husband’s
place?

The ﬁlm constructs a dominant role for a few characters that are not Japanese. It
is a longstanding ﬁlmic convention to have a strong main character countered by a strong
villain. Thus, during the last battle, Mr. Omura panics while Colonel Bagley takes charge
of the army, establishing Bagley’s courage in counterpoint to Algren’s so that it is
emotionally satisfying when Algren kills him. Algren is constructed as a White super-
man. Quite quickly, over no more than eight months (fall of 1876 to May, 1877), Algren

becomes a better samurai than the Japanese samurai who have trained all their lives.

111

Nobutada and especially Ujio nourish Algren’s transformation as he eventually surpasses
them (Algren outlives both of them). Only Katsumoto is depicted as Algren’s equal, and
indeed the ﬁlm seems to construct these characters as spiritual equals—they see in each ‘
other fellow warriors and kindred souls. Yet it is Algren who lives through the last battle
and holds his dying ﬁiend in his arms, not the other way around. The White hero is the
only survivor of the doomed rebellion that originally was not even his own cause, and it
is he who bears the samurai spirit at the end of the ﬁlm. This ambiguity is reﬂected in the
ﬁlm’s title—who is the last samurai, Katsumoto or Algren?
Empathy / Moral Response

1 The Last Samurai fulﬁlls an established ﬁlmic convention by dividing its
historical characters into heroes and villains. What is surprising is that this U.S.-made
ﬁlm so effectively establishes empathy with an archaic culture that is foreign even to
many Japanese today. The ﬁlm accomplishes this historical empathy through the
psychological journey of Captain Algren as he becomes immersed in the compelling
beauty of the Japanese setting. At the start of the ﬁlm he is a guilt-haunted, self-
destructive man. As he gets to know Katsumoto and lives among his people, he comes to
identify with a foreign culture that restores his humanity, honor, and inner peace. Early
in Algren’s captivity, Katsumoto confronts Algren about his nightmares. When Algren
says that all soldiers have nightmares, Katsumoto replies that only soldiers who are
ashamed of what they have done have them. By embracing bushido, the samurai code,
Algren shufﬂes off his old life and ﬁnds self-acceptance in samurai identity.

Algren’s identiﬁcation with the samurai facilitates empathy for their culture

because Algren, despite his transformation, never ceases to be readily identiﬁable as a

112

 

 

hero in U.S. ﬁlmic convention. He always ﬁts comfortably with our contemporary
popular-culture views of a hero: Algren feels guilty about past atrocities, respects other
cultures, and is gentle with women and children. Algren’s hero status is ﬁrrther
reinforced by casting. Tom Cruise is one of the most recognizable stars in the world,
well known for his leading-man good looks. Cruise’s handsome appeal and sympathetic
performance helps to bridge the gap in time and culture for the audience. Cruise’s Algren
becomes a samurai but he never shaves off his long, dark hair.

If Algren is representative of the redemption of Western culture through the
rediscovery of forgotten virtues like honor, Katsumoto is representative of the purity of
the virtues of samurai culture. He is the noble leader, a warrior guided by the Buddhist
virtues of Right Thought, Right Action. He has achieved inner peace because he has
nothing to be ashamed about, and he will follow his right cause to the end even though it
results in his death. If Western culture stresses the struggle for survival at all costs,
Katsumoto’s culture looks to ﬁnd a good death. The purity of Katsumoto’s honor earns
him the veneration of his followers and the respect of his enemies. His death represents
that death of a way of life that the ﬁlm strives to commemorate. When Katsumoto dies,
the soldiers of the national army weep and bow to him in respect. Casting also reinforces
Katsumoto’s hero status. Ken Watanabe’s Katsumoto is an equally handsome and
charismatic hero as Cruise’s Algren. Watanabe’s brave but soft-spoken portrayal of the
samurai leader is enormously appealing—exotic enough to be interesting but affable and
approachable.

Missing from this hero-identiﬁcation with samurai culture are the characteristics

of the historical samurai that are dissonant with contemporary values. Katsumoto and his

113

 

 

' A I

rebel samurai live in a small, close-knit village community. In one scene, they share an
evening’s entertainment with the people, and the kindly Katsumoto even joins the on-
stage theatrics. Historically, traditional Japanese society was hierarchical. Many
entertainment performers were burakumin, an outcast caste of no social worth. Samurai
were the social elite empowered to impose violent justice upon the common people. In
the ﬁlm, peasants bow and defer to Katsumoto and his men because they deserve it, but
historically commoners could be killed by samurai for failing to respect them. The
theatrical cut of The Last Samurai never shows this kind of violent social enforcement—a
scene in which Ujio decapitates an ordinary citizen for mocking him was deleted from the
theatrical release. Neither does the ﬁlm explore the inherently anti-democratic hierarchy
of the traditional Japanese culture with which its narrative empathizes.

The ﬁlm’s villains are those who fail to appreciate the values of samurai culture.
Mr. Omura represents the corruption brought to Japan by Westemization and
modernization. He wholly turns his back on the old ways, embracing Western dress,
customs, and capitalism. Omura desperately wants to stamp out the samurai who
threaten the proﬁtability of modernized Japan (and his monopoly over railroads). Omura
is not a pawn of the West—in an early scene he tells a colleague that America is a “land
of cheap traders,” and during the council scene he stresses to the ministers that Japan can
only resist the Western powers by becoming like them. Modernization and
Westemization are processes embraced by some Japanese leaders as necessary, even at
the cost of Japan’s traditional samurai culture. By the end of the ﬁlm, though, Omura’s
lack of virtue is exposed. He panics when the samurai rebels brieﬂy gain the upper hand

during the ﬁnal battle and screams to his soldiers to mow down the samurai with machine

114

guns. The carnage only ends when a sorrowful ofﬁcer ignores Omura and orders the
guns to cease ﬁre. Omura, and by extension the modernized warfare he embraces, lacks
the honor of traditional samurai warfare.

Colonel Bagley and Ambassador Swanbeck embody the intrusiveness,
insensitivity, and arrogance of Western societies. The United States they represent stands
in for the West writ large, as European countries are mentioned but play no part in the
narrative. One of the “good guys” is Mr. Graham, an Englishman who came to Japan on
a trade mission, but he recognized the corruption and settled down in Japan to become a
part of its culture. Swanbeck represents the heavy-handed economic power of the United
States. A blustery American imperialist, his polite speech is laced with threats and
domineering glares. All that matters to him is closing the deal and securing trade with
Japan. Colonel Bagley represents American cultural imperialism. He is a swaggering,
smug Yankee to whom the samurai are “savages” that deserve to be subdued in the same
manner as the Native Americans. At the end of the ﬁlm, Bagley himself undergoes a
short-lived transformation when he recognizes the warrior ethos in action. During the
suicidal charge of the samurai in ﬁnal battle, Omura panics but Bagley calls for his horse.
Even Bagley cannot resist the purity of samurai valor that reawakens the warrior spirit in
him. Bagley joins the ranks and dies with his revolver blazing, cut down by Algren’s
sword. Bagley’s death fulﬁlls another ﬁlmic convention, the hero killing the villain, but
it also serves to further empathy with the samurai ethos, since even the villain could not
deny its allure.

Emperor Meiji, the only actual historical ﬁgure in the ﬁlm, serves as a spiritual

battleground between traditionalism and modernization. He is a young man torn between

115

the two poles, dreaming of a modern and powerful Japan but also holding a fondness for
the traditional past. It takes the outsider Algren to make the emperor see the worth of the
samurai heritage that his government has destroyed. In the ﬁlm’s ﬁnal scene, Meiji
punishes the surviving villains. Algren demonstrates that he now bears the samurai spirit
and offers to kill himself on the emperor’s command, and Meiji is overcome by the
memory of Katsumoto’s honor. The emperor turns on Omura, stripping his family of its
wealth to make as a gift to the Japanese people. When Omura protests, the emperor
offers him Katsumoto’s sword to commit ritual suicide if he cannot stand the shame.
Meiji then rejects the American trade agreement and sends Ambassador Swanbeck
packing. The ﬁlm’s Meiji emerges as an honorable, strong leader who will ﬁnd the
balance between modernization and preserving Japan’s heritage. However, nothing like
this happened historically. Meiji never stripped his rich ministers of their wealth or
advocated economic equality for his people. Hi5 government opposed Japanese
socialism. Meiji’s government remained under the control of inﬂuential ministers and
continued to pursue trade agreements and military alliances with Western powers. Even
before Meiji’s death in 1912, Japan had already jumped into the great game of
imperialism by waging wars against China, Russia, and Korea.

The chief irony of the villain-identiﬁcation in the ﬁlm is that the Meiji
government sought to democratize Japan to a limited extent—to replace the old social
hierarchy with a new conception of most people as ordinary citizens (heimin) and
establish constitutional government. From this perspective, the samurai that the ﬁlm
empathizes with were reactionary holdouts against the partial democratization of Japan.

In choosing to identify with the conservative samurai against the modemizers, The Last

116

Samurai overlooks the limited democratic changes modernization brought to Japan. At
the same time, the ﬁlm seems to empathize with Meiji’s dream of establishing Japan as
an independent great power, but in doing so ignores Japan’s resulting path to militarism
and imperialism.

The ﬁlm’s identiﬁcation with the spiritual purity of traditional samurai culture
over the hollowness of the modern Western commercial culture is a vehicle for the moral
responses the ﬁlm aims to elicit in the viewer. A dominant theme repeated throughout
the ﬁlm is the destruction of tribal societies in the name of modernization. Technological
and commercial development is in conﬂict with the cultures of traditional warrior
societies like the Japanese samurai or the Plains Indians. Personal honor, courage, and
loyalty, the core virtues of warrior societies, are lost to modernized societies dominated
by economic production and technological innovation. The ﬁlm’s samurai, like the
Plains Indians, live close to the beautiful land in balance with nature. Modernization in
the ﬁlm replaces with natural existence with cities and railroads crisscrossing the
countryside. The ﬁlm suggests that traditional warrior societies had to be destroyed
because they were in the way of modernization. In his numerous mental ﬂashbacks,
Algren compares the samurai to the Native Americans of the Great Plains, another “proud
and brave” people (in Algren’s words) crushed by a modern army to pave way for
development.

The ﬁlm identiﬁes scalping as indicative of this cultural destruction. Early in the
ﬁlm, Algren terriﬁes Graham with a visceral description of scalping. In a later poignant
scene, after the Meiji government has issued new laws stripping the samurai of their

remaining ceremonial privileges, policemen grab Katsumoto’s son Nobutada, strip him of

117

his swords, and violently “scalp” off his topknot. The ﬁlm’s visual rhetoric equates the
removal of the samurai topknot, a privilege of a formerly elite caste, with the scalping in
America, a brutal practice performed both by and against the native peoples. Whether the
loss of samurai topknots and Indian scalping are on similar moral footing is debatable,
but it is nonetheless historically dubious to equate the samurai, Japan’s formerly elite
social class, to North America’s displaced indigenous peoples.

The strangest implication of this moral response elicited by The Last Samurai is
the idea that the “strength of the samurai” was a positive heritage for Japan. The ﬁlm’s
themes go beyond commemorating a lost way of life or disappearing virtues and actively
celebrate the samurai tradition as representative of Japan before
Westernization/modemization. Yet, in elevating bushido virtues, the ﬁlm offers no hint
of the problems to which they contributed. As the ﬁlm’s ending suggests, the samurai
ethos never wholly died out in Japan after 1877. Japanese militarists and imperialists
inspired Japanese soldiers by appealing to the social memory of the samurai tradition.
Samurai heritage exacted a gruesome toll during World War II. Hundreds of thousands
of Japanese troops chose death or suicide over surrender. Japanese officers commonly
executed Chinese prisoners their samurai katana swords, Japanese pilots performed
samurai rituals before kamikaze suicide attacks, and some Japanese civilians on islands
like Saipan committed mass suicide rather than be taken prisoner. Only the cataclysmic
events of 1945 and the subsequent U.S. occupation of Japan stamped out the samurai
legacy.

The Last Samurai seems to exist with no awareness of WWII. Its conclusion even

implies that the U.S. and Japan were put on course for conﬂict by Emperor Meiji’s

118

resistance to U.S. economic inﬂuence. Such a moral response overlooks Japanese
military expansionism and colonial competition in the Paciﬁc after 1900. Empathy for
the intellectually appealing aspects of the samurai tradition absent critical consideration
of its actual consequences overlooks the brutal toll that continued idealization of the
samurai exacted on Japan in the 20m century.
Taking Stock

So far, I have offered pedagogical content analyses of two history movies along
the six pedagogical functions deﬁned at the start of the chapter. Compared to The
Alamo’s dramatized recreation of actual events, The Last Samurai represents another kind
of historical storytelling—a ﬁctionalized story inspired by real historical events. Most
characters are invented (Algren, Bagley) or loosely based on historical ﬁgures
(Katsumoto, Omura). The principal narrative is an amalgam of imagination (Katsumoto
and Algren’s friendship) with some actual historical events (samurai uprisings in the
18705). As a ﬁctionalized story, The Last Samurai has less obligation to the historical
record than a ﬁlm like The Alamo. But, as an intelligent historical tale, The Last Samurai
offers interpretation of the era it depicts. The destruction of Japan’s traditional native
society was the price of modernization. The samurai rebellions, the ﬁlm seems to
suggest, reminded Japan of some of its traditional virtues convinced the Japanese
government not to grow too close to the West. The ﬁlm empathizes with its construction
of idealized samurai culture and encourages a moral response that blames Westem-style
capitalism for the loss of nature and native cultures while overlooking later Japanese
militarism fueled by the perpetuation of samurai rhetoric. Table 3.3 brieﬂy summaries

main points of the ﬁlm analysis along the six pedagogical functions deﬁned at the

119

beginning of the chapter. Furthermore, it offers some implications of The Last Samurai
for teachers and students.

Table 3.3

Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary: The Last Samurai

 

The Last Samurai (2003)

 

Characters are mix of real (Meiji), ﬁctionalized (Katsumoto-Saigo; Omura-
Content Okubo/Iwakura), and invented (Algren); main events inspired by Saigo’s 1877
coverage rebellion, with details from uprisings in 1874 and 1876; narrative plot is
mostly ﬁctional, including most the ﬁnal battle

Lovingly depicts Japan’s traditional culture (samurai training, philosophy,
Period poetry); presents samurai not as elite warrior caste but as primitive native tribe
like American Plains Indians; Western imperialism represented by U.S.

 

representation ambassador, Europeans mentioned only in passing; evokes era of Japanese
modernization (cities, Council of State) in simpliﬁed ways (no zaibatsu)
- . Incorporates Japanese language and Meiji slogans into screenplay; imagines
Historical . . .
construction what an authentic feudal samurai army would have looked like, even though

Saigo’s rebels actually used modern weapons

Japanese citizens constructed as deferential and without political agency;

Social women and children function only in relation to their men; Algren the White
construction hero is accepted by the samurai (replacing Taka’s husband), surpasses their
prowess, and outlasts them (is Algren the last samurai?)

 

Empathizes with the reactionary samurai, overlooking brutality and inequity
of their traditional society; Algren (handsome White hero) and Kats umoto
(attractive, charismatic) facilitate empathy for samurai culture; even the villain
(Bagley) succumbs to the allure of samurai way

..................................................................................................................

Equates defeat of the samurai with destruction of Native American cultures;
links modernization with Western imperialism and capitalist corruption;
Moral response suggests Japanese strength comes from balance between tradition and
modernization and celebrates samurai heritage without any hint of its
destructive inﬂuence in 20th century

 

Fictionalized story inspired by real historical events; to activate its content
Implications value, lesson design will need to distinguish factual inspiration from invented
for Teachers story; teachers also will need to consider whether the ﬁlm gloriﬁes samurai
violence and mischaracterizes the modernization of Japan

 

Since almost all names, places, and events are ﬁctionalized, students may
need extra support to apply ﬁlm to content learning; students are likely to
Implications empathize with samurai characters without necessarily reﬂecting on why; the
for Students ﬁlm communicates sharp messages about the price of modernization,
corruption in capitalism, and destruction of native traditions that students may
beneﬁt from interrogating but could miss if overly focused on exciting action

 

 

 

 

120

 

The Patriot

The Patriot is a ﬁctional story set in South Carolina during the War for
Independence against Britain. The tale revolves around a reluctant soldier and his family
and how they become caught up in the Revolutionary War. The ﬁlm’s central events are
the battles in which the British are defeated in the South and eventually compelled to
surrender at Yorktown in 1781. The historical background and factual details in this
analysis come from my research using historical reference texts, recent published
scholarship, and educational programming about the American Revolution and the war in
the South.4
Plot Summary

The ﬁlm opens at Benjamin Martin’s farm in South Carolina in 1776. A
widower, Martin (Mel Gibson) raises his large family with the help of his Black
housekeeper, Abigale (Beatrice Bush). Martin is a religious man who operates his farm
with free Black workers, not slaves. Martin is summoned to attend the colonial
legislature when the struggle against Britain breaks out, and at ﬁrst he refuses to back the
war for independence. The legislature votes to support the war, and Martin’s eldest son
Gabriel (Heath Ledger) enlists in the Continental Army despite the disapproval of his
father, who had fought twenty years earlier in the French and Indian War and could never
forget the violence he saw. Then, the British under Lord Cornwallis (Tom Wilkinson)

invade South Carolina and seize control of Charleston. The war literally shows up on the

 

‘ Middlekauﬁ' (2005) offers an expansive account of the American Revolution. Pancake (1985) provides a
detailed study of the war speciﬁcally in the Carolinas. Henretta and Nobles (1987) overview the era and
supplied most statistics in this analysis. Genovese (1972) and Johnson (1999) are thorough accounts of
American slavery that illustrate the diversity of owner-slave interactions. Dupuy and Dupuy (1993) and
Dupuy, Johnson, and Bongard (1995) are useﬁtl reference texts for military ﬁgures and events. Hovde and
Meyer (1997) provide an informative, engaging visual account of the Revolutionary period. The additional
background material included in the special features on The Patriot DVD is quite helpful, too.

121

Martin’s doorstep, and a wounded Gabriel bearing dispatches for the Continental Army
stumbles into his family home. The next morning a squad of British horsemen led by
Colonel William Tavington (Jason Isaacs) rides to the Martin’s farm, ﬁnds Gabriel’s
dispatches, and arrests him as a spy. When Martin tries to intervene, Tavington orders
his farm burnt and shoots his second son Thomas in the back. Martin and his two
remaining young sons take up muskets and ambush the British squad transporting
Gabriel. Martin unleashes his military prowess from the last war: he picks off the British
soldiers one by one and rescues Gabriel. Martin takes his remaining family to shelter
with his dead wife’s sister Charlotte (Joely Richardson), while he and Gabriel ride to the
encampment of the Continental Army. In the camp they meet Jean Villeneauve (Tchéky
Karyo), a French volunteer ofﬁcer who ensures them that France will honor its alliance
with the colonies. Martin is commissioned as a colonel to lead the militia, and Gabriel
reluctantly transfers from the Continentals to his father’s command.

As the Continentals retreat and regroup further north, Martin and Gabriel recruit a
band of militiamen to wage a protracted guerilla war against the British. Villeneauve
joins them in training the recruits. Among the volunteers are a slave named Occam (Jay
Arlen Jones), who is ﬁghting to earn his freedom, and Dan Scott (Donal Logue), a racist
White man who initially taunts Occam but later comes to respect him. Martin, known as
only as “The Ghost” to the British, is a wanted man. Martin’s guerilla ﬁghters hide out in
a swamp and launch a series of hit-and-run raids against the British. At ﬁrst, Cornwallis
tries to rein in Tavington’s violent tactics, but as the general grows increasingly ﬁ'ustrated
with Martin’s guerilla war, he gives Tavington permission to use brutal methods.

Tavington compels the loyalist volunteer Wilkins (Adam Baldwin), one of Martin’s

122

neighbors, to reveal Martin’s name and identity. Tavington raids Charlotte’s farm in an
attempt to capture Martin’s family, but they manage to escape to the coast where they
ﬁnd shelter with Martin’s Black employees who are hiding there from the British.
Tavington then turns his rage on the South Carolina towns that are supporting the militia,
locking up the townsfolk in a church and burning it down. Gabriel, whose girlfriend died
in the church, angrily pursues Tavington’s horsemen, but in the skirmish Tavington kills
him. Gabriel’s death renews Martin’s determination for ﬁght for the cause, and he leads
the militia to join the Continentals in a desperate assault on Comwallis’s army. In the
ensuing battle, Tavington leads a cavalry charge without orders, and Comwallis’s
jealously commits the rest of the army to battle to prevent Tavington from stealing all the
glory. The British army falls into a trap set by Martin and is pushed back and routed. In
hand to hand ﬁghting, Martin kills Tavington. In a letter to Charlotte, Martin narrates
how Cornwallis was compelled to retreat from the Carolinas to the Virginia coast at
Yorktown, where they were cut off by the newly arrived French Navy and surrounded by
American troops. Before letting his second-in-command surrender the army, Cornwallis
bemoans that he was beaten by a rabble of peasants. The ﬁlm closes with Martin
returning to his farm with his family, where he ﬁnds Dan Scott and Occam working
together to build a new home for the Martin family.
Content Coverage / Period Representation

The Patriot is an imagined historical story set during a real historical period but
told from the perspective of mostly ﬁctional characters. A few characters are named
historical ﬁgures, notably British general Cornwallis (Tom Wilkinson) and American

general Nathanael Greene (Andy Stahl). While most other characters are wholly

123

imagined, some major characters are based on historical ﬁgures. The titular hero of the
ﬁlm, Benjamin Martin (Mel Gibson), is a composite character drawn from the lives of
Francis Marion, Andrew Pickens, and Thomas Sumpter. Like the ﬁlm’s Martin (“The
Ghost”), Marion led the only substantial American ﬁghting force in South Carolina after
the defeat at Camden and waged an effective guerilla campaign against British supply
and communication lines, hiding out in the Carolina swamps (from whence he earned his
nickname the “Swamp Fox”). Pickens, like Martin, was a devout Presbyterian and the
father of a large family (12 children, even more than the ﬁlm’s Martin). Pickens, like
Martin, commanded the militia in some of the major ﬁeld engagements in South
Carolina. Sumter, like Martin, operated independently of the Continental Army. He was
appointed commanding general of the South Carolina militia by Governor Rutledge after
the fall of Charleston and the dispersal of the colonial legislature. The ﬁlm’s Martin is a
reluctant warrior who only takes up arms against the British after his son is killed and
home burned. Pickens was captured by the British and dutifully observed his parole until
his farm was burned by Tories (South Carolinians loyal to Britain). After the surrender
of Charleston, Sumter retired to his plantation but rejoined the war after Tories raided his
land and burned his home.

The French officer Jean Villeneauve (Tchéky Karyo) is very loosely based on the
Marquis de Lafayette. The young Lafayette came to America early in the war. He
became very close to George Washington and served as a general in his army. Like
Villeneauve, Lafayette was present at the battle of Yorktown, but he never fought
alongside South Carolina partisans. In the ﬁlm, Villeneauve trains Martin’s South

Carolina ﬁghters. This may be an element drawn ﬁom another European volunteer,

124

Prussian ofﬁcer Friedrich von Steuben, who actually did help train Washington’s
Continental Army.

Colonel William Tavington (Jason Isaacs), the ﬁlm’s chief villain, is loosely
based on Colonel Banastre Tarleton, the British officer tasked with (it was not considered
an honor) commanding the Tory Legion of South Carolinian loyalist volunteers. He was
renowned for his aggressive tactics and reluctance to take prisoners in the heat of battle, a
practice denounced as “Tarleton’s Quarter” by his enemies. “The Butcher” (Tavington’s
sobriquet in the ﬁlm) evokes “Bloody Ban,” the nickname Tarleton was given by his
foes. Like Tavington, Tarleton served under Lord Cornwallis and fought in most of the
major ﬁeld engagements in South Carolina, but he was not killed in battle. Tavington’s
death in the ﬁnal battle is a nod to ﬁlmic convention, in which the hero must personally
defeat the villain. Tavington may also be based on Scottish Major Patrick Ferguson, who
led a loyalist unit that drove patriot guerillas from northwestern South Carolina.
Ferguson was killed in battle at King’s Mountain in October, 1780.

In the ﬁlm, virtually all of Comwallis’s and Tavington’s men are British soldiers.
Only one actual loyalist volunteer is depicted, Martin’s neighbor Wilkins (Adam
Baldwin). In reality, a signiﬁcant number of soldiers ﬁghting on the British side in South
Carolina were loyalists. As the ﬁlm shows, loyalist volunteers were generally looked
down on and put under the command of British ofﬁcers. What the ﬁlm fails to capture is
the civil tension in South Carolina: the patriot rebels seized control of the colonial
government by suppressing loyalist dissenters. The British invasion of the South sparked
a vicious partisan war, and many Tories who had been tarred-and-feathered or otherwise

tortured by their opponents struck back. Much of the violence took the form of raids and

125

 

murder, as partisans took advantage of the chaos to settle old scores with neighbors on
the other side. It was this guerilla violence, and the inability of the British army to
protect their supporters against it, that silenced most loyalists in South Carolina. As the
ﬁghting wore on, the loyalist population grew increasingly silent and, to Comwallis’s
frustration, declined to provide intelligence about enemy movements.

Almost all of the atrocities in the ﬁlm are committed by the British. When the
patriots slaughter some Redcoats trying to surrender in revenge for the destruction of
their homes, Martin is quickly persuaded by his son Gabriel to stop the killing. This one-
sided depiction is mostly ﬁctional, as are the outrages committed by Tavington.
Tarleton’s Legion did sometimes attack so aggressively that prisoners hardly had a
chance to surrender. This happened to a force of Virginia militia marching to relieve
Charleston in May, 1780. The Virginians turned back after learning that Charleston had
surrendered, but Tarleton’s cavalry quickly caught up to them at the Waxhaws near the
North Carolina border. Tarleton launched a savage attack that killed or wounded over
250 Virginians. In The Patriot, this episode is likely the inspiration for the massacre
described by Gabriel when he ﬁrst returns home after being wounded. In the ﬁlm,
Tavington frequently shoots prisoners, and in one powerful scene burns down a church ,
ﬁlled with civilians. The real Tarleton never did anything of the sort. Tarleton’s men
burned the farmland and houses of partisans away ﬁghting against the British, but not
people. Terrible atrocities were committed in South Carolina, mostly by irregular
guerilla forces on both sides. Many partisans took advantage of the war to get revenge
against their neighbors. Some partisans just wanted plunder and switched sides

depending on whose land they wanted to raid.

126

 

Perhaps the most ironic atrocity depicted in The Patriot is the threatened hanging
of Martin’s men when they are captured by the British. Accepted rules of war at the time
gave armies the justiﬁcation to hang spies—loosely conceived as anyone not in uniform
undertaking actions in support of the enemy. Occasionally this cause some dispute, as
when the Americans executed Major Andre for attempting to acquire the plans to West
Point over the protest of the British, but rarely were soldiers captured on the battleﬁeld
hanged. There was one notable exception in South Carolina. In October, 1780, Major
Patrick Ferguson led a force of South Carolinian loyalists up King’s Mountain. Patriot
irregulars who had previously been driven out of the territory regrouped and surrounded
the mountain. Many loyalists were killed while trying to surrender, given “Tarleton’s
Quarter” in revenge for the Waxhaws. Not sated, the next day the victorious patriot
partisans hanged nine prisoners before their ofﬁcers put a stop to it. It may be predictable
that a U.S. ﬁlm would choose to pin a war crime committed by American irregulars on
the enemy instead.

Much of Benjamin Martin’s backstory revolves around his brutal experiences in
the French and Indian War of the 17505. Many American soldiers got their ﬁrst taste of
battle in British service in this war, including George Washington. It is also true that the
war involved some savage ﬁghting on the frontiers between colonial militia and Indians.
However, the “Fort Wilderness” that is mentioned so much in the ﬁlm is a ﬁctional
invention. The only fort by that name exists at Disney World. When describing Fort
Wilderness to his son Gabriel, Martin mentions geographic features that are scattered
around the eastern United States and do not suggest any real location. Perhaps this

ﬁctional episode is drawn from the massacre of British soldiers at Fort Loudoun in 1760.

127

 

 

The South Carolina militia responded with a punitive raid against the Cherokees, who
had broken their alliance with the British. Francis Marion, one of the inspirations for
Benjamin Martin, participated in the expedition.

The Patriot depicts three pitched battles, only one of them in signiﬁcant detail.
The ﬁrst engagement is identiﬁed as the battle of Camden, which Martin and Gabriel
watch through the window of a deserted mansion. The real battle occurred on August 16,
1780, three months after Charleston fell to the British. The date of the battle is not
identiﬁed in the ﬁlm, though it occurs the morning after the nighttime skirmish in which
Gabriel was wounded and witnessed Tavington’s dragoons slaughter surrendering
Virginian troops. Gabriel’s story was probably based on the British attack at the
Waxhaws, though this event actually occurred three months before Camden and the
victims were Virginia militiamen rather than Gabriel’s Continentals. Some nighttime
skirmishing the night before the battle of Camden was reported, but the battle the next
day was the only major encounter. In the ﬁlm, Martin and Gabriel make much of the
ineptitude of Horatio Gates, the commanding general dispatched to South Carolina by
Congress. Their comments reﬂect actual events: Gates lacked sufficient cavalry, was
unaware of Comwallis’s strength and position, and gravely overestimated his own troop
strength. As a result, the Americans were routed. Though the ﬁlm does not show the
Americans being pushed out of Camden, nor does it mention the South Carolinian
loyalists who made up a signiﬁcant portion of the British army (or for that matter the
militiamen under Thomas Sumter who fought alongside the Continentals), it does
graphically depict the routing of the broken Continentals. The ﬁlm also fails to mention

the chief reason why the British were so keen to drive the enemy from Camden—800

128

.t “windfall;

,, "_‘ " 3‘A‘ ' unﬁt-1 U." “a
1'. .3 - ,'. inﬁrm-13V .Mnhm .s.i.i ~. ‘ '

 

'.
in.“
04

._ ' .

be any...» , vu -
1‘

‘t'wilﬁl'ﬂl a“ . ~ 9 ._

..
r".

In

I

9'63

'4 , D. for...”

II

hat

I. I."

r. a ' - - . ' ' ‘i' ’
w. mu we thaw-s
.~.¢t‘mnxm~‘l-,~r"~.»w‘ls

12.."
-|

4|!

I 3'

 

British regulars wounded at Charleston were recuperating in Camden, and the British
could ill afford their capture.

The ﬁlm’s biggest battle is a composite of two actual engagements, Cowpens
(January 17, 1781) and Guilford Court House (March 15, 1781). The chief narrative
function of this battle scene is to show Benjamin Martin and his militiamen triumphant—
and to give Martin (the hero) the opportunity to kill Tavington (the villain) in a like
manner to how Tavington previously killed Gabriel. The ﬁlm simpliﬁes the protracted
military campaign in the South by combining elements from the two actual historical
events into a single ﬁctionalized battle. In The Patriot, Nathanael Greene takes over
command of the broken American army from Gates and plans a decisive battle to drive
the British from the Carolinas. Martin proposes a central role for his militia and orders
his men to stand their ground against the British long enough to ﬁre two good volleys of
musket ﬁre. The battle takes place on a ﬁeld with a sloping hill and a ruined courthouse
in the center. Cornwallis commands the British infantry and Tavington the cavalry, in
competition to see who will deliver the victorious stroke against the enemy. When the
Martin’s militia falls back after ﬁring their two shots, the British infantry and cavalry
rush after them in pursuit and are surprised by the Continentals waiting behind the
sloping hill. The battle’s turning point occurs at the ruined courthouse, as the Americans
engage the British in ﬁerce hand-to-hand combat and forcing them to retreat.

The militia ﬁring two shots and falling back, the sloping hill covering the
Continentals, and the stunning American victory are elements taken from Cowpens.
However, Cornwallis was not present at Cowpens—the disastrous defeat was entirely

Tarleton’s affair. The decision by Greene to stop and risk a major battle, the old

129

 

 

courthouse on the ﬁeld, and the ﬁerce close-quarters ﬁghting in the closing moments of
the battle are elements drawn from Guilford Courthouse. Both Cornwallis and Tarleton
were present at this battle, but unlike in the ﬁlm, the British got the better of the close-
quarters combat when Cornwallis in desperation ordered his artillery to ﬁre point-blank
into the confused melee to separate the intertwined British and American soldiers. In
actuality, Cowpens was a major (but not decisive) victory for the Americans; Guilford
Courthouse was a tactical defeat for the Americans but so costly to the British they were
compelled to withdraw from the Carolinas. The Patriot simpliﬁes the complex situation
by presenting one decisive American victory that spells the beginning of the end for the
British cause. The movie even makes it seem that the Carolinas were liberated when
Cornwallis withdrew to Virginia. In reality, the Americans had to ﬁght a protracted
campaign against remaining British garrisons. Sumter and Marion’s irregular troops cut
British communication lines and picked off isolated forts. Greene fought and lost more
battles in South Carolina before the surviving British and loyalist troops fell back to
Charleston and Savanna, where they waited out the end of the war.

The last battle brieﬂy depicted in The Patriot is Yorktown, where Cornwallis
surrendered his army in October, 1781. The protracted siege of Yorktown occurred
months after the British retreated from the Carolinas, though in the ﬁlm it occurs shortly
after the decisive battle. The ﬁlm accurately depicts the American redoubts surrounding
the British position, the artillery bombardment that wore down British forces, and the
arrival of the French ﬂeet that prevented the British navy from evacuating Comwallis’s
army. As in the ﬁlm, Cornwallis reluctantly surrendered and foisted the duty of handing

over his sword to his second in command, O’Hara. Martin sarcastically describes the

130

 

 

French ﬂeet as “long lost friends” who showed up in the nick of time. This
characterization drastically underplays the French military contribution to the American
victory. France provided weapons to the Americans virtually since the outbreak of the
war and had thousands of troops on the ground at Yorktown. Indeed, O’Hara ﬁrst tried to
surrender Comwallis’s sword to Rochambeau, the French general, rather than
Washington. As presented in The Patriot, the Revolutionary War was mostly an
American victory. France’s military role is minimized (and the participation of Spain is
ignored altogether).

The Patriot incorporates actual historical details into its ﬁctional narrative, but
how it represents the period is troubling. Slavery was a dominant feature of the South
before the Civil War, and even in the North much of the emerging industrial economy
was dependent on raw materials acquired from Southern plantations. In some parts of the
South Carolina tidewater, Black slaves outnumbered the White population. In The 1
Patriot, slavery is almost invisible. The audience never sees slaves toiling in gangs under
the watch of plantation overseers, nor does the ﬁlm hint at the racial brutality inherent in
a labor system in which large numbers of enslaved Blacks had to be kept in line by a few
White plantation employees, themselves often from impoverished origins. The only
Black ﬁeld workers shown in the ﬁlm are free Blacks employed by Benjamin Martin.
While not a historical impossibility, this depiction distorts the historical record of the
period. Manumission of slaves was illegal or difficult in much of the South before the
American Revolution, but there were small populations of freedmen during and after the
War for Independence. They were much more numerous in the Mid-Atlantic and

Chesapeake than the Deep South (where even by 1790 free Blacks still numbered less

131

than 8,000). Freedmen in the South often were forced to live in segregated communities
or required to leave the area after being freed so that their presence would not agitate the
remaining enslaved Blacks. While Martin’s farm worked by freed Blacks could have
actually existed, it would have been an aberration not at all representative of the
experience for most African Americans at the time.

The ﬁlm does try to represent an aspect of the revolutionary period usually
ignored until recent years—the presence of Black soldiers. The character Occam (Jay
Arlen Jones) reﬂects a measure of this reality. It is estimated that perhaps 5,000 African
Americans fought for American independence. However, Black soldiers were far more '
likely to be from the North than the South. Free Blacks made up perhaps 20% of the
New York Continentals in the late 17705, for example. All states allowed at least some
Blacks in the military—except Georgia and South Carolina. In 1775, Edward Rutledge,
South Carolina’s delegate to the Continental Congress, tried to get Congress to discharge
Blacks from military service. In 1779, Congress urged the enlistment of 3,000 Black .
slaves in the South, paying $1,000 to compensate masters for each recruit freed for
service, but South Carolina and Georgia refused. In 1782, Nathanael Greene proposed
raising 2,000 Black troops but was reﬁrsed by the newly convened South Carolina
legislature. Early in the war, George Washington issued orders not to enlist Blacks into
his army, but later accepted Black freedmen out of necessity. Like Occam, it seems that
some Black slaves served as replacements for Whites called up for service and that
military service was a way out of slavery for some Black men. Occam’s experience is

plausible for the period, just not in South Carolina.

132

Historical Construction / Social Construction

Though The Patriot is an imagined story, some authentic artifacts are employed in
the construction of its historical narrative. Most visible are the period uniforms and
weapons used by the ﬁlm’s soldiers, though somewhat simpliﬁed. All British troops are
put in the famed redcoat, including Tavington’s men, even though the British army in
actuality had a wide range of uniforms for different types of troops (Tarleton’s Tory
Legion wore a distinctive green uniform). The chief effect of this visual simpliﬁcation,
of course, is to help keep the Americans and British separate to the viewer—an advantage
that soldiers in the period did not always enjoy. It was all too common to mistake a
friendly unit for an enemy unit (or vice versa) at a distance. Period ﬂags also add to the.
ﬁlm’s authenticity. On the eve of the ﬁlm’s major battle, Martin rides in front of the
army bearing the classic Continental ﬂag attributed to Betsy Ross (American regiments
fought under a variety of battle standards, including this one). Early in the decisive
battle, one of Martin’s men waves the famous “Don’t Tread on Me” ﬂag (depicting the
Thirteen Colonies as a united serpent).

Authentic text and language enhance the ﬁlm’s construction of the historical
period. One nice little touch is the appearance of broadsides, mass-printed leaﬂets
announcing news or other information of public interest. Actual period broadsides are
seen in the ﬁlm alongside invented broadsides created for the ﬁlm in the style of the
originals. One scene features a close-up of a period broadside recruiting Negro soldiers
for the British army, and tacked over it is wonderfully realistic-looking ﬁctional
broadside announcing a reward for the capture of The Ghost. The Patriot also

occasionally includes period language in its dialogue. Early in the ﬁlm, Benjamin Martin

133

attends a session of the legislature in Charleston to debate whether the colony should
support independence. Martin refuses to support war against Britain and quips that it is
hardly better to trade one tyrant 3,000 miles away for 3,000 tyrants one mile away. His
jest is very close to an actual quote attributed to the clergyman Byles Mather, a loyalist in
Boston.

Authentic aspects of 18th-century warfare are incorporated into the ﬁlm. One in
particular ﬁnthers the dramatic narrative. After the battle of Camden, Tavington’s men
come to Martin’s farm and arrest Gabriel as a spy. Martin’s teenage son Thomas tries to
wrestle his brother ﬂee from the clutches of the British, and Tavington shoots Thomas
dead. Martin keeps Thomas’s bag of little toy soldiers and throughout the ﬁlm melts
them down to make musket balls with which to shoot the British enemy. There was a
constant need for homemade musket balls in the War for Independence, and many
soldiers carried with them implements for melting down lead or pewter and pouring the
metal into balls. This scene demonstrates how a ﬁctional story can represent authentic
historical circumstances in ways that have both historical and dramatic value.
Furthermore, the ﬁlm takes pains to include the kinds of injuries soldiers in the period
suffered from gunﬁre. Exploding cannon shells had not yet been invented, and the ﬁlm’s
battle scenes graphically show solid round shot passing through the bodies of rows of
soldiers.

The social construction of people in the past in The Patriot is more problematic.
Just as the ﬁlm’s period representation largely ignored the omnipresent reach of slavery,
its narrative constructs African Americans who are not scarred by slavery. The Black

characters in the ﬁlm are uniformly placid and longsuffering. Occam does not run away

134

 

 

to join a Continental regiment in the North but rather obediently follows his owner’s
prompting to join Martin’s militia; he spends the rest of the ﬁlm patiently counting the
days until his promised emancipation and continues to ﬁght even after completing his
term of service. Martin’s Black workers are equally free ﬁom acrimony over slavery.
When Tavington captures Martin’s farm, he tries to haul off the freedmen to become
soldiers in the British army. Martin’s people later run away ﬁ-om the British and hide out
in happy ﬁshing villages on the coast—where they, in turn, shelter Martin and his family
during their moment of need.

It is not unbelievable that Martin’s Black workers would be willing to shelter his
family. The past three decades of historiography on American slavery amply
demonstrate that slavery was a complex institution that fostered a variety of owner-slave
relationships, not all of them hostile (and, after all, Martin was a kindly employer who
did not use slave labor). What is hardly believable is the happiness and comfort in which
the runaway Blacks in the ﬁlm are shown living. There were villages of “Gullah” Black
slaves who worked the rich cotton ﬁelds of the Sea Islands of the South Carolina and ‘
Georgia Coast, but runaways hardly enjoyed the idyllic island lifestyle (complete with
calypso music) suggested by the ﬁlm. The real experience of runaway slaves in South
Carolina was far harsher. Their only hope to evade capture was to ﬂee into desolate
swamplands. These runaways established “maroon colonies” in the marginal wilderness,
and some maroons even fought as guerillas on behalf of the British.

The vast majority of people presented in the ﬁlm are White. Despite the reality
that the society built in the Americas by European settlers revolved heavily around the

enslavement of Black Africans, justiﬁed at the time by a host of legal and moral

135

 

 

arguments, White racism is hardly present in the world of The Patriot. Virtually all of
the European Americans in the ﬁlm are racially tolerant. The only notable exception is
Dan Scott (Donal Logue), a bigoted militiaman who at ﬁrst taunts Occam. Over time,
even this bigot comes to accept Occam as a friend and equal. Dan Scott is the sole
construction in the ﬁlm narrative of a perspective extremely widespread among White
Americans at that time, especially in the Carolinas, and his conversion to racial equality
undermines even this one construction of the perspective.

Furthermore, the ﬁlm narrative constructs White characters almost entirely ﬁ'ee of
ethnic distinctions. Of course, British Whites are constructed as a separate people from
American Whites. The British characters are all stereotypically English, uniformly
presented as stuffy and aristocratic regardless of whether they are upper-crust ofﬁcers or
tanker foot soldiers. Only one Redcoat (in a scene deleted ﬁom the theatrical release)
speaks with what sounds like an Irish accent. White Americans in the ﬁlm have no
perceivable ethnic diversity. The problem with this construction of Whiteness is that it
ignores distinctions that would have been an important aspect of identity to the American
colonials of the 18th century. Not all colonials in British North America were of British
origins, and even among the British settlers there were important ethnic difference
between English, Irish, Scottish, and Scots-Irish. There also were signiﬁcant numbers of
Germans, Dutch, French Huguenots, and other European nationalities who had settled in
different parts of the colonies. Ethnic identity, religion, and language all contributed to
identity in the 18th century. The Patriot glosses over ethnic distinctions to provide a

unitary construction of Whiteness more comparable to contemporary American society.

136

The ﬁlm also is largely missing another important racial group. There were
substantial populations of American Indians east of the Mississippi in the late 17005.
Most of the combat experienced by the colonial militias before the 17705 had been
against hostile Native Americans. Just as the French and British competed for Indian
support during their war in the 17505, both the British and the American colonials sought
to attract Indians to their cause as warriors, scouts, and informers. In The Patriot, Indians
are never seen and are only referred to as victims of Martin’s brutal Fort Wilderness
attack. Indian scouts are mentioned once and only in a deleted scene (it was an Indian
scout who brought back the surviving Redcoat from Martin’s attack to rescue Gabriel).
What is curious about this absence of Indians is that South Carolina was where one native
people supported and was supported by the revolutionary colonial government. In the
South Carolina Piedmont, the Catawba Nation supported the war against the British by
providing supplies to Thomas Sumter’s partisans and ﬁghting in minor engagements in
the backcountry. British forces punished the Catawbas by burning their homes and crops,
and later the South Carolina legislature sent them corn and money to help them rebuild.
In the rest of the colonies, most Indian tribes supported the British, only to suffer reprisal
raids by colonial militias and then to be abandoned by the British in the Treaty of Paris
that ended in war in 1783. The ﬁlm avoids the complexities of interaction and conﬂict
between White colonials and Native Americans by virtually ignoring the latter.

The ﬁlm’s construction of women fulﬁlls a ﬁlmic convention about women in the
past. They are used only as mother ﬁgures, beloved daughters, or love interests. Their ‘
sole purpose is to provide motivation for their men. Only three female characters of

much substance appear in the ﬁlm: Charlotte (Joely Richardson), the sister of Martin’s

I37

dead wife and his love interest; Anne (Lisa Brenner), Gabriel’s love interest; and Abigale
(Beatrice Bush), Martin’s housekeeper and surrogate mother to his young children.
Women in the 17705 really did play these roles, of course, and the roles were regarded as
important (especially in the matronly “sphere” of the domestic household). However, the
ﬁlm never gives us any insight into the role of women as participants in the revolutionary
struggle. With the exception of Anne, who gives a brief pro-independence speech in
church, women do not appear to have much of a part to play. The Patriot is a war movie,
and perhaps it is reasonable that the major characters are males who are military ﬁgures.
However, it is worth pointing out that even in the military forces of the period women I
were not altogether absent. British ofﬁcers quite frequently brought their wives with
them on campaign, and even some lower-class wives were engaged to follow the
regiment as matrons of the camp to oversee laundry and nursing.
Empathy / Moral Response

The Patriot divides its historical characters into two camps—heroes who range
from fairly to epically heroic, and villains who range from peevish to dastardly. Eliciting
empathy from the audience by presenting heroes to cheer and villains to deplore is an old
melodramatic convention which The Patriot superimposes over the War for
Independence. The American colonials ﬁght for a noble cause and triumph through
pluck, ingenuity, and by usually doing the right thing. The British are arrogant, corrupt,
or evil. Their cause is pure greed and without merit. The Americans are ﬁghting for
home and hearth; Lord Cornwallis is ﬁghting for a ﬁef in Ohio. This negative pall cast

on the British even extends to women. Only one British woman is featured in the ﬁlm, a

138

moronic high-society lady (complete with iconic wig and face powder) who mistakes an
exploding British warship in the harbor for an entertaining ﬁreworks display.

While the British are bad guys whom the audience may comfortably oppose, they
are not all arch villains. Most are just snooty soldiers following orders. Lord Cornwallis
is not a vile man, just a land-hungry snob. Cornwallis at ﬁrst even opposes brutal,
ungentlemanly tactics. Rather than disparaging the entire British people, the ﬁlmmakers
heap all the villainy upon Colonel Tavington. It is Tavington who sparks the guerilla
insurgency in South Carolina by killing children and burning homes, who goads
Cornwallis into unleashing brutal tactics to root out the insurgents, and who bullies his
troops into committing atrocities against civilians. These narrative moves are used to
build up the tension for the ﬁlm’s last battle, in which Martin kills Tavington in bloody
hand-to-hand combat, but it oversimpliﬁes history. The British army, even Tarleton’s
Legion, almost uniformly behaved within the excepted norms of warfare at the time. The
vast bulk of the atrocities were committed by Carolinian partisans against other
Carolinians, and pro-independence patriots had blood on their hands as did the anti-
independence loyalists.

Any feature ﬁlm set in the late 17005 in the American South must face a serious
question when trying to establish empathy for its protagonists: Can a slaveowner be a
good and heroic person? It is a complex question, one with which even many
Southerners in the late 18th century grappled. Slaveowners like Thomas Jefferson
morally opposed slavery and admitted it was an evil institution but were economically
dependent on slave labor. Not all Southerners owned slaves: most slaves were owned by

the elite planter class to work on large plantations. Yet, slavery was the dominant social

139

institution in the South, and even most poor Whites supported slavery and aspired one
day to acquire enough slaves to run a large farm. Slaveowning, then, was viewed as a
key to social mobility for Whites. That Black slaves had to suffer for it was masked by
popular paternalistic rhetoric that Blacks were being cared for and civilized in exchange
for their labor.

The Patriot wholly dodges these complex questions and, by extension, the
problem of persistent racism in American history. Martin is not a conﬂicted Presbyterian
torn between moral revulsion to slavery and economic dependence on it. Instead, the
ﬁlm shows him running a comfortable little farm with free Blacks as happy employees.
His love interest Charlotte apparently is a slaveowner, but the ﬁlm shows little of the
material existence of her slaves. Charlotte is such a good and kind plantation owner that
one of her slaves is willing to die rather than divulge her location to Tavington. Nowhere
in the ﬁlm is the ﬁeld overseer with his whip or the desultory violence and racial tension
that characterized the South’s peculiar institution. Freed from this burden, the viewer can
empathize with the proto-abolitionist Martin and the kind slave-mistress Charlotte. In an
ironic way, the ﬁlm does hint at the reality that thousands of slaves ran off to join the
British army in return for promises of freedom. In the scene when Tavington raids
Martin’s farm, he offers freedom to Martin’s Black workers and, learning that they are
ﬁeedmen, conscripts them into the army regardless. Just as the ﬁlm places the burden of
war atrocities on the British, so too is the burden of racial exploitation put on them.

The ﬁlm’s casting reinforces the empathy it elicits for the heroes and the
antipathy it directs against the villains. Mel Gibson is perfect as Benjamin Martin. One

of the world’s best known stars, he himself is a religiously devout father of many

140

children. He brings appealing charm and paternal concern to his performance. Heath
Ledger is handsome and winning as Gabriel. He captures Gabriel’s idealism and passion
that are the moral center of the narrative. They are matched on the other side by English
actors Tom Wilkinson, who brings a doddering ineffectuality to his aristocratic
Cornwallis, and Jason Isaacs (now better known as the malevolent Lucius Malfoy in the
Harry Potter movies) who portrays Tavington as coldly handsome, supercilious, and
cruel.

The empathic contrast between the heroes and villains sets the stage for the moral
responses the ﬁlm aims to elicit about this part of the past. The prevalent theme seems to
be that the War for Independence in the South was a good struggle that should resonate
with and inspire viewers today. The ﬁlm achieves this resonance across time by
presenting moral dichotomies with which contemporary American viewers are
comfortable. It is a war movie but carefully avoids glorifying war. War is proﬁtable and
entertaining only for the British, and only when they are winning. For Martin, war is a
dark matter he tries to avoid at all costs and only accepts when his home and family are
threatened. The ﬁlm’s titular hero, Martin, is a reluctant warrior but not a paciﬁst—an ,
attitude perfectly in tune with U.S. society at the dawn of the new millennium. “If your
principles dictate independence, then war is the only way,” Martin’s friend Burwell tells
him early in the ﬁlm, a prescient observation that summarizes Martin’s psychological
journey. When Martin takes up arms again despite his hatred for war, his decision is
justiﬁed by the haughtiness and brutality of the British army.

Another powerful moral response prompted by The Patriot is the cause of

common people over arrogant aristocrats. Indeed, the people’s militia led by Benjamin

141

Martin is a kind of collective hero in the ﬁlm. All the militiamen are humble folks, and ‘
not even Martin is a great landowner. One of them is a reverend pastor, and when
persuaded of the justness of the American cause even he takes up arms and is willing to
kill and be killed. The viewer might be forgiven for thinking that South Carolina did not
have any great landowners at all, based on this ﬁlm alone. Certainly nowhere in the ﬁlm
is the kind of status competition and jockeying for rank that seriously troubled the
American military cause in the North and South. When Congress dispatched Nathanael
Greene and Dan Morgan to the Carolinas after the defeat at Camden, Greene and
discontented ofﬁcers who supported him simply left. Instead, the ﬁlm presents a band of
freedom ﬁghters wholly united in their cause—even the racial prejudice of a bigoted
White militiaman gives way to ﬁaternity by the start of the decisive battle. The British
ofﬁcers, by contrast, are snobbish aristocrats. Cornwallis and his aide repeatedly
disparage Martin’s militia as a “rabble of peasants” and are shocked when defeated by .
them in the ﬁnal battle.

This aristocratic conceit is reinforced throughout the ﬁlm: Cornwallis is shown
fretting over his memoirs and clothes, pampering a pair of dogs brought along on
campaign, and mapping out his American domain that will be his reward ﬁom the
Crown. The implication is that the British would have fared better had they not
underestimated the ﬁghting spirit of the American people. Of course, this moral reaction
overlooks the important reality that the American militia rarely performed well in battle,
that COWpens was one of the few engagements when the militia played an effective if
limited role, and that the British tactically won most of the ﬁeld battles in the war. What

undermined the British war effort was the distance between their home islands and the

142

colonies, the British army’s inability to absorb heavy losses even when winning battles,
and the growing discontent with the war among the Opposition in Britain’s Parliament.
Patriot irregular partisans did play an important role in disrupting the British army’s lines
of supply and communication, but the War for Independence could not have been won
without the steady presence of the regular Continental army and support from France.
These historical complexities given way in the ﬁlm to the longstanding urge in American
culture to celebrate the “underdog” against the rich and powerful.

It is no small irony that the South Carolina Patriots whom the ﬁlm lionizes for
winning American independence are the very same type of people who spearheaded
secession from the United States 80 years later. It was South Carolinians who early on
called for withdrawing from the Union and who opened hostilities in the Civil War by
ﬁring on Fort Sumter in 1861. The Patriot provides no insight as to why South Carolina
helped to build the United States and then tried to leave it in the next century. By
glossing over slavery, the ﬁlm removes from view the major socio-economic issue that
motivated most South Carolinians. By the early 18005, Thomas Jefferson already feared
that slavery one day would lead to civil strife, yet The Patriot ends without a cloud on the
horizon. The White bigot Dan Scott and the Black freedman Occam join hands to build a
new future. There is no hint of the legacy of slavery and persistent racism that would
continue to shape American history to the present.

Taking Stock

At this point, I have offered pedagogical content analyses of three history movies

along the six pedagogical functions deﬁned at the start of the chapter. Each ﬁlm

represents a kind of historical storytelling. The Alamo represents a dramatized recreation

143

of actual events. The Last Samurai represents a ﬁctionalized story inspired by real
historical events. The Patriot represents an imagined historical story with mostly
ﬁctional characters. This ﬁlm is closest of the three to the traditional costume drama
(creative story using the past only as a colorful backdrop), but it goes beyond this genre
in important ways. The Patriot is set in a real historical period. Some characters are
actual historical ﬁgures (Cornwallis) or an amalgamation drawn from real ﬁgures (Martin
a5 a composite of Pickens, Sumter, and Marion). While most of the principle narrative is
imagined (Martin’s family crisis, the struggle against Tavington), some of the key points
around which it turns are either actual events brieﬂy portrayed (Yorktown) or
ﬁctionalized composites of historical events (Camden, Waxhaws, Cowpens, Guilford
Court House). However, as an imagined story The Patriot is free to structure a narrative
independent of the historical record. It is free to ignore partisan violence in South
Carolina and pin all war atrocities on the British. It makes the irregular, undisciplined
peoples’ militia triumphant on the battleﬁeld over the professional British regulars. Most
critically, it presents an American South during the American Revolution in which
slavery is almost invisible and superimposes contemporary American racial values over
the past. Table 3.4 brieﬂy summaries main points of the ﬁlm analysis along the six
pedagogical functions deﬁned at the beginning of the chapter. Furthermore, it notes

some implications of The Patriot for teachers and students.

144

Table 3.4

Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary: The Patriot

 

The Patriot (2000)

 

Characters mostly invented, though some are composites (Martin-
Marion/Pickens/Sumter; Tavington-Tarleton/Ferguson) or real ﬁgures
(Cornwallis, Greene); real events (Camden, Yorktown) occur in the

 

 

Content background, and ﬁlm’s culminating battle is a composite of two actual battles
coverage (Cowpens, Guilford Court House); French military contribution is
downplayed; war atrocities pinned on the British, even though most were
actually committed by South Carolinian partisans
Period Slavery is almost invisible in the ﬁlm; depicts the reality of Black soldiers, an
representation actual part of the Revolutionary period—except in South Carolina
Historical Redcoats always designate the enemy, even though British forces wore variety
. of uniforms; period language and artifacts (broadsides, ﬂags, weapons,
construction musket-balls) establish sense of authenticity
African American characters not scarred by slavery (Martin’s free Black
workers); the only slave character (Occam) is longsuffering and patriotic;
Social White characters are racially tolerant, and White ethic diversity is ignored;
construction British are almost all stereotypically English; Native Americans are almost
totally absent; women service ﬁlmic conventions and have little to do in the
political/military narrative
Empathizes with heroic Americans ﬁghting for their homes over greedy,
Empathy aristocratic British; Tavington positioned as arch villain, blamed for atrocities;

Moral response

Martin ﬁts comfortably with contemporary mores (morally opposed to
violence but brave when necessary, not a slaveowner or racist)

............................................................................................

Attributes victory to the democratic militiamen (heroic underdogs) against
aristocratic British (defeated by their arrogance); lionizes the South Carolinian
patriots without any hint as to why South Carolina would spearhead secession
from the Union; communicates a message of racial unity by ignoring the
legacy of slavery and racism after independence

 

Implications
for Teachers

Imagined historical story with mostly ﬁctional characters; activating content
knowledge requires a lesson design that equips students to recognize the
ﬁlm’s composite elements; if teachers consider social construction in the ﬁlm,
it can serve as a springboard to help students confront issues of race in
American history

 

 

Implications
for Students

 

Film’s narrative follows many ﬁlmic conventions students will recognize:
heroes and villains, underdogs against the strong; it positions students for an
emotionally powerful but historically selective take on the American
Revolution and the kind of society it created; students with differing
experiences with racism may react in very different ways to the ﬁlm’s
historical meanings and messages

 

145

 

Historical Storytelling and the Educational Uses of History Movies

As an art form, historical storytelling is very old. The earliest literary epics—
Gilgamesh, The Iliad, The Aeneid—were stories that took place in times before they were
written. Much of the Old Testament purports to chronicle the history of Hebrew people.
Medieval European chronicles, like Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of
Britain, linked the era in which they were written to earlier times. Many of
Shakespeare’s most successful plays were histories of famous past rulers and their deeds
or downfall. Sir Walter Scott’s historical novels like Ivanhoe were popular throughout
English-speaking world in the 19th century. It seems that people have always had a desire
or need to be entertained by tales of distant times, to connect with what came before
them, and to understand their world in relation to the past.

Part of storytelling is the need for authenticity. The ancient Greek historians
Herodotus and Thucydides both claimed that their stories about the past were “inquiries”
into the truth. Biblical chroniclers recorded ancient lore preserved since the days of
Moses. Medieval chroniclers based their histories on earlier accounts they insisted were
true. Shakespeare based his histories on popular medieval chronicles. Down to today,
historical novelists tell stories set in a past detailed in ways that make it recognizable and
believable.

Another part of storytelling is the need to create. Even if we desire an authentic
past, we cannot possibly know everything about it. Stories ﬁll the void with imagination,
which makes it possible to create connections between the contemporary world and the
past. People may be dissatisﬁed with the world they live in and look to the past for

stories about better times, or to explain why the world is wrong, or to imagine how the

146

world could have been different. Old Testament chroniclers lived in a divided Israel and
looked to a past when the Hebrews were united and faithful to God. Medieval
chroniclers like Geoffrey of Monmouth did not limit themselves to kings who actually
lived but imagined ideal rulers like King Arthur. Shakespeare imagined past English
kings in ways that applied to his Tudor times. Down to today, when Dan Brown’s The
Da Vinci Code imagines a different past for Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Christianity in a
way that is relevant to millions of readers.

Historical storytelling is shaped by these two dynamics, the need for authenticity
and the need for imagination. It may be tempting to envision them as opposites, but both
are inherent qualities. A sense of authenticity, of realism—that the world depicted really
could have been like that—is what separates historical storytelling from pure fantasy. A
sense of imagination, of creativity—a fullness of experience, emotion, and human
interaction—is what makes historical storytelling more satisfying to many people than
scholarly history texts (after all, millions more read historical ﬁction or watch history
movies than read historians’ books). Still, there is a tension between them. Narrow
authenticity limits the possibilities for imagination; open imagination undercuts beliefs of
authenticity. Historical storytelling exists in a balance between them shaped by the
cultural context, for different cultures at different times have particular and changing
needs, desires, and uses for the past.

Feature ﬁlms, a relatively new mode of historical storytelling, also reﬂect the
dynamics of authenticity and imagination. First and foremost, movies are entertainment
made to attract a paying audience. Of course, “entertainment” is not limited to light fun

in a narrow sense; it can also mean emotional and mental stimulation appealing to

147

something we care about. This is why dramatic stories can be so powerﬁrl and appealing.
Stories give people we do not know (in the case of historical stories, distant people we
cannot ever know) an emotional intimacy, an experiential immediacy. Thus, almost all
mainstream history movies are character-driven dramas, making the past come alive in
human terms.

However, history feature ﬁlms are also made to appeal to audiences on an
atavistic level, heightening interest because they are about something real that came
before our time. The ﬁlm’s messages and themes can have greater weight if they are
couched in a “true” or “real” version of the past. Thus, the authenticity of movies about
the past can generate controversy. Whether the version of Christian history central to the
2006 ﬁlm version of The Da Vinci Code was really possible was hotly debated in
churches and media outlets around the world. The emotional power generated by an
imaginative history ﬁlm can make viewers feel that they have a stake in just how
authentic, how potentially real it is.

Most mainstream history movies attempt to tap into both dynamics through what
Robert Toplin (2002b) has dubbed “faction”—a blending of ﬁctional imagination with
some degree of historical factuality. Historical factuality gives the storytelling a greater
weight because the viewer feels something “real” (to some extent) is at stake. Fictional
imagination gives the storytelling freedom to entertain emotionally and mentally, to make
connections between the past and the present, and to communicate themes beyond what
scholars might agree is strictly known about a past era. Different ﬁlms blend the two in

distinctive ways.

148

Looking Across the Three Films

The Alamo, The Last Samurai, and The Patriot reﬂect the imagination-

authenticity dynamic in different ways. Each ﬁlm is a different kind of historical

storytelling with particular implications for how teachers might use them instructionally

and for how students might learn about the past from them. Table 3.5 compares the

pedagogical content analyses of the three ﬁhns side-by-side. First, I use the pedagogical

content analyses to compare the ﬁlms as representations of three styles of historical

storytelling. Then, I will discuss the educational uses of history ﬁlms in light of what I

have learned from this study.

Table 3.5

Pedagogical Content Analysis Summary across All Three Films

 

The Alamo (2004)

The Last Samurai
(2003)

The Patriot (2000)

 

 

value of Alamo and cannot

(e.g., cannon at the long
barracks)

Content coverage

 

Incorporates remarkable number
of historical details (real ﬁgures,
Texas politics, Alamo siege and
battle), but exaggerates strategic

include every possible detail

Characters are mix of real
(Meiji), ﬁctionalized
(Katsumoto-Saigo; Omura-
Okubo/Iwakura), and
invented (Algren); main
events inspired by Saigo’s
1877 rebellion, with details
from uprisings in 1874 and
1876; narrative plot is mostly
ﬁctional, including most the
ﬁnal battle

 

.................................

149

Characters mostly invented,
though some are composites
(Martin-Marion/Pickens/Sumter;
Tavington-Tarleton/Ferguson) or
real ﬁgures (Cornwallis, Greene);
real events (Camden, Yorktown)
occur in the background, and
ﬁlm’s culminating battle is a
composite of two actual battles
(Cowpens, Guilford Court
House); French military
contribution is downplayed; war
atrocities pinned on the British,
even though most were actually
committed by South Carolinian

 

--...--------_-----,---_.-_.--.--_---..

 

F
Accurate evokes period with

sets (Alamo, frontier towns) and

Lovingly depicts Japan’s

 

traditional culture (samurai

Slavery is almost invisible in the
ﬁlm; depicts the reality of Black

 

 

:: props (riﬂes); downplays training, philosophy, poetry); soldiers, an actual part of the
.g effectiveness of Mexican presents samurai not as elite Revolutionary period—except in
3 artillery and competence of warrior caste but as primitive South Carolina
é Santa Anna’s siege; simpliﬁes native tribe like American
3 scope of Santa Anna’s strategy Plains Indians; Western
% and actions (e.g., San Jacinto imperialism represented by
.3 taken out of its broader context) U.S. ambassador, Europeans
.9 mentioned only in passing;
3 evokes era of Japanese
0.. modernization (cities,
Council of State) in
simpliﬁed ways (no zaibatsu)
Incorporates many recorded Incorporates Japanese Redcoats always designate the
__ :: anecdotes (Crockett, Bowie language and Meiji slogans enemy, even though British
8 .3 reputations) and period into screenplay; imagines forces wore variety of uniforms;
'g ‘3’ documents (letters) into what an authentic feudal period language and artifacts
t5; *5 screenplay samurai army would have (broadsides, ﬂags, weapons,
":5 5 looked like, even though musket-balls) establish sense of
o Saigo’s rebels actually used authenticity
modem weapons
Features Tejano characters Japanese citizens constructed African American characters not
(Seguin) and emphasizes Tejano as deferential and without scarred by slavery (Martin’s free
importance, but downplays political agency; women and Black workers); the only slave
racial dynamics and aligns children function only in character (Occam) is
S Tejano interests with Anglo relation to their men; Algren longsuffering and patriotic; White
'5 8 Texians; Mexican perspective the White hero is accepted by characters are racially tolerant, '
'g g reﬂected through soldiers the samurai (replacing and White ethic diversity is
W 2 (Castrillon, two unnamed Taka’s husband), surpasses ignored; British are almost all
8 soldados); slavery issue their prowess, and outlasts stereotypically English; Native
highlighted through Joe and them (is Algren the last Americans are almost totally
Sam; women used mostly to samurai?) absent; women service ﬁlmic
establish male characters conventions and have little to do
in political/military narrative
Despite their dark undersides, Empathizes with the Empathizes with heroic
Anglo Texians depicted as reactionary samurai, Americans ﬁghting for their
heroes; Tejanos/Mexican people overlooking brutality and homes over greedy, aristocratic
>~ depicted sympathetically; Santa inequity of their traditional British; Tavington positioned as
5 Anna presented as the villain society; Algren (handsome arch villain, blamed for atrocities;
2. and comes off badly compared White hero) and Katsumoto Martin ﬁts comfortably with
If] to Texian leaders (attractive, charismatic) contemporary mores (morally

 

 

....................................

facilitate empathy for
samurai culture; even the
villain (Bagley) succumbs to
the allure of samurai way

 

 

uo---co----c----~o---c--‘---‘v--od

150

opposed to violence but brave
when necessary, not a slaveowner
or racist)

-------------------------------------

 

 

 

Alamo represents defense of Equates defeat of the samurai Attributes victory to the
liberty against dictatorship; the with destruction of Native democratic militiamen (heroic
ﬁlm emphasizes multicultural American cultures; links underdogs) against aristocratic
3 message of racial unity, but modernization with Western British (defeated by their
5 ignores how events relate to imperialism and capitalist arrogance); lionizes the South
% ongoing issues of border corruption; suggests Carolinian patriots without any
2 conﬂict and treatment of Japanese strength comes hint as to why South Carolina
13 captured enemy insurgents from balance between would spearhead secession from
o tradition and modernization the Union; communicates a
2 and celebrates samurai message of racial unity by
heritage without any hint of ignoring the legacy of slavery and
its destructive inﬂuence in racism after independence
20th century
Dramatized recreation of Fictionalized story inspired Imagined historical story with
historical events; teachers may by real historical events; to mostly ﬁctional characters;
E be attracted to its factual basis activate its content value, activating content knowledge
a, v, but need to distinguish content lesson design will need to requires a lesson design that
g g coverage from its debatable distinguish factual equips students to recognize the
‘3 8 choices in empathy and moral inspiration from invented ﬁlm’s composite elements; if
:2. [3 responses; ﬁlm offers one story; teachers also will need teachers consider the social
‘3- meaning of the Alamo, but a to consider whether the ﬁlm construction in the ﬁlm, it can
E lesson could investigate gloriﬁes samurai violence serve as a springboard to help '
multiple possible interpretations and mischaracterizes the students confront issues of race in
modernization of Japan American history
Box ofﬁce failure, so many Since almost all names, Film’s nanative follows many
students may not have heard of places, and events are ﬁlmic conventions students will
this movie before seeing it in ﬁctionalized, students may recognize: heroes and villains,
class; dense amount of factual need extra support to apply underdogs against the strong; it
detail may be overwhelming for ﬁlm to content learning; positions students for an
._ some students; students may students are likely to emotionally powerful but
«.8 ﬁxate on period details and empathize with samurai historically selective take on the
2 £2 battles without necessarily characters without American Revolution and the
.3 5 considering the story’s necessarily reﬂecting on kind of society it created;
8 3 connection to our world today why; the ﬁlm communicates students with differing
TE. U) sharp messages about the experiences with racism may
E price of modernization, react in very different ways to the
“7 corruption in capitalism, and ﬁlm’s historical meanings and
destruction of native messages
traditions that students may
beneﬁt from interrogating
but could miss if overly
focused on exciting action

 

 

 

 

 

 

In terms of historical storytelling, The Alamo is a dramatic recreation of past
events. Of the three ﬁlms, it approaches the need for authenticity most literally. There is
quite a large amount of known factual information and surviving documentation about

the Alamo and its central ﬁgures. The 2004 ﬁlm version incorporates actual

151

documentation and recorded anecdotes about its characters into the screenplay and bases
its main narrative closely on recorded events. Even as much as the ﬁlmmakers strove to
make an “authentic” Alamo version, imagination was part of their vision too. Where
there were uncertainties (what happened to Crockett), imagination envisioned a possible
outcome. Where there was a need to ﬂesh out the characters (Travis and Bowie’s
personalities), imagination created scenes that probably did not happen but which still
conveyed factual information about them. Where there was a desire to express a theme '
that resonates with our world today, imagination put hope for multicultural harmony in
the mouth of Davy Crockett.

The Last Samurai can be described as a ﬁctionalized story inspired by real events.
Of the three ﬁlms, it strikes the most careful balance between imagination and
authenticity. Its account of the past is imagined but not unfettered fantasy. Its main
narrative is a composite of details from recorded historical events. Some characters are
composites of actual ﬁgures from the past. These decisions ground the ﬁlm’s statements
about the world in a degree of authenticity. The samurai rebels really were crushed by
the forces of modernization in Japan. Japanese modernization really was fueled by the
need to compete with Western power. Imagination gives the authentic events emotional
resonance across time. Imagined characters, interactions, and events communicate the
ﬁlm’s messages about modernization and the destruction of traditional cultures and
nature, about capitalism and corruption, and about American imperialism as a problem in
the world of the past and, by extension, potentially in the world today. Furthermore,
imagination in the ﬁlm makes its story entertaining and comprehensible to an American

audience by providing viewers with a recognizable, handsome American hero, a

152

conventional romantic subplot, and exciting battle action that simpliﬁes Saigo’s
protracted military campaign into two easily understood battles.

The Patriot is an imagined historical story. Of the three ﬁlms, it is grounded most
powerfully in the need for imagination. Almost all of the characters are either original
inventions or re-named, created amalgarnations of real historical ﬁgures. Most of the
story of Martin and his militiamen is invented, too. The purpose of this imagination is to
envision an American Revolution emotionally compelling to Americans today, a version
of the past in which heroic ordinary people overcome arrogant, aristocratic villains and in
which the racial exploitation that marked the U.S. society throughout the 19th and 20th
centuries is replaced by racial unity. The Patriot offers historical storytelling as wish
fulﬁllment, a way to think about a better world by imagining a better past. The ﬁlm uses
elements of authenticity—some actual named historical characters, period images,
language, and objects, action scenes inspired by details from actual historical battles—to
makes its imagined world more credible, more real.

For history scholars and teachers, it is tempting to trumpet authenticity when
considering the educational potential of history ﬁlms. After all, authenticity is what
encourages ﬁlmmakers to ground their screenplays in factual evidence. However, the
box office performance and critical reception of the three movies point to an important
realization: most people like imagined stories. The Alamo, at a reported cost of $107
million to make, was a commercial disaster that took in only $22.5 million at the
domestic box ofﬁce and an additional $3.5 million overseas. The ﬁlm also was widely
rejected by critics: of 33 reviews in major newspapers, magazines, and national media

outlets, only 36% were favorable. The Patriot was much more commercially

153

successful. It reportedly cost $110 million to make, while taking in $113 million
domestically and $102 million overseas. The ﬁlm’s critical reception was tepid: of 26
ﬁlm reviews, 40% were favorable. The Last Samurai, with a reported budget of $140
million, was not commercially successful in the U.S. (where it took in only $111 million)
but was a major hit overseas (taking in another $345.5 million). The ﬁlm was a genuine
critical success: of the 38 reviews, 54% were favorable.5

The movie that was the most factually authentic was the least successﬁrl
commercially and critically (indeed, some critics complained that the historical accuracy
of The Alamo made it too slow and confusing). The Last Samurai and The Patriot more
palpably blended imagination with elements of authenticity and were more successful
with the public. The failure or success of these ﬁlms suggests that many viewers,
including young people in school, respond to imagination in storytelling. It is not that
they reject the need for authenticity. Authenticity gives the ﬁlm real meaning;
imagination gives the ﬁlm real emotional power.
Educational Uses of History Movies

Thus, educational uses of history feature ﬁlms are informed by the imagination- .
authenticity dynamic. Every history movie takes an approach to historical storytelling
that conveys messages about the past by the very nature of what the ﬁlm chooses to
include, exclude, emphasize, downplay, valorize, or deny. When teachers design a ﬁlm-
based lesson, they are immersing students in a particular mode of storytelling that

communicates information and understandings about the past in certain ways and for

 

5 Information about ﬁlm budgets and earnings was generated by searching the industry website Box Office
Mojo (http://www.boxofﬁcemojo.com) on November 3, 2005. Information about critical reactions was
generated by searching the popular movie website Rotten Tomatoes (http://www.rottentomatoes.com) on
November 3, 2005.

154

certain purposes. Based on its approach to storytelling and what elements it contains, a
history movie has the potential to play inherent roles in the classroom. It can teach
students factual content about the past. It can convey moral or ethical stances to students.
It can relate history to students in ways that are culturally relevant to them. Of course, it
can also entertain them. The potential roles it can play depend on the ﬁlm choice but also
on the teacher—it is the teacher who mobilizes the ﬁlm’s potential in the lesson.

History movies are ﬂexible tools. As detailed in chapter 4, teachers can employ
them in a variety of ways-—multi-day events, short clips selected for speciﬁc purposes, or
divided up over curricular units to cover topics at appropriate points. Movies can support
a range of related classroom activities: lectures, discussions, writing (both creative and
factual) assignments, and student visual projects. However, any educationally
substantive instructional use of a history movie requires an awareness of style of
historical storytelling, how it treats historical fact and ﬁction, how it constructs the past
and people in it, and how it encourages students to react to the past. Thus, the value of
pedagogical content analysis is in highlighting these kinds of issues so they can be used
as springboards for deeper student historical learning. My analyses of the three ﬁlms
suggest possible implications their use by teachers. What connects them all is the need to
consider the pedagogical functions of the ﬁlms in lesson design.

For The Alamo, teachers may be strongly attracted to its factual basis. This sense
of factual authenticity may lull teachers into overlooking the ﬁlm’s more debatable
choices in empathy and moral response, and it is in these areas that the ﬁlm has the most
to say about what the Alamo means. This ﬁlm version of the story offers one possible

meaning—the Alamo as a symbol of American liberty and a hope for racial cooperation.

155

That 150 years later the U.S. and Mexico are still at odds about movements across their
shared border suggests a ﬁlm-based lesson could investigate multiple possible
interpretations of the Alamo and the Texas conﬂict.

For The Last Samurai, activating the content value of the ﬁlm requires a lesson
design that distinguishes factual inspiration from invented story. The modernization of
Japan in the Meiji era is an important curricular topic in world history, and the teacher
would need to bridge the ﬁlm’s imaginative story and the actual historical events that
inspired it. Another implication of the ﬁlm’s approach to storytelling is that the empathy
and moral responses conveyed by the narrative may glorify the violence of the samurai
and mischaracterize the modernization of Japan. There is a potential for dissonance
between a teacher’s curricular goals and the interpretations and conclusions transmitted
by the ﬁlm.

For The Patriot, activating the ﬁlm’s content value requires a lesson design that
equips students to recognize its composite elements. The ﬁlm becomes more useful
educationally when students can recognize Marion, Pickens, and Sumter in Martin or
when they can see that movie’s climactic battle incorporates authentic historical events.
Additionally, consideration of the ﬁlm’s social construction can serve as a springboard to
confronting issues of race identity and conﬂict in American history. If the movie’s
ending is historical wish fulﬁllment, it can be a powerful learning experience for students
to think about what happened historically to make that wish resonate with people today.

These ﬁlms also present implications for student learning. The Alamo was a box
office failure, so it is unlikely that students will have heard of it. It has a dense amount of

factual detail, potentially overwhelming for some students. The drawback is that students

156

could ﬁxate on period details or the action-oriented events of the titular battle without
necessarily considering the ways in which situation in 1836 connects to our world today.
The Last Samurai may require extra support for students to help them apply the ﬁlm
content to the curricular content of the unit, since almost all names, places, and events in
the movie are ﬁctionalized. The ﬁlm is so emotionally powerful that students are likely
to empathize with the samurai characters without necessarily reﬂecting on why this is a
goal of the ﬁlm. Furthermore, students could become so tied up in the exciting action
that they could miss out on the ﬁlm’s sharp thematic messages about modernization,
capitalism, and the destruction of native cultures. The Patriot may appeal to students
because its many ﬁlmic conventions are so recognizable to American audiences—-heroes
and villains, underdogs against the strong. The ﬁlm positions students for an emotionally
powerful but historically selective take on the American Revolution and the kind of
society it created. Race and slavery are central to this tension. There is the potential that
students with differing experiences with race and racism will react in very different ways
to the ﬁlm’s historical meanings and messages.

So what can teachers do with these ﬁlms to maximize their educative potential?
My work with pedagogical content analyses of history movies suggests that the most
valuable application is to generate educative questions that emerge from the history ﬁlms
and can be used as the basis for classroom activities. As described earlier in the chapter,
educative questions get to the deeper level of a history ﬁlm, meaningfully connect the
ﬁlm-based lesson to the broader curricular unit, provide opportunities to interpret the
ﬁlm’s historical events and what they mean. Their purpose is to explore signiﬁcant,

generalizable issues that relate the past to our world today.

157

In chapters 1 and 2, 1 described three analytical frames drawn the literature:

historians’ perspectives, historical thinking/collective memory, and critical media

scholarship. Now I would like to return to them and apply them to my analyses of these

3
three ﬁlms. Each frame suggests different possible educative questions for a history ﬁlm

that can be used to make meaningful use of a history ﬁlm shown in the classroom. Table

3.6 details the educative questions that emerge from my analyses of these three ﬁlms.

Table 3.6

Educative Questions Raised by the Three Films

Historians’
perspectives

Historical
thinking/

collective
memory

Critical
media
scholarship

The Alamo

The Last Samurai

The Patriot

 

What are the Alamo’s
political dimensions?
Was Texan independence
a justiﬁed break from a
tyrant, an unjustiﬁed
land-grab by Americans,
or something in else?

 

Can the Japanese
samurai be compared
to the American Plains
Indians? In what ways
are their historical
situations similar and
in what ways are they
different?

 

What are the moral
dimensions of the
violence in this war?
Was Santa Anna justiﬁed
in using force to suppress
the Texian revolt? Who
are the heroes and
villains in this account,
and what makes them
heroes or villains?

It can be argued that the
revolution was started in
the North, fought in the
South, and won by the
French. In what ways
does the ﬁlm demonstrate
or deny this statement?

 

Who is the “last
samurai” and why,
Algren or Katsumoto?
Why is Algren so
attracted to
Katsumoto’s culture,
and how would you
feel if you were in
Algren’s place?

Can Slaveowners in
history be considered
American heroes today?
To what extent should
our contemporary social
attitudes inﬂuence how
we think and feel about
people in the past?

 

How do the ﬁlm’s
themes relate to our
world today? What
aspects of the Alamo
story help explain
problems and conditions
in the U.S. and Mexico

today?

 

What does this ﬁlm
have to say about
Americans and
Japanese people? Was
the samurai tradition a
positive or negative
part of Japanese
culture?

 

What does the ﬁlm have
to say about slavery and
the treatment of Black
Americans in history?
Why didn’t the American
Revolution live up to its
potential by granting

liber_ty to all people?

 

158

The three frames each represent a different kind of learning important in
history/social studies classrooms. Historians’ perspectives emphasize what knowledge
we can learn about the past based on evidence and interpretation. Thus, this frame
suggests educative questions that strike at the historical signiﬁcance of the eras and
events in the three movies. What do we know about the events? Why did they happen?
What explains their outcomes? Historical thinking/collective memory emphasizes
getting students to empathize with the past, to think about what the past means to them,
and to consider how the past is important to societies. This frame’s educative questions
strike at the moral, ethical, and psychological dimensions of the three ﬁlms. Who are the
heroes and villains, and why? How should our cultural values today inﬂuence the way
we think about the past? Critical media scholarship emphasizes issues of social identity,
power and control, and cultural meanings in media texts. The educative questions
suggested by this frame, thus, strike at the social messages communicated by the ﬁlms.
How do past events affect conditions in our world today? How are powerﬁrl and
subordinate groups and cultures positioned in this account of the past?

The kinds of educative questions that I argue emerge from the three ﬁhns in this
study can be applied to ﬁlm-based lesson design. They can be confronted explicitly
between the teacher and students as the basis of a rich class discussion. They can be the
underlying rationale for lectures or student activities. They can inform student work
involving the ﬁlm. Ultimately, they serve to ground the ﬁlm-based lesson in high-order

thinking about history.

159

Conclusion

History feature ﬁlms have considerable educational potential. We already know
that they are widely used in schools and are watched by millions of children in schools, in
theaters, and on television. What is needed is a mechanism for using them more
seriously and rigorously in the classroom. The pedagogical content analysis suggests one
route. Its analytical categories are a proﬁtable framework for conducting and organizing
a careful, scene-by-scene breakdown of a history ﬁlm as well as a critical consideration
of the ﬁlm’s broader narratives and themes. The pedagogical content analysis can be
applied to the classroom by helping students think about fact and ﬁction in the ﬁlm, how
the ﬁlm constructs the past and the people in it, and the ﬁlm’s moral reaction to the past.

By applying three frames drawn from existing scholarship in history and media,
deeper educative questions raised by the ﬁlm can be made explicit and used to guide
discussions and activities in the classroom. By bringing to a ﬁlm-based lesson an
awareness of the movie’s pedagogical functions, approach to storytelling, and emerging
educative questions, teachers can meaningfully use history feature ﬁlms with their
students. I suggest that asking social studies teacher candidates, or certainly teachers in a
Masters-degree program, to analyze a history feature ﬁlm using the kind of ﬁamework
modeled in this chapter would be a feasible and valuable activity—and one that would

prepare them to tap into the educational potential ﬁlms in their classrooms.

160

Chapter 4
Seeing the Past, Playing It Safe: Four Cases of History Feature Films in the Classroom

Scholarly interest in the instructional use of visual media in the history classroom
is not new. Within a few years of the invention of talking motion pictures, some scholars
began to consider how motion pictures might affect the teaching of history in schools
(Knowlton & Tilton, 1932; Wise, 1939). Since that time, the advent of affordable VHS
and DVD has greatly expanded the reach of movies into the classroom. Over the past
two decades, scholars have studied how commercial feature ﬁlms are used in history
teaching and can inﬂuence student learning (Briley, 2002; Doherty, 2002; Goldstein,
1995; Johnson & Vargas, 1994; Justice, 2003; Marcus, 2005; Matz, 2005; Metzger, 2005;
Paxton & Meyerson, 2002; Seixas, 1993, 1994; Stoddard, 2005; Stoddard & Marcus, in
press; Sturma, 2000; Toplin, 2002; Weinstein, 2001; Wineburg, Mosborg, & Porat,
2000). Judging from this body of research, it is no longer a question of if but how
teachers should bring history movies into the classroom.

The previous chapter examined commercial history feature ﬁlms as learning texts,
in terms of potential for teaching content and understandings about the past. This chapter
explores the educational affordances and limitations of ﬁlm-based instruction through
four observed cases in actual secondary social-studies classrooms.l Regina used the
1994 Chinese-language ﬁlm To Live to teach about communism in China for her unit on
political and economic systems. Marie showed an episode of the 1977 television
miniseries Roots for her Early American Republic unit. Isabel used a clip from the 1994
ﬁlm Legends of the Fall as part of a lesson in her World War I unit. Kellie showed the

2002 ﬁlm The Pianist for her World War II/Holocaust unit.

 

' All names of individuals and schools are pseudonyms.

161

Each teacher used history feature ﬁlms in different ways, but the four cases share
notable features in common. All four teachers were drawn to history movies as a way to
stimulate student interest and help students visualize the past. At the same time, they
carefully controlled what questions and aspects of the ﬁlm were talked about in class,
thereby constraining student enthusiasm and intellectual engagement with the historical
topics. This study offers a closer look at these four differing approaches by focusing on
the teachers’ choices and uses of ﬁlms and their instructional interactions with their
students. My analysis draws on classroom observations and interviews with the teachers
and a small sample of student volunteers (see chapter 2). Since my presence was limited
and I could not become an “insider” in the observed classrooms, I sought to immerse
myself unobtrusively in the classroom context and watch how the teachers and students
experienced the ﬁlm-based lessons. Making sense of these instructional experiences
requires what Geertz (1973) called “thick description”——probing the context of practices
and discourses within a culture in a way that makes them meaningful to an outsider.

This chapter uses the observations and interviews to analyze these four cases of
instructional uses of history movies. First, I brieﬂy discuss what goes into preparing a
ﬁlm-based lesson. Next, I offer in-depth examinations of the four observed lessons. I
look at the teachers’ intentions and views on teaching with ﬁlm, at what the teachers did
with the ﬁlms and their students, and at how the observed lesson in each classroom maps
onto the pedagogical functions examined in chapter 3—content coverage and period
representation; historical construction and social construction; empathy and moral

response. Finally, I conclude by looking across all four cases and theorizing why history

162

teachers use movies in safe, traditional ways instead of ways that seek to expand student
intellectual engagement.
What Goes into the Instructional Use of Film?

Some of what goes into a ﬁlm-based lesson is manifestly visible—students in the
dark staring at a screen, the teacher often doing something else. Impressions of this
visible portion of the context fuels the conventional folklore that showing movies is a
way to dodge teaching—a facile assumption which ignores that teachers (like the four in
this study) can and do put a great deal of thought into their ﬁlm-based lessons. When I
asked the teachers in my sample what they thought was the worst reason for showing a
ﬁlm in class, all of them pointed to the assumption that showing movies is not really
teaching. Regina said that the worst reason was “to just take up time. . .. I’ve seen where
people are just showing movies just to take up time, time to grade or whatever.” Marie
commented that she has known many teachers “who have done video that was put on in
order so the teacher could get other things done, and that’s not the purpose of video, or
shouldn’t be. Or [they] show something they haven’t really previewed or designed lesson
plans around.” Isabel said the worst reason would be “because I’m tired, I don’t want to
teach today. That would be the worst. . .. The kids know if you just want to slap
something in there.” Kellie’s comments echoed the others: “F illerjust to take up time.
That would be a had reason, that’s kind of like doing a disservice to your students.”

Other parts of the context are less visible, manifest only to those on the “inside”
participating in the full lesson. How did the teacher relate the ﬁlm to what was studied
before watching it? How were students prepared to watch the ﬁlm and use what they see

and hear? What will the teacher do with the ﬁlm after showing it? What historical

163

questions will the ﬁlm help the students meaningfully examine? These issues are
essential to the educational value of using a history movie instructionally.

How the ﬁlm’s characteristics relate to the instructional unit of study is the key.
Important characteristics include the ﬁlm’s subject or topic (what is the movie “about”),
its historical content (what subject matter from the unit of study also appears in the
movie), its visual and aural rhetorics (how the movie’s sights and sounds convey
information and meanings), and its messages and themes (what the ﬁlm says about the
past, the people in it, and their relationship to our world today). In other words, the
pedagogical functions examined in chapter 3. What the ﬁlm can offer is limited by what
the ﬁlm contains. A “good” movie can be a bad instructional choice if its elements do
not meaningfully feed into the lesson, and a “bad” movie can be a terriﬁc instructional
choice when used strategically by the teacher.

Students, both individually and collectively, are another important factor. They
bring to a ﬁlm-based lesson their own prior knowledge, degree of interest in the topic and
movie itself, attitudes about the class and the teacher, and varying moods or dispositions
each day. Teachers tend to be very sensitive to this and want their students to “like” the
movie. Since ﬁlms tend to be lengthy, managing the classroom during the length of time
can be trying if students get restless or antsy. Complicating this challenge for teachers is
the realization that students are not passive consumers of ﬁlm. Literature on media
education emphasizes that students actively participate in how they learn from media
texts, including movies (Masterman, 1985; Buckingham, 2003; Buckingham & Sefton-

Green, 1994). In other words, students’ own personalities, outlooks, and backgrounds

164

affect how they respond to and make use of media texts, and this in turn inﬂuences how
ﬁlm-based lessons turn out in the classroom.
Limits on Control

On the surface, teachers seem to exercise considerable control in ﬁlm-based
lessons. They ultimately select the ﬁlm and what elements in it receive focus. The
traditional way of showing a movie in the classroom, with students quietly watching the
ﬁlm at their individual desks, inherently controls student behavior by requiring them to
be silent and still. In actuality, teacher control is imperfect. Film choice is limited by
what the motion picture industry produces. While the advent of indexed DVDs makes it
easier for a teacher to focus on particular elements in a ﬁlm, teachers have no control
over the particular images, dialogue, and structure of the ﬁlm narrative.

Additionally, teacher control is constrained by the students. Teachers can
inﬂuence student reception of a ﬁlm by framing it in particular ways, but control over
how students respond mentally may be even more limited for a movie than other kinds of
texts. A textbook or other non-ﬁctional instructional text is typically a straightforward
statement of ofﬁcial factual knowledge, but movies are also a part of popular youth
culture independent of the classroom. Students may accept a teacher’s interpretation of a
textbook without much personal reﬂection, but most adolescents watch movies on their
own and bring to the classroom their own ideas on how to make sense of a ﬁlm story.

Teachers’ perceptions of what their students will like and can handle affect their
ﬁlm-based lessons. For example, a teacher may hesitate to use a particular ﬁlm because
of students’ immaturity. Two teachers in this study brought up this tension. Regina

noted, “There’s a lot of ﬁlms that I would love to use, but because of the age group it’s

165

not relevant, I can’t.... Like [the 1951 Japanese ﬁlm] The Seven Samurai. The 11‘h
graders loved it. The ninth graders couldn’t get it at all.” Marie’s prior experience had
taught her that:

[Roots is] an intense movie. It deals with some more mature issues especially the

brutality and the abuse of human beings. This is a borderline age for that, for

kids, and so it takes some preparation on my part to help these children
understand what they’re going to see and to be prepared for the maturity level that
they need for it.

Students can also pressure the teacher to choose a particular ﬁlm. In my study,
Kellie ended up choosing The Pianist partly because some of her students lobbied for it.
Other times, the pressure is less benign. Isabel complained, “Pearl Harbor of the late 905
with Josh Hartnett and Ben Afﬂeck. The girls, and even the guys to some extent, every
time we get to WWII [ask], ‘Do we get to watch Pearl Harbor?’ And my response is,
‘Why? Why would I show that to you?’”

Of course, students affect a ﬁlm-based lesson in more ways than just telling the
teacher what title to pick. How the ﬁlm is presented, the work designed to go along with
the ﬁlm, and the ways in which the ﬁlm is talked about in class all depend to some degree
on whether the teacher believes the students will cooperate with or beneﬁt from it. In the
end, the teacher can only inﬂuence but not control student understanding and reception of
the ﬁlm. Teachers’ desire to harness the visual power of movies while containing student
reactions, enthusiasm, and intellectual engagement within manageable bounds is a theme

that I will revisit at the end of the chapter.

166

History Movies in the Classroom: Four Cases

I now turn to four classroom cases of teachers’ instructional use of feature ﬁlms
about history. The teachers—Regina, Marie, Isabel, and Kellie—reﬂected different
approaches to how ﬁlm can be presented to students and used in the classroom. For each
case, I begin by describing the teacher’s instructional goals and views on teaching with
ﬁlm. Next, I relate the lesson as I observed it and offer preliminary analysis of what was
actually accomplished by the lesson. Then, I examine what subject matter knowledge
students could learn from the lesson by mapping what I observed onto the six functions
of the pedagogical content analysis (detailed in chapter 3).

Regina: Bringing the Real China to Great Falls HS

Regina is an experienced teacher in her early 405. Of African national origin, she
grew up in Spain and has been a permanent legal resident of the United States for many
years. She majored in history and political science for her bachelor’s degree, and
completed both her initial certiﬁcation and master’s degree in teaching at small, regional
private colleges in Michigan. Regina has been teaching for the past 12 years at Great
Falls High School in a largely middle-class, rural/suburban district located in the
countryside near Michigan’s capital area. Over 1,800 students attended Great Falls HS in
2005-06, of whom 1,701 (91%) were White/Caucasian. A1129 of Regina’s students in
the class that I observed appear to be White/Caucasian. The Great Falls area was once a
rural farming community, but suburban expansion in recent years has connected it more
and more to the nearby metropolitan area and increased its residential population. The
Great Falls HS facility is sizable and in good condition, built in the early 19905. It

features a modern performing—arts auditorium with a video projector and large projection

167

screen. The ﬁrst day of Regina’s lesson took place in the auditorium. The second day of
the lesson took place in Regina’s regular classroom, an ample space for at least 30
students, their desks, a teacher’s desk, and a few other work tables.

The observed movie lesson was part of Regina’s unit on economic and political
systems for World Cultures, a course required for graduation. Her current teaching load
consisted of ﬁve periods of the World Cultures course. It has been her only “prep” for
the past few years, though in the years before she typically taught two or three different
courses. Most of her students in the class I observed were 9‘h graders (mostly 14-15 years
old), though some students were in the 10th grade and one young man was 18 years old.
For this unit, she showed her students To Live (Huozhe), a 1994 Mandarin-language ﬁlm
with English subtitles. Directed by Yimou Zhang, To Live was made in Hong Kong
before its return to Chinese control. Banned in China itself, the ﬁlm was released ﬁrst in
Europe and distributed in the USA by the Samuel Goldwyn Company. To Live relates
what life was like in communist China from the late 19405 to the early 19705 through the
tragic experiences of the Xu family.

The Teacher ’5 Intentions and Views on Film

Regina frequently uses ﬁlm in the classroom, and she brings a number of deeply
felt motivations to her ﬁlm-based instruction. “At least every unit has some kind of
visual [media]. Overall, every unit is two to three weeks, so there is a ﬁlm in there
somewhere,” she told me. A chief purpose is for her students “to get another [learning
input] besides hearing about [the topic], to also see. So it’s a multisensory type exercise.”
Regina referenced this purpose again when reﬂecting on the effectiveness of her To Live

lesson: “It’s almost like you experienced something, so it was kind of like telling a story

168

of something that happened. So I think they students were able to retain because they
saw it, so it’s multisensory.”

Furthermore, Regina brings a personal passion in world cinema to her lessons.
She enjoys exposing students to global languages and cultures; the objective is for her
students “to identify with that culture, with that period of time, and compare it to today.
That’s the object of every ﬁlm [I use].” In her view, a ﬁlm made by members of the
depicted culture is more authentic. One of our exchanges was indicative of her
philosophy:

Scott: So you personally have a strong interest in international world cinema?

Regina: Oh yeah, deﬁnitely, I’m addicted to foreign ﬁlm.

Scott: So that inﬂuences your choices?

Regina: Most deﬁnitely, especially when they come from the perspective of the

people. . .. [T 0 Live] was done by a Chinese director as opposed to Hollywood

coming in and trying to tinker around with the culture.

Regina later added that To Live is “in the target language and it’s made by the
target culture”—in other words, it comes from an authentic perspective and is not an
artiﬁcial Hollywood version of another culture. In one of our last conversations, Regina
clariﬁed why she feels Hollywood versions are not authentic:

You get a ﬁlm like [the 2004 ancient epic] T roy, but the main actors aren’t

Greek. . .. If you’re going to spend time with the historical costumes, with the

architecture and making sure that they research the history. . .why the heck are you

putting a Caucasian actor when there are, I’m sure, a billion Greek actors that can

169

play the role the same way? [Hollywood ﬁlmmakers] just haven’t taken the step

to make it culturally correct, some of these movies.

When asked why she chose to use a movie for this lesson on communism in
China, Regina complained about the limitations of other options: “Documentaries about
the Cultural Revolution are too graphic or way too gory, or they’re too preachy, news-
reel type stuff, or too propaganda. . .. This ﬁlm is great because it tells a story of a normal
family going through horriﬁc times.” Regina feels that movies pack a visual
reinforcement and inherent emotional interest that other instruction methods, including
non-ﬁction video documentaries, cannot match:

If I can ﬁnd movies to replace the documentaries, any time. Because once you

ﬁnd a movie, you fall in love with the character and then you can identify with the

character much more than some voice-over. At least with this age group. With

documentaries, it’s like, you turn the lights down and that’s all.
Of course, there are problems in using movies. As much as she loved T 0 Live, Regina
told me that she worried about “the length and the fact that it’s subtitled.” She further
noted that the 1994 ﬁlm is “already aging and the kids these days don’t have any patience
for anything that was not made in the last ﬁve years.”

In our interview after she showed students the ﬁlm, Regina commented that To
Live was still effective educationally because “it’s dramatic. It’s got like the tugging at
the heart element. It’s got children and the way children are raised. And it’s got cultural
elements, social elements, economic elements, political elements, so it’s got a little bit of

everything.” She further extolled the ﬁlm for its chronological sweep:

I70

[T 0 Live] spans, it’s like the 405, the 505, the 605, and the 705. So you see the
same character going through each time. . .. I wish all educational movies were set
up this way, where you take one character and you pass them through, you take
them to the actually events through history.

To Live appealed to Regina because of its match with the curricular topics for this
unit, the historical information conveys, and the opportunities it provides to convey to
students a particular way of seeing history. Its depiction of historical content ﬁts with
Regina’s own understandings and experiences. She told me:

I wanted to see [in class] this movie because it’s banned in China, because it

really tells the story of what Mao’s communist ideas really were like. And so

when I did go to China, indeed, they were like, “Well, Mao, he’s all right, but he
made a lot of mistakes” and they very openly criticize him now.

Furthermore, the ﬁlm’s depiction of life in communist China scaffolds
understandings about the world today that Regina wanted to convey to her students. One
of the consequences of China’s post-Mao economic growth is inequality, with
implications for the place of the U.S. in the world. She commented,

Even though China is gaining economically, not everybody is coming along.

There are so many people left behind. . .. We’ve been talking in class about what

our does our government have to do in order to maintain our standard of living.

We’re used to certain things. Does that mean invading another country in order

for us to drive our SUVs? Does that mean borrowing money from China because

we want extra stuff for cheap clothes? So that’s basically where I want them to

see that, okay, China is growing really fast, but how deep is their team?

171

Regina’s ending words were a baseball metaphor suggesting that China’s rapid
development will require a constant struggle to maintain the new standard of living.

Regina has shown To Live in her World Cultures class for the past several years,
but this time she was trying something new. Rather than showing the ﬁlm to each class
independently as in the past, Regina arranged for all her students to be released from their
regular classes to spend the entire day with her in the auditorium watching the ﬁlm
together on the large screen. Students needed to bring back permission slips from their
parents in order to be released from their other classes, and students could check out of
the auditorium as necessary to attend classes that could not be missed (due to a test, for
example). Regina made these arrangements very quickly; her invitation for me to
observe the lesson came suddenly at the end of the week preceding the Monday showing
of the ﬁlm. She intended this day to be a special event for her students to get them to be
more excited about her lesson and the ﬁlm. Describing the lesson as an experiment, she
explained,

This experiment [is] out of the blue, something I wanted to do all the time, but

now let’s do it. . .. you try it and if it doesn’t work you throw it out. And if it

works, great. . .. I’m not sure yet, I haven’t decided if this is something I want to

repeat. It’s the ﬁrst time I’ve done it like this.
Observing the Lesson

Initially Regina tried to bring in a guest speaker from China to speak just prior to
the ﬁlm, but by Monday morning this plan had fallen through and she soldiered on by
herself. Around 8:25 am, the students from all of Regina’s sections of World Cultures

were released from their regular 1St hour and streamed into the auditorium. On their way

172

in, they dropped off their permission slips and sign-in with a student-aide, received a list
of discussion questions about the ﬁlm, and chose seats from among those that Regina
allowed. Regina began addressing the more than 100 assembled students shortly before
8:40 am. Their energy level was high, with voices bubbling across the auditorium, but
mostly the group was very cooperative. Regina used a handheld microphone to amplify
her voice, but individual student voices were nearly impossible for those seated in the
house to hear. This remained a problem throughout the morning. Many students asked
or answered questions, but only Regina’s words could be heard by everyone.

A few minutes later, Regina launched into her PowerPoint lecture on To Live and
its historical background projected onto the large white screen hanging above the
auditorium stage. The PowerPoint slides were amply illustrated with pictures and
photographs and also contained a fair amount of text, which Regina used as memory
prompts for her own narration. Regina’s lecture identiﬁed key ﬁgures in recent Chinese
history and outlined major events in China ﬁ'om the 19305 to the present. She instructed
the students to listen and take notes in the semi-darkness; perhaps around half of the
visible students had notebooks out. Within a few minutes, there was a two-minute
interruption of the lecture as some students asked for more light. No sooner was that
resolved then several students protested the speed of the changing PowerPoint slides.
During the lull, some young men chimed in asking whether the lecture material would be
on the test. Regina warned them that it would and gave them a sample question: “What
were the two factions in the Chinese Civil War?”

Regina spent about 40 minutes lecturing and introducing the ﬁlm. Questions and

comments from students were interjected periodically. When Mao Zhedong was shown

173

on the screen, one young woman raises her hand to ask for clariﬁcation about who that
“Mayo guy” was. Her pronunciation error seemed to be genuine; Regina corrected her
and led the students en-masse in pronouncing Mao’s name. “Sounds more intelligent,”
she explained. Later a different young woman asked for clariﬁcation about what Mao’s
“little red book” was. As soon as Regina answered her, a young man asked whether the
ﬁlm would be in Chinese or English. Perhaps nervous that the students would react
negatively to a foreign-language ﬁlm, Regina replied that the ﬁlm would be in Chinese
but quickly added that it has “very good English subtitles.” Regina’s lecture included
notes on modern China, too, which elicited some verbal exchanges. One student
interrupted to ask what Deng Xiaoping’s title of “premier” means. Before Regina could
respond, a young woman jumped in to ask if it means he was “like the President” in the
U.S. This sparked a series of inaudible questions regarding Deng’s inﬂuence on changes
in China. As student chatter began to rise, Regina halted her lecture, telling students to
take a nap if they were bored rather than disrupt those wanting to learn.

Around 9:15, Regina wrapped up the lecture and, over the next dozen minutes,
described elements that the students should watch for in the ﬁlm, illustrated by images on
a PowerPoint slide. A request for clariﬁcation about the persecution of teachers during
Cultural Revolution from a young woman surprised that students could be allowed to
beat and humiliate their teachers sparked a series of overlapping, inaudible questions
from many students about why Chinese students were allowed to do this, what they were
armed with, and how long they did this for. Regina provided brief answers to this ﬂurry
of questions, and it is unlikely she heard all of them. She concluded the overview by

asking whether something like the Cultural Revolution could happen in the U.S. There

174

was a general clamor of yes-and-no answers shouted out by many students. Regina
quelled the clamor by quickly concluding that “Hippies” in the 19605 were an example of
protest against authority in America.

Both before and during the movie, Regina’s special ﬁlm event was interrupted by
external factors. Her lecture was interrupted at 8:54 by the bell signaling the end of ISt
period, and a handful of students left the auditorium to attend their 2"d-period class.
Shortly after 9:10, she was interrupted by another teacher entering the darkened
auditorium looking for three students who needed to take a test. Around 10:00, the
movie was interrupted by another series of school bells marking the transition from 2"d to
3rd period. There was a considerably larger and noisier exodus of students leaving the
auditorium than before. Twice in the morning Regina had to pause her lesson to give the
students bathroom breaks.

After the ﬁrst bathroom break, Regina had the lights turned off altogether, and
visibility was limited to the glow from the screen. In response to what seemed like
student complaints, she told them, “Don’t try to take notes” on the movie, just watch it.
From time to time, Regina interjected brief comments over the microphone, pausing the
ﬁlm when speaking for more than a few seconds. Most of her comments were narrations
of what was going on in the story, although as the ﬁlm progressed she increasingly
interjected explanations of events and observations about the nuances of scene imagery or
sound—during a scene depicting the Great Leap Forward, Regina asked, “Remember
when we were talking about propaganda?” and pointed out in the ﬁlm the communist
slogans being broadcast on loudspeakers. Most of the time students seemed to watch the

ﬁlm quietly, though it was impossible to note their posture or alertness in the near-total

I75

darkness. There was some student tittering during predictable episodes—when a sexjoke
was made during a shadow-puppet play; when the characters swore (subtitled in English);
when the main character urinated in fear after watching the execution of the gambler who
stole his family estate. During one scene, many students (mostly young women) gasped
audibly when the main character berated his wife for interrupting his gambling and
ordered her to go home. Many of the female students mumbled what seemed like
positive reactions when in the next scene his wife left him. Perhaps encouraged by the
other students who got away with talking aloud, one young man audibly scoffed at the
“bad quality of the actors” after seeing the main character’s tearful reaction to his wife
leaving him. Regina quieted down the students but did not address their reactions.

Just after 11:00 am, Regina stopped the movie to give the students a 40-minute
lunch break. After lunch, the students reassembled at the appointed time only to discover
that the school band needed to use the auditorium to practice for an upcoming concert.
Regina tried to lead her large group of students in a discussion of the ﬁlm, but the lobby
adjoining the auditorium was an ill ﬁt for a hundred or so students and no one could hear
over the sound of the practicing band. Regina and her students sat in the lobby until the
band ﬁnished around 12:30 pm. Once back inside the auditorium, Regina showed the
rest of the ﬁlm. After the ﬁlm concluded around 1:30, she reviewed her presentation on
China and tried to re-start the group discussion about the ﬁlm. The students got
extremely antsy, proving too uncooperative in herjudgment, and Regina dismissed them
around 2:15 (several minutes before the official end of the school day).

On Tuesday morning, I was invited to observe the aftermath of the ﬁlm lesson.

Instead of spending the hour discussing the ﬁlm as she originally planned, she began

176

class by expressing her disappointment over student behavior yesterday. She apologized
for giving students a false impression with her easy-going demeanor and stated a need to
change the class culture based on group behavior during To Live. “1 am not angry but
more heart-broken,” she said to her class. She then explained that she was canceling a
planned ﬁeld trip to the Islamic Center, and she was also rethinking whether they should
do other group lessons.

Regina then told the students to take out blank paper for a pop quiz. Subdued, the
students quietly accepted their teacher’s disapproval and had no visible or audible
reaction to the pop quiz. Regina read four questions about the China lesson and To Live
one at a time:

1) Who is Hu Jintao?

2) What was the Cultural Revolution?

3) What are two things the main character loses on the very last night that he

gambles?

4) What was the PLA?

About six minutes later, Regina directed students to exchange papers with one another for
grading. She then reviewed the questions and appropriate answers one at a time, asking
students to read the written responses and clarifying acceptable responses.

After collecting the student-graded pop quizzes, she told the students to take out
the list of discussion questions about the ﬁlm given out on Monday and instructed them
to spend the rest of the hour writing answers to the questions individually. There were no
complaints and the students quickly got to work. The silence was brieﬂy broken after a

few minutes when a young woman asked Regina, “Could you write the names from the

177

ﬁlm on the board?” Before Regina could react, the young woman reminded her that
yesterday she told them not to write notes in the dark auditorium.

The questions, originally meant for students to talk about in small groups, tried to
draw out a range of student responses to the foreign-language ﬁlm. (See Figure 4.1
below for the questions.) Questions 7, 11, and 12 seemed to be designed to bridge the
ﬁlm’s foreign culture for the students. Questions 4, 8, and 13 aimed at helping students
comprehend the ﬁlm’s complex historical content. Nearly half the questions (3, 5, 6, 9,
10, 14) focused on students’ personal reactions to the movie—what they liked about it,
how it made them feel. Evident in Regina’s questions is her goal of getting students to
care about the past through this ﬁlm, particularly in questions that invite emotional

reﬂection (e.g., 3b. What aspect of Communism touched you the most?).

178

 

 

“To Live” Film Discussion Questions:

1. a. What is the conﬂict in the Xu family’s life? b. Do you believe that their
conﬂict is resolved by the end of the ﬁlm?

2. a. Why do you think the ﬁlm is called “To Live”? b. Were the ﬁlm makers
successful in portraying life during this historical time in China?

3. a. Did you learn anything more about Communism from this movie? b. What
aspect of Communism touched you the most?

4. a. Was there something you didn’t understand about the movie? b. What was it?
5. a. What did you like best about the movie? b. Why?

6. a. What did you like least about the movie? b. Why?

7. Select an action, which displeased or shocked you, performed by one of the
characters in the ﬁlm and then explain, given the choices you have, how you would have
taken a different action.

8. a. Why do you believe the characters in the ﬁlm did what they were told without
question? b. Would they act the same way under a capitalist philosophy?

9. a. Who was your favorite character in the movie? b. Why?

10. a. Who was your least favorite character in the movie? b. Why?

11. Discuss the use of music in the movie. a. Did it enhance the story that the
ﬁlmmakers were trying to tell? b. Are there parts of the music that stayed in your head?
12. What cultural customs portrayed in the ﬁlm did you ﬁnd interesting?

13. a. How did the characters’ costumes change from the beginning of the ﬁlm. . .to
the end of the ﬁlm? b. How did the costumes show the change in political climate?

14. a. Did you like this ﬁlm? Explain your position. b. Should this ﬁlm be used in
the future to teach Communism?

Mini Group Project

After you have discussed the ﬁlm in your discussion group, invent an alternative ending
to the ﬁlm “To Live”: Then answer the following questions: Why did you choose the
ending you invented? Why is it important in our culture for a ﬁlm to have a happy
endig?

 

Figure 4.1. Regina’s student handout.

For the last item on the list (Mini Group Project), Regina told her students to
change the directions to an individually written paragraph. About 10 minutes before the
end of the period, students began turning in their written responses. Regina warned these
students to sit quietly at their seats when done. Many students worked straight through to

the closing bell.

179

 

Regina scheduled the unit test for the subsequent week. It was an online test
which the students took individually at home, with their notes allowed. Consisting of 30
short-answer or multiple-choice questions, the test had a one-hour time limit. Of the 13
questions on the test about or related to China, ﬁve were related to elements depicted in
To Live. Only two of the ﬁve are speciﬁcally drawn from the ﬁlm. The ﬁrst was a
straightforward recall question about the Nationalist Army, while the other asked for plot
details about the main character unrelated to the ﬁlm’s historical content:

1) What army ﬁrst captures Fugui and Chunsheng in the ﬁlm To Live?

10) To Live: What two critical things does Fugui lose the last night he gambles?
Later, when I asked Regina how the students did on the test, she said:

Well, the questions that were movie questions, I was very satisﬁed with the score

overall of that particular portion. But the test as a whole, it was the end of a unit

test, I’d say it was an average grade, like 64% [was the] mean. And there were

several 100 percents there, so some guys didn’t do very well. It was an open-note

test, too.
Despite Regina’s strong interest in and beliefs about the ﬁlm, it ultimately meant little in
the unit assessment. No more than one-sixth of the test items related to the ﬁlm lesson.
Regina ’s Reactions to the Lesson

Overall, Regina was pleased with the To Live lesson. She reafﬁrmed her
commitment to the ﬁlm choice because it still can appeal to many students.

I know that it’s in Mandarin, and it’s about communism, and it’s not necessarily

the average teenage thing. So it really surprised me that students like the movie,

almost 90% of the students like the movie, and the ones that don’t they just don’t

180

really care about those issues or they weren’t paying attention, but it gripped

them.

Even having used the ﬁlm several times before, she was still surprised that the movie can
have such a strong appeal despite the language and culture gap.

The problems she faced, then, according to Regina, were not with the ﬁlm but
with the lesson’s implementation. She designed the lesson as a special event that pushed
the organizational boundaries of school, but she blamed partly herself and partly the
students for what ensued rather than any constraints imposed by the structure of
schooling. She reﬂected on the trouble in one of our exchanges.

Scott: Were there any problems in how you chose to show it, all in one day?

Regina: With the ﬁlm itself, I don’t think so. But the rest of the set-up, I think

especially toward the afternoon where the students just lost control, 1 lost control.

Scott: You also mentioned that the band was not exactly c00perative.

Regina: Exactly, but again it’s not because they students couldn’t stay still,

because they do that every day in class. Again it’s because they choose not to.
In her view, the special event was not so different from regular class time that the
students should have had any problems. If they had a hard time watching the whole
movie or the group discussion, it was because they choose not to cooperate.

The day after the special event, Regina expressed palpable disappointment to the
students in the class I observed. Over time, however, she seemed to become more
sanguine about the experience. In our last conversation she told me:

It went very well considering all the factors that could have gone wrong. The

whole experience, I would deﬁnitely repeat it with that whole set-up with creating

181

like a seminar. Maybe making it half a day instead of a whole day, and deﬁnitely

have a speaker come. . .. I would have it more interactive, maybe more student

interaction. 1 just have to bring it back to the drawing board.

Understanding Regina ’s Lesson: The Real China Meets the Realities of Schooling
Regina wanted her students to see what China was really like after Mao’s
communist revolution. To Live let her students experience this through the moving story

of one Chinese family. She believes that China’s past is important to understanding
China today and its growing presence in the world politically and economically. Hence,
her ﬁlm-based lesson was not for a purely historical unit. She used it for her unit on
capitalist and communist political systems. The ﬁlm provided moving, visual historical
context for the broader issue of a changing China.

For Regina, To Live was a special ﬁlm and China a special topic worthy of a more
adult venue than the regular classroom. Her special event attempted to heighten student
receptivity by changing the typical school setting (the solitary classroom) and student
arrangement (one class of 20-some students). But school routine got in the way. Even
when Regina arranged the auditorium for the day, she could not overrule the school
band’s claim to it. Her special event co-existed alongside the regular school day, as
dozens of students throughout the day passed in and out on their way to their regular
classes they could not miss.

While the auditorium venue itself may have afforded certain advantages (the big
screen for the PowerPoint presentation and the movie, the special location), it imposed
considerable disadvantages (difficulty minding so many students at one time, hearing

questions and comments, and writing in a vast, dimly lit space). Furthermore, the

182

arrangement may have a different meaning for students. The auditorium may not be an
adult site to them—after all, it is most often where they experience fun student
productions and school assemblies. Furthermore, being in-school but out-of-class with
large numbers of their ﬁiends may represent not a more serious, adult arrangement but
instead a more festive, escapist atmosphere.

Regina went into her lesson with great hopes for doing something different and
adventurous with this ﬁlm. She envisioned combining a guest speaker, PowerPoint
lecture, movie, and small-group and cross-class discussions together into a powerful
learning experience. When the circumstances of schooling got in the way, she
transformed the student activity into a safe, traditional assignment—silently and
individually written, with little feedback and no debate over ideas. Regina put the blame
not on the structure and nature of schooling but rather on her loss of control and on her
students’ behavioral choices. Nor did she seem to view the change in assignment as
educationally less valuable for her students. At the least, To Live accomplished her chief
goal of helping her students visualize the truth about Mao’s era of communism.

It would be interesting to know what Regina’s students thought about the
experience and what they Ieamed. Unfortunately, Regina did not arrange for me to
interview any of her students. Furthermore, the nature of the observed lessons (a vast
group of students in the auditorium on the ﬁrst day, students required to work silently at
their desks the second day) prevented me from collecting even indirect students
comments. However, I suspect that turning the discussion questions into individual

written responses likely reduced students’ intellectual engagement. With less than an

183

 

hour to write out responses to 15 multipart questions, it seems unlikely that their solitary
reﬂections were as deeply engaged as active, guided discussions could have been.

Learning history. So what did Regina’s lesson accomplish in terms of teaching
and learning history? Table 4.1 summarizes the instructional experience viewed along
the functions laid out in the pedagogical content analysis framework (chapter 3).

Table 4.1

Regina ’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films

 

Regina chose a ﬁctional story that accurately depicts broad historical
Content coverage events in recent Chinese history: the Revolution of 1949, the Great Leap
Forward in the 19505, and the Cultural Revolution in the 19605

Period Giving students a feel for what the experience with communism in China
representation from the late 19405-19705 was like was a major part of Regina’s lesson

 

Regina’s interest in how Chinese communism used propaganda and

 

Historical attacked symbols of traditional culture led her to point out to her students
construction where they appeared in the ﬁlm
Because the ﬁlm was made by Chinese ﬁlmmakers, Regina accepted it as
Social an authentic representation; she did not interrogate how it constructed
. gender, children, or class differences; the absence of Chinese ethnic
construction minorities was unnoted, and “China” and “Chinese” remained monolithic
concepts in her lesson
One of Regina’s chief motivations for using this ﬁlm is because it relates
its historical narrative through a Chinese husband and wife and their
Empathy

daughter and son, a family structure recognizable to teenagers and one to
which they can relate

..................................................................................................................

Regina did not directly explore with her students the ﬁlm’s conclusions
about the communist experience in China; instead she focused on how the
Moral response ﬁlm’s narrative differed from typical American cinema (To Live does not
end with a satisfying story resolution but merely with the characters
continuing to live out their lives)

 

 

 

Given the motivations that Regina brought to the lesson, it is not surprising that
empathy appears as one of the lesson’s strongest learning functions. More surprising is
how the lesson did not engage students with how China’s communist past connects to our

world today. Regina said that awareness of these kinds of issues was one of her purposes

184

behind the lesson, but the lesson, as I observed it, lacked explicit engagement with moral
response. Why was the communist experience good or bad for China or the world? How
does China’s communist experience position the country in its relationship to the U.S.
and the Western nations today? Instead of these kinds of questions, Regina’s questions
(see Figure 4.1 above) chieﬂy asked students to consider cultural differences between
Hollywood movies and Chinese cinema (in which, unlike Hollywood movies, happy
endings are not expected). Regina’s questions reﬂected her desire to expose students to
world cinema but did not directly connect the ﬁlm’s themes to our world today.

Despite her belief that a Chinese-made movie is more authentic, Regina did not
really explore what made the ﬁlm accurate or realistic. She pointed out some elements of
period representation (costumes, for example) and historical construction (the communist
propaganda slogans), but she did not consider elements of social construction. For her,
the construction of the Xu family (husband, wife, daughter, son, and eventually son-in-
law) was useful for establishing student empathy. Her purposes did not include exploring
how men, women, and children were constructed or what deﬁnes being “Chinese” in a
land of linguistic and ethnic diversity. Perhaps second only to empathy, Regina’s use of
To Live served the important function of content coverage. Through an engaging story
narrative with characters to whom students could relate, the ﬁlm presented factual
information about key events in China in Mao’s era.

Taking Stock

Regina’s case represents one possible mode for using history feature ﬁlms in the

classroom—as a special event in which multiple classes of students come together to

spend the day watching and talking about a ﬁlm. The goal of her lesson was to let

185

students see the real China, emotionally visualized through a feature ﬁlm made by
Chinese ﬁlmmakers (rather than Hollywood) who were so truthﬁrl that the ﬁlm was
banned in China. When the circumstances of schooling and working with adolescents got
in the way of Regina’s ambitious plan, she sacriﬁced the adventurous post-ﬁlm
discussion activities involving all her classes and replaced them with a pop quiz and
individually written short responses, traditional activities that ﬁt easily into the normal
structure of schooling.

Before moving on to the next case, it is worth considering what we can learn from
Regina. Her lesson demonstrates ﬁlm as a multisensory instructional tool. Film can be
an extra input, reinforcing students learning and supporting visual learning styles.
Regina’s case also raises a couple of cautions. A ﬁlm’s ﬁt with youth culture is an
unavoidable concern. Regina worried whether students could learn from ﬁlms that were
too old, especially if in black-and-white. Also, her case points to a possible maturity gap.
How can a teacher know when to intervene if students are unable to cross the divide
between their own culture and a ﬁlm’s foreign (either national or temporal) context?
There is a tension between letting students respond naturally to a ﬁlm and stepping in to
address cultural insensitivity, but there is no easy answer.

Marie: Teaching Race and Slavery in Suburban Michigan

Marie is an experienced teacher around age 40. She has been teaching for about
15 years and holds a bachelor’s degree in elementary education with a focus on social
studies and language arts. She teaches at Waynesburg Middle School in a middle-class,
suburban district located in the countryside near Michigan’s capital area. A total of 515

students attended Waynesburg MS in 2005-06, of whom 491 (95%) were

186

White/Caucasian. All 23 of the eighth graders in the observed class were
White/Caucasian (there is only one African American student in the entire eighth grade at
Waynesburg). Waynesburg area was once a rural farming town, but over the past two
decades has become a ﬂourishing suburban bedroom community. The Waynesburg MS
facility was formerly the town’s high school, turned into the middle school when the
town built a new, larger high school in the early 19905. The old building has been
reﬁrrbished and expanded in recent years and still is in good condition. Marie’s
classroom is sizable with plenty of desks, has Whiteboards instead of chalkboards, and
features a row of tables with many up-to-date computers linked in a network. An avid
supporter of youth literature, she had lined up along the hunt and back walls of the room
dozens of young-reader’s historical ﬁction paperbacks, which she encouraged students to
check out and use on for projects.

The observed movie lesson was part of Marie’s unit on the Early Republic in U.S.
History for the required eighth-grade Social Studies class. Her students were mostly 13
years old. Marie’s teaching load consisted of four sections of Social Studies plus a
Yearbook elective class. This has been her typical load for the past ﬁve years. For this
unit, she showed her students Episode 4 of Roots, the landmark 1977 ABC television
miniseries adapted from Alex Haley’s novel. Directed by Marvin Chomsky, the
miniseries relates the African American experience through the story of African slave
Kunta Kinte and his family over several generations. Episode 4 takes place around 1824
and centers on Kunta Kinte’s daughter, Kizzy. Marie’s room has a large television

mounted on the wall and its own VCR. Students watched the episode at their desks.

187

The Teacher ’5 Intentions and Views on Film

The motivations Marie brings to her ﬁlm-based instruction reﬂect her strong
beliefs about what is appropriate for student learning. She typically uses a large amount
of video media in her history lessons. “As far as actual informational resources, [video
media are] between 20 and 25 percent of what I use. . .. It depends a lot. I have some
units where 1 use a lot more video,” she told me. Like many teachers, Marie feels that
ﬁlm is inherently more appealing to students:

It’s a heck of a lot more interesting, it just is. You also have diverse learners and

it helps those kids to better be able to encompass the materials you’re going for.

It just helps broaden their understanding in so many ways. I think it’s another

tool to teach with, and it’s not any better or any worse.

In her view, ﬁlms are another to reach students with different learning styles——
much like Regina’s description of ﬁlm lessons as “multisensory” instruction. Yet Marie
was quick to add that ﬁlms are still a tool, which means that teachers must consciously
activate their potential. In a later conversation, Marie clariﬁed her caution:

Part of my reason for showing movies. . .is because I’m trying to give kids another

perspective and something a little more interesting than the text but very solid

education, historical. I can defend how I use those educationally in my

classroom, and if I can’t defend those educationally I shouldn’t be showing them.
Film choices, in Marie’s view, must be defensible both in terms of historical content as
well as in their educational function.

As a result, Marie feels that teachers have a deﬁnite obligation regarding the

movies they choose. In our last interview, Marie summed up her concern:

188

This may be the old lady in me, but the violence issue, it’s gratuitous violence. . ..

I think that Hollywood has gone too far in that direction. Everything has to be

graphic, which comes out of the culture of video games, which tends to, and I’m

going to go philosophical here just a little bit, but in my opinion it tends to really

desensitize our kids, and my personal phi1050phy on education is that is not part
of my job to desensitize or dehumanize tragedy, especially tragedy of the past.

Marie’s caution against graphic violence suggests a limit to her earlier notion,
shared to some extent by all four teachers in my study, that movies motivate student
interest. When I laid out a hypothetical scenario about showing a violent war movie to
students, Marie replied, “When you talk about motivating kids, what are you motivating
them with? Blood and guts?” Graphic violence, even if historically realistic, is not
necessarily appropriate content for her students.

The storyline of Roots contains serious historical violence, but Marie felt it was
still educationally defensible for her eighth graders. In our last conversation, she
explained her distinction between gratuitous violence and purposeful impact.

Everything in [Roots] has a purpose, everything has an emotional impact. And I

think that’s where I draw the line between gratuitous violence and what might be

necessary to tell the story. You can certainly indicate, as you see in the “Roots”
video, the horriﬁcness of the beatings, of the foot being cut off, of the rapes, but
you don’t watch them. You don’t have to see it happen to have the impact.
In other words, her ﬁlm choice was educationally appropriate because the violence
contained in the ﬁlm was purposeful not gratuitous, indirectly implied not directly

experienced.

189

Furthermore, Marie felt her ﬁlm choice was important for students to experience
despite the intense content. Early in our interview, she told me:

[Roots] is violent, but I think the reason that I’ve continued to use this is that it

implies, there is not a lot of visual, it’s mostly implied. It was originally produced

for television during the 705, which restricted a lot of the violence that I see in
more modern ones. . .. Probably the most difﬁcult is the brutality, the
psychological as well as physical brutality and the intent behind it that typically
kids have not been exposed to before this. . .. [Roots] is also a reality piece so it
does illustrate well the truth of this time in our history and the attitudes of racism
and the attitudes of cultural superiority that truly, in my opinion, plagued our
country at this time, so I think it illustrates that very well.

For Marie, Roots has three particular virtues. It was made for TV three decades
ago, which limits the explicit violence. Had it been made more recently, Marie implied,
she might be more wary. It exposes students to issues of brutality that they probably
have not considered before. It illustrates historical reality and conveys an ethical stance
that she wants to reinforce. She added,

I would have a hard time not using [Roots] because I think it is a powerful

educational tool, and at this age kids are at that point where they need to be

forming their own opinions about culture and tolerance and diversity, and this is
something that gives them some very good places to start with that.
In other words, Roots teaches notjust historical content but also a practical worldview.
Marie wants students to form their own opinions, but Roots conveys an appropriate

direction.

190

Marie has used Roots in her classroom for many years, but she has not always
shown this particular episode. Sometimes she has cut Episode 4 when pressed for time or
because she feels some students might not be able to handle it. After I observed her
lesson, she told me:

I have skipped [it] in the past because of the implications of the rape. . .. If I have

had a particularly immature group of students, I have skipped that particular

episode based on their other behaviors, other actions, other issues. I have skipped
that one, or parts of it. Sometimes I don’t skip the whole thing, I’ll just skip parts

of it, because that one does have some intimacy that some kids can’t handle, as a

group they’re just not ready for it.

Even though Roots is an unrated television miniseries that does not contain explicit
images, Marie worries that not all students can cope with the mature themes. This affects
how she approaches the lesson with her students. She explained,

You have to make sure you set it up. Some of the movie is disturbing. Some of

the movie takes a mature viewing. There are things that are, though the movie is

unrated, you do want to make sure that everybody’s onboard as far as some of the
things they do see. It does take a little bit more mature audience, and I caution
my kids about that.

In Marie’s judgment, her lesson needs to prepare students for the difﬁcult,
troubling implications contained in Episode 4. Kizzy’s master forcibly extorts sex from
her. Kizzy falls in love with another slave, Sam, but has to stand up to him because he

thinks that, as a man, he should dominate her. These issues need to be “set up” for

191

students. In other words, these issues reﬂect how she intentionally mediates the ﬁlm for
students.

Typically, Marie shows the entire Roots series to her eighth graders over the
school year. She describes African American history as a theme infused throughout her
curriculum, not as a stand-alone unit. Each episode is shown when the class is studying
the era in which it takes place—thus, Episode 4 is shown during the Early American
Republic unit. She detailed her curricular vision in our ﬁrst interview:

This is continuum piece. The Roots video helps my students understand the

African American experience from the beginning of slavery in our nation through

the historical times we study. I use this to have them see a different

perspective. . .because typically our books are written from a White, European,

American experience. The heroes and the deeds are towards the Manifest

Destiny, so to speak. . .. It’s important for our kids to understand the diversity in

our culture and where they came from. So I use this as a tool to help reinforce

that.
Marie perceives a deﬁciency in typical history textbooks—they valorize White expansion
and settlement (Manifest Destiny) while omitting the perspectives of other racial groups.
Roots, then, provides her with a way to integrate African American perspectives more
substantively across her U.S. History curriculum.

Ultimately, Marie said her chief motivation in using Roots was the moral
development of her students as human beings living in a diverse society. She told me:

Roots is designed to help kids think about the way we treat each other as human

beings. Bottom line, what are our thoughts, what are our actions in regards to

192

how we treat each other as human beings. And to ask them to consider the
humanity in all directions, of their actions.
Marie evinced wariness about indoctrinating her students. She repeatedly expressed a
desire for them to consider the issues for themselves and form their own opinions.
Nonetheless, she used Roots to convey particular moral themes.
Observing the Lesson

Marie was quite particular about what speciﬁc days I could come to her
classroom. Her schedule for the unit was crowded and included a ﬁeld trip to a local
theater to watch a play about Thomas Jefferson. She invited me to come on the Friday
before the Monday ﬁeld trip, but school was cancelled by a snowstorm. When I arrived
on the next invited day, I discovered that she had already started showing the Roots the
period the previous Thursday. She had not originally planned on starting the video on
that day (hence why I had not been invited to come), but she explained she had extra time
and suddenly decided to start the video. Students watched about the ﬁrst 15 minutes of
the episode on Thursday.

When I arrived in the room on Tuesday morning, “Era of Growth and Prosperity
1790-1827” was written on the front whiteboard. As the students entered, Marie passed
around a worksheet with 10 true/false questions and two short-answer questions about the
remaining portion of Episode 4 (see Figure 4.3). The students already had a similar

worksheet covering the ﬁrst portion watched last Thursday (see Figure 4.2).

193

 

 

1.

2.

Roots Vol. #4 day l

Directions: Read and mark statements 1-10 as T or F based on what you think, then as
you watch the video correct each statement to be true adding information as needed.

Kunta Kinte’s (Toby) [sic] names his daughter Kizzy. Kizzy means girl in Mandika

The doctor (Toby’s master) promises that if his slaves follow his rules he will never sell

them away from each other.

3.

4.

5.

8.

9.

Missy Ann is the Doctors [sic] niece and best friends with Kizzy.
“too bob” is African for friend.

Kizzy’s ability to read and write makes her a more valuable slave.

. Noah talks to Kunta Kinte about marrying Kizzy.

. Tom Moore warns the Doctor about slave uprisings.

Missy Ann respects Kizzy and wants slavery abolished.

Missy Ann wants Kizzy to be her slave and Kizzy agrees to be sold.

10. Kizzy believes that slaves are not as mart as whites and that women are not as smart as
men.

Reﬂect and respond to the following questions as a way to communicate your
understanding of the culture of slavery in Virginia around 1805:

l 1. How do masters control their slaves, besides physical punishment?

12. Why is Kizzy sold and who’s [sic] fault is it?

 

Figure 4.2. Marie’s ﬁrst student handout.

194

 

 

 

Roots Vol. #4 day 2
Directions: Read and m ark statements 1-10 as T or F based on what you think, then as you
watch the video correct each statement to be true adding information as needed.
1. Tom Moore treats Kizzy with respect.
2. Kizzy has a baby boy named Kunta.
3. In 1824 a Mr. Bennett arrives with his slave Sam to buy Tom Moore’s slaves and farm.
4. Tom Moore is in the cattle business.
5. The slaves are allowed to have Sunday gatherings and picnics.
6. Kizzy tells her boy who is father is.
7. Tom Moore respects his wife and treats her well.
8. Kizzy is reunited with her father Kunta Kinte.
9. Sam and Kizzy marry and leave with Mr. Bennett.

10. Tom Moore wants Kizzy’s boy to be a farm hand.

Reﬂect and respond to the following questions as a way to communicate your
understanding of the culture of slavery in Virginia around 1824:

l 1. Explain why Kizzy believes it is important to know where she comes from.

12. Explain what George plans to do. .

 

Figure 4.3. Marie’s second student handout.

Most of the questions on both handouts are about character or plot details (e.g., 6.
Noah talks to Kunta Kinte about marrying Kizzy). The principal purpose appears to
require the students to pay attention—only by closely following the story details will they
be able to discern the false statements and correct them. Only three items are about
factual information regarding the lives of slaves (Day 1, 5. Kizzy’s ability to read and
write makes her a more valuable slave; Day 2, 5. The slaves are allowed to have Sunday

gatherings and picnic) or about a broader historical issue (Day 1, l I. How do masters

195

 

control their slaves, besides physical punishment?) However, a few items about plot
details (Day 1, questions 2 and 7, and Day 2, questions 1 and 11) seem designed to get
students to pay attention to scenes that confront the difﬁcult issues of racial exploitation
or the theme of African American history that Marie threads across her curriculum.

After the bell rang, Marie asks the class, “Who can summarize what happened in
the ﬁrst part of the episode?” Only one young man offered a brief response and it was
not audible across the room. Marie gave her students an extended summary of the series
so far and asked a handful of questions about speciﬁc characters. “Who teaches Kizzy to
read and write?” she asked. After some students mumbled inaudible responses, Marie
stated that Kizzy was taught by her young owner. “What is Kizzy’s son’s job?” she
asked as a follow-up. The students did not seem to know the answer, and Marie appeared
a little bothered. Shortly after starting the video, she approached me privately and
explained that the students did not know because Kizzy’s son had not yet appeared as an
adult character in the ﬁlm. She admitted that she is so familiar with the story she often
thinks ahead in the plot without realizing it.

About 10 minutes into the period, Marie picked up showing the video where it left
off last Thursday. The video played for approximately the next 45 minutes. Marie
worked at her teacher’s computer at the back of the room. Her student-teacher from a
nearby university was also present, working at another computer in the opposite comer of
the room. On a few occasions, Marie’s attention was drawn away from the computer or
the classroom. On one occasion, the building principal stopped by to speak with her, and
twice she stepped out of the room for a minute. On the whole, the students were quiet

and mostly attentive. Very few heads were down on the desks or looking around the

196

room. Periodically, some students craned their heads to look at the clock on the rear wall
but soon returned their attention to the screen.

Only a few scenes appeared to provoke student reactions. In one scene Kizzy and
Sam, two slaves who belong to different owners, become lovers. They quarrel in bed
after Sam tries to order Kizzy around; she is too proud to be treated like a slave by Sam.
Some of the students squirrned in their seats in the subsequent romance scene, but they
remained silent. In a later scene, Kizzy’s owner Tom Moore plays host to a visiting
slave-owner. Moore offers his guest the hospitality of his slave quarters, implying that he
may sleep with whichever slave woman he likes. The visitor declines the offer, but
Moore (much to the irritation of his wife) goes on his own to visit Kizzy’s quarters and
extort sex from her. Again, some students squirrned at their desks, and a few exchanged
uncertain looks or whispered to each other. Toward the end of the episode there is a
powerﬁrl scene in which Sam’s master grows angry with him and threatens to forbid his
marriage to Kizzy. Sam bows down and begs forgiveness. Kizzy sadly watches Sam’s
powerlessness. Several students exchanged curious looks. Marie, working at her
computer, did not appear to notice.

At the end of the episode, Marie gave the students a few more minutes to ﬁnish
the worksheet. After they ﬁnished, she asked whether they think slavery is as brutal in
this episode as in the previous episodes (in which a slave had his foot cut off when he i
tried to escape). A few students murmured “no” but were not asked to elaborate. Marie
explained to the class that the abuse of slaves shifted from “physical punishment” to
“psychological control.” She added that Kizzy’s situation reﬂects this, but she did not go

into any detail about what Kizzy suffered. After this brief discussion of the episode (less

197

than a minute), Marie instructed the students to turn in their worksheets before leaving.
About ﬁve minutes later, the bell rang and Marie dismissed the students.

When I returned the next day, Marie informed me that she was moving on to a
different portion of the unit and did not invite me to visit again. There was no further
discussion of Roots during that unit. Her students spent the whole period working on
their “standards based assessment” individual projects for the unit (see Figure 4.4). The
project was the main grade for the unit. While there was no discrete assessment for the
ﬁlm (besides the daily questions), the students were allowed to include anything they
learned from Roots in their project. Marie admitted to me that usually not many students

choose to incorporate Roots into their project, but every year there are some who do.

198

 

Summative Assessment of the Era of Growth and Prosperity 1790-1827

We have been studying the era of ‘Growth and Prosperity’; the years which followed the
American Revolution saw growth and change in our nations’ political, economic, geographic, and
social structure. This assessment project is designed to help you pull all of the information that
you have been learning together, to assist you in making sense of the impact of this time, not only
on the era that immediately followed it, but also on your lives today.

Directions:
1. Complete 10 of the learning options for you must do the 3 * options but may

choose your other 7.
2. Each option is 10% of the grade
3. You must complete and turn in one option each day

Learnin Options

 

*Vocabulary Inventions/ Biography Graphing Data
Technology
Complete the Research a signiﬁcant Create a graph that
vocabulary pages Research I invention individual from this illustrates change
from this era add 6 or new technology era during this era
current vocabulary from this era

words from today

 

 

 

 

 

*Maps World Events Economic Trends CDVs2
Neatly label and color Evaluate signiﬁcant Identify and explain 5 Evaluate changes to
a map that shows international events economic concepts the Constitution

growth and change ﬁ'om this one from from this era during this era
from this era this era
*Timeline Poetry/Song Primary Sources Common Culture
Create and accurate Evaluate a poem or Identify and Identify at least one
timeline of at least 12 song from this era evaluate one example of cultural
events from this era primary source change from this
document from this eras
era

 

 

Figure 4.4. Marie’s unit assignment.

 

2 CDVs stands for Core Democratic Values, a list of rights and qualities that deﬁne a democratic society
made for the State of Michigan’s K-12 Social Studies standards and benchmarks and used for the state’s
standardized assessment (MEAP). Like many social studies teachers in Michigan, Marie had official CDV
posters on her classroom walls.

199

Marie ’3 Reactions to the Lesson

A few weeks later, when I asked how she felt the student work for the unit went,
she talked only about the in-class worksheet questions. She told me:

Oh I was very impressed with the quality of their responses. . .. The questions that

they did in direct connection to the movie, those I thought they, for the most part,

were very well done. They elaborated, this is how I know they got this empathy,

this is how I know the things I know about their understanding of all of this. It’s

from their responses to those. They do a good job of elaborating on those, for the

most part.
The list of questions that were given each day with the ﬁlm, then, formed the basis for
Marie’s assessment of the lesson. Even though almost all of the questions were about the
movie’s characters or plotting, she felt their responses reﬂected an understanding of the
era and historical empathy. When I asked speciﬁcally about the unit project, Marie
responded by talking about the subsequent unit’s project, a book report about a youth
historical-ﬁction novel. In her mind, it seemed, the summative assessment project was
completely separate from the Roots lesson.

In our last interview, I asked Marie how she thought the ﬁlm lesson went overall.
Her response reﬂected her perception that all her students developed the kind of historical
empathy that was at the heart of her instructional purposes. She said,

I think it went very well, I really do. I think the kids really got the focus of the

psychological enslavement. They understand the families, they understand the

generations, they understand the humanity of the people who were enslaved and

how those who enslaved them asserted their philosophy of humanity. Those who

200

enslave these captives think of them not as human but as property and do not

respect them as human beings, and that is really where my focus is, and I think the

kids get that very well. And I think they really begin to understand and to
question why this occurred, and begin to relate it to the economic issue and how
money and economy can drive [people].

These are complex historical issues and worth exploring, but they were only
obliquely raised in her discussion after the video and not necessarily required for the
unit’s assessment project. Of course, Marie teaches Roots across the entire year and I
only observed her use one episode. It may be possible that Marie returns to these issues
more explicitly over her year-long work, even if I did not see any indication in this
particular lesson.

Understanding Marie ’3 Lesson: Dangerous Topics, Safe Coverage

Marie uses the Roots series for content (slavery) and thematic (historic racism
against African American) reasons. She carefully structured this lesson along so that the
episode ﬁt with the time frame of the unit (1790-1827). Her lesson seemed designed to
minimize interference by the circumstances of schooling. The ﬁlm was an in-class extra
not required for the unit’s main assignment. As a tool simply for extra content coverage,
Marie could show it whenever convenient for her busy school calendar: positioning the
ﬁlm around ﬁeld trips, before the holiday break and the end of the semester, and splitting
it up over two available school days.

She chose to show this episode because it let her students visualize what slavery
was like—without graphic images. Roots covers painful topics (slavery, racism, racial

violence) in a safe, manageable way. Her lesson aimed at reinforcing multiculturalism

201

and diversity by exposing her White students to the African American experience and the
problems of racial tensions in U.S. history. Yet she carefully limited student
engagement. In her lesson, racial tensions were framed as past events that students
needed to be aware of but were not examined as problems today. This Roots lesson
obliquely covered uncomfortable racial problems in history without forcing the teacher to
deal with their contemporary versions.

For Marie, Roots is part of a thematic thread woven throughout her course.
Sprinkled across the semester and shown when their time setting coincides with historical
chronology in the course units, the episodes let Marie present African American history
as an ongoing curricular theme to her almost entirely White student population. Marie’s
lesson using Episode 4 reﬂected her careful thinking about the broader historical themes.
She was aware of the episode’s implications of racial brutality and rape and concerned
they might be too much for immature students, but she chose to use the episode because
it depicts the different ways in which slaves were abused.

However, these adolescents were left to absorb the ﬁlm’s disturbing implications
with little support from Marie. Of course, she is hardly alone among teachers in not
wanting to explicitly confront issues of sexuality in the classroom. These are among the
most uncomfortable topics for many teachers to talk about with children. When Marie .
did talk about them, the rape of Kizzy and the humiliation of Sam were only obliquely
referenced as “psychological abuse.” It is not that this characterization is factually
problematic. Slave-owners hegemony emphasizing psychological control over slaves is
well established in the historiography of American slavery (Genovese, 1972; Morgan,

1998). By obliquely handling the topic, though, Marie may have confronted students

202

with these unpleasant ﬁlm depictions without providing the historical context to make
them understandable. Few of Marie’s worksheet questions (see Figures 2 and 3) related
the episode’s plot to actual historical content.

Evidence ﬁom Marie 's students. Marie arranged for me to talk brieﬂy with two
of her eighth graders. Steve is White and 13 years old. Nikki is White and just turned
14. When I asked why they thought Marie showed Roots, their responses reﬂected
Marie’s principal instructional intentions:

Steve: I think the reason was because we’re studying that time period in history,

and so it kind of goes along with what we’re learning from the textbooks. . .and

helped us to understand from different points of view.

Nikki: And because it shows a lot about slavery and how it happened. Like

instead of textbooks and [still] pictures, it doesn’t always be the same and always

mean the same. But, like it shows it to you, that’s exactly what happens.

Steve: It gives you as close to a ﬁrst-hand experience as you can get.

Nikki: Yeah.

These students readily picked up on the episode’s ﬁt with historical chronology in their
textbooks. It made sense to them based on their textbooks, yet went beyond the textbook.

Nikki and Steve’s comments reﬂect the potential of ﬁlm to help students visualize
the past by showing what it really could have been like. Getting her students to
empathize with the plight of Black slaves was one of Marie’s major goals. She was
concerned about the power of graphic images but felt that Roots largely avoided them.

Nonetheless, powerful images stuck in these students’ memories. When I asked if there

203

was a movie watched in school that they remembered vividly and learned a lot from,
Steve told me,

The ones that I really remembered, I think it was in the second Roots video, when

it showed all of the slaves on the ship being transported. And that kind of showed

a lot, that kind of showed how much they didn’t care about them back then, and

it’s kind of sad to see that.

Nikki agreed that Roots was one of the most memorable ﬁlms she had watched in school.
She added, “The movie that showed me a lot was [Roots episodes] 3 and 4, because it
again showed them shipping and them being sold off and worked, and some of them
worked to death, and whipped.”

These students took away from the ﬁlms vivid impressions of general features of
the past, but neither said much about speciﬁc historical content Ieamed. They visualized
what the slave trade and plantation slavery might have looked like, but they did not talk
about any deeper understanding of how these events related to broader U.S. history.
When I asked what the movie taught them or made them feel about our world today, they
told me:

Steve: Well, it kind of made me feel our world was a bit more fair and equal to all

people, because there’s no slavery, there’s no segregation against Blacks or

anything like that. So it kind of made me feel better, but you still feel bad while
watching the movie because we did do such cruel things to them.

Nikki: Yeah, like I feel bad for the Blacks then, but we still have some racism

now against Blacks. Like, people aren’t always nice to them. We usually use

204

them as like—I don’t know what to call it. Sometimes we take control of them or

whatever.

Steve: Yeah, but it’s a lot less strong than it was back then.

Nikki: Like we don’t whip them or anything.

These students picked up on the messages of multiculturalism that Marie wanted
to reinforce, but the oblique manner of using Roots seemed to result in naive readings of
the past and the present by these students. They were aware that racial discrimination
still existed in the world today, but Marie’s Roots lesson did not appear to help Steve and
Nikki situate slavery in the broader context of racial tension and violence in U.S. history.
They felt bad about past suffering and admitted that there were still problems today, but
they did not seem to have explanations for racial tensions in the past and yet believed
that, by and large, contemporary racial attitudes were much better.

Learning history. So what did Marie’s lesson accomplish in terms of teaching
and learning history? Table 4.2 summarizes the lesson viewed along the functions laid

out in the pedagogical content analysis ﬁ'amework (chapter 3).

205

Table 4.2

Marie’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films

 

This episode of Roots is set mostly in 1824, during the period covered by
Marie’s unit; the episode features very little content about actual events in
the history of slavery or in national US history, focusing mainly on
character development

. One of Marie’s chief purposes in using this ﬁlm was to depict living
Perrod . . . . . . .
condrtrons of slaves and rnteractrons wrth Whrte slave-owners m the

Content coverage

 

representation antebellum South
Marie framed this episode as a continuation of the story of African
Historical Americans; she did not discuss the ﬁlm’s background (adapted from Alex
. Haley’s novel, Roots was made in the 19705 in the wake of Black
construction

empowerment movements) or how that background may affect the ﬁlm’s
construction of the past and the pe0ple in it

..................................................................................................................

This episode comments on the exploitation of slave men (Sam’s
humiliation) and slave women (Kizzy’s rape), as well as slave men and

Social women in relation to each other (Kizzy’s self-assertion to Sam); it
construction constructs Whites as actively cruel (Kizzy’s owner Moore) or passively
good (Missy Ann, Sam’s owner, Moore’s wife); Marie did not make
explicit or investigate these constructions with her students

 

 

Marie’s worksheet and discussion focused on the ﬁlm’s character
development, which emphasizes the perspectives of the Black characters

..................................................................................................................

Marie’s worksheet and discussion emphasized a shift from physical to
psychological control of slave by their owners, yet she avoided pointing to
or naming speciﬁc instances from the episode; slavery was framed as a
lamentable past injustice in general terms, a consequences of White
landowners pursuing economic self-interest; no explicit connections were
made to racial tensions in subsequent eras

Moral response

 

 

Given what little discussion Marie had with her students (only one minute), what
could be accomplished in terms of these pedagogical functions was limited. It is possible
that she spent some time framing the episode for the students on the ﬁrst day, but she did
not describe doing this to me. The episode itself usefully represents American culture in
the South in the period before the Civil War, and Marie astutely mapped the episode onto
this chronological point in her curriculum. By itself, though, the episode features very

few actual historical events. These exist in the background—the recent Compromise of

206

 

1820 and the soon-to-come Nat Turner uprising in 1831 are good examples. Marie did
not speciﬁcally relate the ﬁlm to the factual historical background, and for many students
the episode may have seemed historically generic or mostly about the characters.

Issues of historical and social construction were nearly invisible to me in the
lesson. I observed no consideration with the students of how ﬁlm’s historical narrative
was constructed. Nor did the lesson address how the ﬁlm constructs the social identities
of its characters. Kizzy is a slave with knowledge of her family past, unlike most of the
other slaves. Whites appear in the episode as actively cruel (like Tom Moore) or
passively good (those characters who help or at least do not actually harm Black slaves).
None of this appeared in Marie’s lesson, as I observed or as it was explained to me.

Ultimately, Marie’s lesson seemed to accomplish the functions of empathy and
moral response only in the shallowest sense. It is not difficult for adolescents to feel for
those who suffer, and Roots very effectively encourages compassion for the slaves’
perspectives. Likewise, Marie tried to convey a moral response regarding physical and
psychological control, but only obliquely. The outcome struck me more like sympathy
than deeper empathic, historical understanding.

Taking Stock

80 what can we learn from Marie? Her case represents another possible mode for
using history feature ﬁlms in the classroom—as part of a thematic thread woven across
the broader curriculum. The goal of her lesson was to provide her predominantly White,
middle-class students with an interesting, and emotionally powerful (but not gratuitously
graphic) depiction of the African American experience, a perspective she ﬁnds

underrepresented in textbooks and ofﬁcial curriculum. Like Regina, Marie supports ﬁlm-

207

based instruction as a way to appeal to diverse learning styles (similar to Regina’s
“multisensory” instruction). Additionally, Marie demonstrates how history feature ﬁlms
can be meaningﬁrlly integrated as a major theme into broader curriculum. Her ﬁlm-based
lesson is not a one-shot deal: It reﬂects sustained, curricular interconnected use of ﬁlm.
Marie’s case also raises a couple of cautions. Graphic imagery and gratuitous violence in
movies are legitimate worries for teachers. Do they actually add anything to the learning
experience? Marie did not think so, and thus argued that they were not necessary or
appropriate in the classroom.

Part of this reﬂected what was personally comfortable for Marie. Perhaps this is
why she did not want to make the uncomfortable issues implied in Roots explicit for her
eighth graders. But the issues were present nonetheless, and the students were left to
grapple with them relatively unaided. Marie’s case points to the importance of providing
explicit support for students when facing disturbing events in a ﬁlm—but also to how
touchy and difﬁcult it can be, especially with younger students. This may be way Marie
took such a safe, conservative approach to using Roots, having her students answer
straightforward true/false questions mostly about plot details and engaging them only in a
controlled, very brief post-ﬁlm discussion.

Isabel: Connecting with the First World War

Isabel is a beginning teacher in her early 305. She holds a bachelor’s degree with
a major in History and a minor in English, and completed initial certiﬁcation in Social
Studies around 2001 from the nearby university. For the past three years she has been
teaching at Ottawa High School in a heavily middle-class, suburban district close to

Michigan’s capital area. Nearly 1,500 students attended Ottawa HS in 2005-06, of whom

208

73% were White/Caucasian. The school’s 190 Asian American students were the second
largest demographic (13%). Of the 19 students in the observed class, 16 were
White/Caucasian (two were African American, and Isabel believed one was multiracial).
The Ottawa HS facility is fairly new, built in the mid-19905, and in very good condition.
Isabel’s classroom is like virtually every other classroom in the building, a room of
moderate size with space for perhaps up to 30 desks, an attached side room for the
teacher’s use, large Whiteboards instead of chalkboards, a computer for the teacher, and a
large television mounted on the wall. Many teachers, including Isabel, have a video
projector in their room with which to show PowerPoint presentations, videos, and DVDs.
The observed movie lesson was part of Isabel’s unit on World War I for U.S.
History, a social studies course required for graduation. Her students were ninth graders
(mostly 14-15 years old). Isabel’s teaching load consisted of two sections of U.S. History
and three sections of American Government. This number of preps has been typical of
her load in previous years, though she has not taught the Government class in several
years. For this unit she, she showed her students a 12-minute excerpt from the 1994
Hollywood movie Legends of the Fall, distributed by Tri-Star. Though it is rated R, the
scene that Isabel showed contains only mild profanity, some graphic violence, and no
sexuality, and she did not require a parental permission slip from her students. Directed
by Edward Zwick, Legends of the Falls is a tale of a family from the U.S. West in the
early 20th century. Isabel showed a scene from fairly early in the ﬁlm. On the Western
Front in 1915, three American brothers join the French Foreign Legion to ﬁght in the

war, and the youngest brother is brutally killed by German soldiers.

209

The Teacher ’s Intentions and Views on Film

Isabel’s motivations color the kinds of video media she chooses for ﬁlm-based
lessons, as well as how she uses them with students. In our ﬁrst conversation, Isabel
described how she uses limited but varied amount of video media in her classroom.

I try to use [video media] at least once a unit. . ..[every] two, three weeks. And

then if I have any short clips of Hollywood movies to bring in, especially if it’s

something recent that I know they’ve seen, it’s great because they may have seen

it and have no idea what [the historical reality] was. . .. I like the [movie] clips, .

the clips are good.

So, Isabel frequently tries to integrate short segments, often just 10-20 minutes long, from
movies into her lectures. Film titles she speciﬁcally mentioned using in other units every
year include Far and Away and The Cotton Club.

She also explained that she uses what she considers to be quality documentaries in
every unit. Her comments identiﬁed a serious concern she has about educational
documentaries: “I try not to go overboard, because you can, but I try to use a nice mix of
exciting documentaries. There’s nothing worse for the students than boring
documentaries. They hate those, and they won’t do anything.”

Like Regina, Isabel seems to prefer an exciting history feature ﬁlm over a dry
documentary, even if the documentary is technically more factual. Occasionally, this has
led to problems. Isabel related her experience with a parent who was a history professor
at the nearby university. He heard that Ottawa teachers were showing parts of Steven -
Spielberg’s 1998 ﬁlm Saving Private Ryan and complained to the school principal,

insisting that the teachers show a black-and-white documentary made shortly after the

210

war instead. “That typical kind of documentary stuff, that puts kids to sleep,” Isabel said
by way of explaining why she did not use the parent-recommended documentary. In
discussing educational documentaries more generally she added, “I had some good ones
that I have been personally riveted [by], but I have shown them in class and [the students]
are just dying. They’re like, ‘Oh my gosh, isn’t there any color in the 19405?’ You know,
they just can’t focus.”

Isabel’s skepticism about black-and-white ﬁlm ran throughout our conversations.
In our interview after her lesson, she once more brought up the Saving Private Ryan
situation and told me, “With high school kids, you’ve lost them as soon as it’s not in
color.”

This running concern reveals that appealing to student interest is a dominant
motivation for Isabel, as it was for all the teachers in the study, and it inﬂuenced why she
chose Legends of the Fall. Isabel noted that factual documentaries on the war are
availablebshe owns a copy of the History Channel’s The Great War. She told me:

I haven’t really found a great, pizzazzy one, and they’re obvious not in color, and

it’s old ﬁlm, and so it’s difficult for 14-year-olds to connect with these. But, these

[movie clips] are really short, they get vested really quickly, they can remember .

everything from it, so if it’s nice and concise I like to use that one.

Isabel decided to use Legends of the Fall because it contains a short scene with a
story and characters that readily appeal to students. This motivates student interest and,
in turn, she believes that this supports learning. Isabel went on to explain,

Be it good or bad, [students] really do connect with modern, in-color video. You

know, movies, they’re going to remember it. So something that’s quick, concise,

211

that has all the elements I need and they’re going to be interested in, and if I can
use it as a springboard at all. And [the WWI lesson] kind of needs that. It’s
exciting because it’s a war, but it’s also a war that happened, to them, in the Stone
Age—they can’t connect with it. So [the movie clip is] something that really kind
of lets them connect.
In her view, the First World War is inherently distant to students. A movie clip from
popular culture (the ﬁlm stars Brad Pitt in one of his ﬁrst big roles) can get students
interested in watching a topic to which they otherwise might not be able to relate.
However, there are risks in using history feature ﬁlms. Covering content is
another motivation important to Isabel, and she explained how movie-based lessons can
have drawbacks.
The problem with Hollywood, too, is you always have to say, ‘What’s wrong with
it? What are the bad things? What’s incorrect?’ Because there always are. Or,
there’s things that they generalize. So you can’t just present this to the kids and
say, “This is the truth. This is absolutely what it was like.” But I think, in
addition just to using clips like this, there’s another lesson: to make them smart
consumers.
There may be a temptation for teachers to show history feature ﬁlms as if they were
factual documentaries, to let students think they are historical reality. Isabel believes this
is a problem that teachers need to conﬁ'ont. In doing so, the teacher not only covers
content with the ﬁlm clip but also reinforces smart viewing habits in students. This is

important, Isabel explained to me, because Hollywood history movies have “a

212

tremendous inﬂuence [on what students think]. If it’s on the screen, it’s real, that’s
absolutely what happened, it’s the truth.”

By integrating the short clip from Legends of the Fall into her lecture on the U.S.
entry into WWI, Isabel hoped to appeal to students’ interest in realism in an instructional
way that would support content learning. For some students this historical topic, she
said,

has no bearing on their life. They can’t see it as relevant or real. These are old

dead people, and [the movie clip] at least makes it real for them. For the ten

minutes they watch it, it is real—these people exist, and this is how it would look.

So it just seems not so distant, it seems quite present.

This conception of the use of the ﬁlm to provide visual reinforcement was a
recurring theme in Isabel’s conversations with me. Like both Regina and Marie, Isabel
hoped that, by using a ﬁlm, she would provide an additional level of stimulus to student
learning beyond listening and reading. When reﬂecting on the lesson afterward, Isabel
thought that the ﬁlm clip “gave [students] a visual of what [WWI] would be like, a color,
modern visual. It’s hard to kind of get them to imagine really what is No Man’s Land,
what is it like, why is it so bad.” WWI trench warfare was also treated in the textbook
and her lecture notes, but the ﬁlm clip helped students envision them better than words
alone could. Isabel was careﬁrl to note that the ﬁlm clip was not a replacement for the
textbook or lecture notes:

[The movie] is just a reinforcement, basically, of the text. The stuff that we talk

about in class. There isn’t really any extra information, I guess, that’s in the

movie that isn’t in the book, but it makes it more accessible. Because they read it

213

and it’sjust ‘blah, blah blah.’ So at least this makes it a little more accessible for

them and they can remember.

However, Isabel also wondered if the movie’s emotional realism is a double-
edged sword. Like Marie, she was concerned that her chosen ﬁlm might be too violent or
disturbing.

It shows this character, who we become really invested in in a few minutes, being

murdered, and the kids at the end of the clip—they’re kind of upset. And it’s not

as if it’s anything bloody or gory.... It’s something about the emotional
projection in this. You know, that he’s blind, because he’s been affected by the
gas, and he’s tangled, and he can’t get out, and he’s crying for his brother, and his
brother’s coming, and it’s just so like, “Oh my gosh.” And you know what’s
going to happen, because you see the Germans right there setting up the machine
gun, and you know. So I’m worried about making someone really sad or upset.
Isabel revealed in our conversation that the other year she showed the ﬁlm clip, some of
the female students got worked up over it and Isabel had to calm them down by
repeatedly reminding them that it was “just a story.” Her U.S. History course has been
moved from the 10th grade to. the ninth this year, so Isabel has thought carefully about
whether to do this ﬁlm-based lesson with the younger students for fear of repeating that
episode: “Maybe I’m being ultra-sensitive, but I always try to do that. You just don’t
want to get a call from a parent, ‘You have damaged my child! They’re having
nightmares!’ But, I didn’t want it to be something that was very upsetting.”
Isabel had clear ideas about that she wanted her students to get from her ﬁlm-

based lesson. Numerous times in our conversations she talked about how she thought it

214

was important for students to be able to distinguish WWI from WWII. She complained
that WWII is “romanticized” by so many movies, but little is available about WWI. She
knew of only one other feature ﬁlm, The Lost Battalion, originally aired on the cable
network A&E. She did not know enough about that ﬁlm to use it, but she admitted that
“one thing with [that ﬁlm] I would like is that it shows what doughboys look like.” She
clariﬁed why this was important to her:
The kids don’t understand. You have to really show them some pictures. Well,
how do you tell the difference between a WWI soldier and a WWII? Not that
that’s speciﬁcally [state assessment]—testable, absolutely important information
for them to know, but it’s something they do remember and it’s fun and I think,
you know, it’s valid for them to know that there’s a difference.
Isabel’s comment points to a tension between ofﬁcially important information
(like what could appear on a state assessment) and information that she ﬁnds fun or
interesting—which she thinks helps her students empathetically visualize the past.
Providing students with a visual image of what WWI looked like was an important goal
for Isabel. After watching Legends of the Fall, she believed her students could visualize
WW1 and distinguish it from WWII:
They know what a gas mask looks like, they know that it was used in WW1, they
know that barbed wire was used in WW1, they see the difference. So hopefully,
and I don’t know if I accomplish this in 10 minutes, but if they were turning on
the TV and they saw a WWII movie they would understand why it’s different

from WWI. They could tell someone that.

215

Isabel did not talk about her own particular political or ethical stances very much,
but she admitted to infusing a particular worldview in some of her units.

I guess I’m very idealistic but. . .when we get into units with war, I try to be very

non-romantic about it because I think the popular media and patriotism will say

how romantic it is. . .. Not that war is bad, but we’ve talked about you wish you

could live in a world where people would peacefully discuss their issues.
In other words, Isabel wants her students to visualize WWI because the reality challenges
romantic notions of war that students encounter in patriotic popular media. She backs
away from a paciﬁst philosophy (“not that war is bad”) but advances a “very idealistic”
stance that the world might not need war. The ﬁlm clip is not about grand strategy,
militarism, international politics, or other vast forces typically associated with WWI. It is
a dramatic story of one young man’s brutal death in No Man’s Land. There is no
romanticism or gloriﬁcation of war in this visualization of WWI.

Isabel has shown this scene as part of her WWI unit for the past several years, but
she has never shown the whole movie. Isabel developed a PowerPoint presentation for
her lecture on WW1 and showed the ﬁlm clip at a speciﬁc moment in the presentation.
With her laptop computer and VCR connected to the projector, she easily switched from
the PowerPoint to the video. Her students watched the ﬁlm clip while at their desks
during regular class time. Isabel provides us with yet another unique mode of
instruction—a teacher with access to and knowledge of how to use technology that

allows her to utilize smaller portions of ﬁlm ﬂexibly.

216

Observing the Lesson

My ﬁrst visit to Isabel’s classroom was on a Thursday morning. Isabel began
teaching shortly after the bell. She stood by the computer projector in the middle of the
room. The lights were completely off while the students watched the slides and took
notes. For the next 40 minutes, her PowerPoint presentation addressed the Great War in
Europe, trench warfare, and causes for the U.S. entry into the war. Virtually every slide
prompted her to ask at least one question directed to the class generally and answered by
individual students throughout the room at their own volition.

The questions seemed to aim at activating students’ memory of previous lecture
notes or reinforcing speciﬁc factual answers. She asked, “Why the U.S. was angrier with
Germany than England?” Submarine warfare as her answer. When discussing how the
U.S. entered the war partly to ensure Allied debt repayment, she asked, “Which group
had warned that the war was about ensuring proﬁts?” Several students quickly offered
“socialists” as the correct answer. A series of questions about the U.S. in 1917 sought
only one-word answers. Did the U.S. have a big military at start of war? (No.) How did
the U.S. bulk up its military? (Conscription) Is selective service still around today?
(Yes.) Several questions later in the hour were similarly short and colorful. Why were
American troops called Doughboys? (Because of their dough-like belt polish.) What
were the British and Australian troops called? (Tommies and Aussies.)

Some questions, however, asked for more. After explaining that African
American soldiers served in segregated Army units, Isabel asked why African Americans
would volunteer or agree to serve in a segregated military. Several students offered

responses involving patriotism. Isabel agreed, adding that African Americans also

217

wanted to “elevate their race” in the minds of the whole American public. One young
man then mentioned that there were Black soldiers in the Civil War because he saw it in
“that movie” (undoubtedly the 1989 ﬁlm Glory, also directed by Edward Zwick).

Throughout the lesson, Isabel confronted student questions for which she did not
have immediate answers. One young woman asked whether drafted tr00ps were paid.
When Isabel talked about how the U.S. paid for the war, a student asked what a “bond”
was. While discussing segregation in the U.S. military during WWI, one young man
asked when African Americans were allowed to serve in the Navy and Marines. Isabel
simply admitted she didn’t know. Trench warfare was a major t0pic in her presentation.
One young man asked whether the Allies used poison gas. Several students asked how
trench foot and mouth were contracted. Another young man asked when dead bodies
were removed from the trenches. The questions showed that these students were
interested and engaged, but most went beyond the immediate purview of Isabel’s lesson.
Sometimes Isabel offered brief responses, other times she admitted she did not know—
but either way, she had to keep the lesson moving forward as planned. Isabel’s case
demonstrates the challenge of responding to students without letting the planned lesson
get off track.

Toward the last 10 minutes of the period, Isabel announced that she was starting
the movie clip about WW1. This surprised me, because originally Isabel had told me she
would show the clip on the second day. There was a general tumult of excitement. Many
students shouted out speciﬁc ﬁlm titles they hoped to see—one shouted Gallipoli (an
Australian ﬁlm about WWI starring Mel Gibson), while another student called for The

Patriot (another ﬁlm with Mel Gibson, but set during the American Revolution). She

218

told the class that Legends of the Fall is a ﬁctional Hollywood story. The American
characters join the French Foreign Legion in order to ﬁght, because American troops
were not ﬁghting in Europe prior to 1918. She explained that, despite its ﬁctional
premise, the ﬁlm still shows some of the realistic aspects of ﬁghting in WW1. As the
ﬁlm clip began, Isabel narrated who the three brothers are as they appeared on screen.

About half-way through the clip, at the point the brothers are recovering in a ﬁeld
hospital after a battle, she stopped the video and told the students they would ﬁnish the
movie clip tomorrow. In the few remaining minutes of class, she passed out a take-home
worksheet assignment produced to go along with the course textbook. Then she asked
the class what kinds of military “elements” they did not see in the movie clip so far. The
students did not seem to understand the question, so she observed for them that there
were no tanks or jeeps in the movie because armies mostly relied on horses during in
WW1. She closed the class period by asking the students what they thought about the
movie so far—reminding them that it is a ﬁctional story. The bell rang before there was
time for any student to respond

Isabel began class the next moming by reviewing the ﬁrst portion of the movie
clip from the previous period. After a brief discussion about which characters got hurt in
the battle scene, Isabel pointed out to the students how the movie contrasts what the three
brothers are experiencing in France with the comfort of their family waiting for them at
home back in the U.S. While starting up the VCR, she asked students to pay attention to
what military elements they do see and do not see in the movie. This second portion of
the clip featured a surprise German attack on the French position. Without pausing the

ﬁlm, Isabel pointed out how the Germans used poison gas. When the youngest brother

219

stumbled into barbed wire, Isabel asked the class what probably had happened to him.
One student simply shouted that he was going to die, so Isabel explained that he had been
blinded by the gas. The brutal killing of the youngest brother by a German machine gun
provoked audible sad moans from several young women.

It took just a few minutes to ﬁnish the movie clip, and Isabel immediately
followed up with a class discussion. First, she asked the class about the elements they
knew about WWI that were in the movie clip. Several students quickly mentioned
machine guns and trenches. One student asked why the Germans wasted machine gun
bullets to kill the youngest brother, who was just one enemy trapped on barbed wire.
Isabel replied that she did not know because the movie was not based on any real battle.
The student did not press the point further, and no other students nominated things they
saw in the ﬁlm. Isabel pointed out: the gas masks and poison gas, which led to a noisy
series of questions from several students about the functioning of poison gas and how
quickly it kills. Isabel responded only by saying that she was not certain how it works,
though she believed it was the same gas used for the gas chamber.

Next, she asked what military elements the students did not see in the clip. One
student pointed out that there were no airplanes. Isabel prompted the class to recall that
there were no tanks or jeeps in this movie clip. Her point sparked tangential student
questions about Red Cross ambulances and when the when the U.S. military adopted the
policy about discharging a man whose brothers had all been killed in the war, which the
student said he saw in Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan. Isabel brieﬂy responded

that Spielberg’s movie is not entirely a true story and then moved on to the next part of

220

the lesson before students made other comments. The discussion lasted about seven
minutes.

Over the rest of the period, Isabel ﬁnished her lesson on the U.S. in WW1. She
swapped Videocassettes in the VCR and played a 12-minute documentary video
(produced by the course textbook publisher, largely using black-and-white photo stills)
about the American WW1 ace pilot Eddie Rickenbacker. When the documentary
concluded, Isabel asked if there were any questions about the PowerPoint lecture or the
Rickenbacker documentary. There were none.

Isabel moved on to other topics and did nothing further with Legends of the F all.
She scheduled the unit test for the following week and subsequently gave me a copy of
the exam. The test consisted of 19 vocabulary/date matching questions (using a bank of
33 terms) and 31 multiple choice recognition-style factual questions. None of the
questions speciﬁcally drew from the movie or indirectly about the movie, though several
were about U.S. involvement in the war. One question was about the issue that Isabel
stressed in her ﬁlm lesson, WWI military technology:

30. What technological advance did Britain develop and use in WW1?

a. Poison gas
b. U-boats

c. Tanks

d. airplanes

Isabel had told me that she never planned on doing a separate assignment for the
ﬁlm or including questions drawn from the ﬁlm on the test. When I asked her why, she

observed an important limitation on the instructional use of ﬁlm:

221

You have absenteeism, and generally you can’t say to them, “Go home and watch
Legends of the Fall at this particular scene.” So you can’t recreate that. Most of
what I do, though, is to highlight either things that they read about or things that
they talked about and there wasn’t any visual to go with it. So it’s just kind of
there’s this information, and h0pefully this will tie it all in, help them remember
it, help them have a visual. . . just so they have this memory tool.
Isabel, points out that movies are not textbooks issued to students for home use. They
must be limited to classroom use. Student assignments or tests cannot rely too
speciﬁcally on the ﬁlm because that would unduly penalize students who missed it.
Thus, the ﬁlm clip became an extra “memory tool” for the students who were there.
Isabel’s ﬁlm clip injected into her instruction became like a booster shot for
assessment—she would not tie any speciﬁc required items in a test to the ﬁlm, but she
hoped that students would do better on the test in general because they watched the ﬁlm.
Isabel ’s Reactions to the Lessons
In absence of formal work involving the ﬁlm clip, I asked Isabel how she felt
about her students’ participation and discussion. Isabel noted that her students did have
homework assignments “because they’re reading at the same time they’re Ieaming these
things in class. They’re kind of paralleled.” The textbook reading, worksheet, lecture,
and movie clip were all intended to be mutually reinforcing. In terms of student Ieaming:
[The students] seemed to be able to recall all of the terms very easily. You know,
what is No Man’s Land, and the gas and the tanks and the spikes, and everything
we kind of talked about they remembered. So they were pretty aware of that.

And they always the gas masks on the horses, they always remember that. So it

222

seemed to really get them to connect at least the basic vocabulary words pretty

easy.

I asked Isabel for her reaction to the lesson overall. “I think it went okay. It was
a little rougher than in the past,” she replied. She added that some periods had a very
thorough discussion, but the period that 1 observed did not seem up to it. She noted that
these students seemed less seriously engaged in watching the ﬁlm:

When I asked them to look in the background and look at stuff. “What did you

see?” And they’d say things like, “Stars.” And so it’s a maturity issue.... I don’t

know if they took it as seriously, or focused as seriously as 1 would have liked

them to.
Understanding Isabel ’s Lesson: Maximizing Control, Limiting Engagement

Isabel used ﬁlm to increase student interest by helping them visualize and care
about a past event that she feared they could not relate to otherwise. She injected the ﬁlm
clip into her instruction as a kind of “booster shot”—an extra reinforcement to student
Ieaming. As an extra booster, Isabel did not want to tie any kind of new required content
to the use of ﬁlm. The students may have learned from the ﬁlm clip that horses were
used in WW1 or that poison gas was a deadly weapon, but how these factual elements
related to the outcome of the war or how the war changed American life and society were
missing. No explicit connections were made to the Rickenbacker documentary, which
also emphasized a military technological innovation (airpower).

For Isabel, Legends of the Fall provides extra visual and emotional stimulus. By
spending only 12 minutes of class time, she was able to bring to life what it might have

looked like to ﬁght on the western ﬁont in WW1 through a short, moving historical story.

223

Isabel’s lesson reﬂects the tightest possible connection between choice of ﬁlm and
curricular content. She exerted maximum control by selecting a portion of the ﬁlm that
contained speciﬁc elements she wanted for her lesson and inserting it directly into her
instruction at an appropriate moment. Isabel’s method was particularly efﬁcient in terms
of time by simply not showing the bulk of the movie with characterizations and plots
(like the major romantic storyline in Legends of the Fall) unrelated to the lesson goals.

Her maximized control tried to insulate her lesson against inference by the
circumstances of schooling. She nestled the ﬁlm within a scripted PowerPoint lecture——
although even this degree of control did not guarantee timing, for she ended up starting
the ﬁlm clip earlier than she planned and thus split it up over two class days. By using
the ﬁlm as an extra “booster shot” of instruction she avoided the problem of absent
students. Isabel may have wanted to do more ambitious teaching with Legends of the
Fall, but absenteeism and limited instruction time—both unavoidable circumstance of
schooling—dissuaded her.

However, it may be that such a short, instrumentalist use of ﬁlm encourages an
excessive focus on the most literal of content. In Isabel’s Legends of the Fall lesson, the
relationships between the brothers and their family back home in the U.S., representing
social conditions at the time, remained undeveloped. Isabel did not discuss any historical
themes from the WWI-era with her short clip but instead focused exclusively on literal
details: horses, gas masks, weapons. It is not that these details are unimportant but that
disconnected from broader issues they can lack meaning or signiﬁcance. Isabel’s lesson
did not use the ﬁlm to teach new information but speciﬁcally to reinforce particular

topics from her lecture and textbook. But this narrow use of the ﬁlm as content source

224

avoided making connections to broader historical issues, raising themes beyond the
lesson focus, or engaging deeply with students’ own questions and ideas about the topic.

Evidence from Isabel’s students. Isabel arranged for me to talk with two of her
ninth graders. Peter is White, around age 14, and describes himself as a history buff.
Jack is also White, around age 14, but did not admit much personal interest in history.
Their responses reﬂected awareness of some of Isabel’s goals as well as some of her
concerns about history movies. When I asked Peter why he thought his teacher showed
the ﬁlm clip, he said, “It shows some of the technologies used, like machine guns and
mustard gas and what not. And that was important to what we were studying. It gave
some of the information about that time era from a different perspective.” Peter picked
up on Isabel’s emphasis on the role of technology and her desire to help students
visualize a bygone era.

When I asked what they learned ﬁ'om the ﬁlm clip, Jack echoed Isabel’s content
focus on technology in WW1. He learned most about “all the technologies they made
back then, like planes and tanks and stuff like that. . .it was pretty interesting how they
made all that stuff.” Peter ﬁrrther emphasized the visual power of ﬁlm in discussing what
he learned:

Our textbooks can’t really show you what’s going on, it can kind of describe it,

but [in the ﬁlm] you could really see. . .there was a lot of chaos. People didn’t

know what was going on. And there was a lot of death and people dying, and it

just showed how horrible WW1 really was.

225

Peter and Jack’s views also lent credence to Isabel’s belief that students respond
more positively to story-based feature ﬁlms than factual documentaries. When I ask what
Peter thought about the movie, he told me:

I thought it was enjoyable, and it made the class more fun. . .because that’s cooler

than the [educational videos] that normally we have at our school because they’re

just like old people recounting what happened. But, [Legends of the Fall] was

kind of more exciting and you kind of got to see it in action, even though it wasn’t

really real, but it seemed pretty realistic.
Jack agreed and added that the movie was “not like all those old people telling what it’s
like, but you’re sort of like in it and it shows the action of it, and I think it makes me want
to watch it more. It’s a lot more interesting.” Isabel worried that educational
documentaries, especially older black-and-white ﬁlms, turned off many students. Both
Jack and Peter said they were more interested in the movie than in typical documentaries
which feature “old people” talking about what they experienced.

Less certain is the depth of the students’ intellectual engagement in Isabel’s ﬁlm-
based lesson. When I asked if they learned real history by watching movies like Legends
of the Fall, Peter and Jack concentrated on the narrow topical focus in Isabel’s lesson and
only in loose, general terms. Jack remembered that Isabel wanted him to learn about
technology but got turned around on her point:

Sometimes Hollywood movies, they’ll put in what it was like, but they’ll add

some things that are not true. Like I think in [Legends of the Fall] there was like

horses but they were really using jeeps and stuff like that. So I think some things

they exaggerate a little, like they get confused on.

226

Jack recalled that technology was important but forgot the deeper idea that the
mechanized vehicles were new during WWI. Peter believed that the movie was mostly
factual because it showed the kinds of technologies that Isabel emphasized in class:
Ijust think that they’re mostly based on fact, but there are mistakes with them. Or
things that are kind of stretched to be more entertaining, because that’s the point
of them, to be more entertaining. . .. I’d put [Legends of the Fall]. . .probably a
little bit closer to factual just because it has some of the technologies and they
were right and that’s how they used them and everything.
Both Jack and Peter recognized that history movies like the one they watched in class
were ﬁctionalized to some degree in order to be more entertaining, but they accepted its
underlying factuality because elements in the ﬁlm clip matched the particular content
focus in Isabel’s lesson. No deeper intellectual engagement with WW1 or its place in the
evolution of warfare and military technology was needed.
Learning history. So what did Isabel’s lesson accomplish in terms of teaching
and Ieaming history? Table 4.3 summarizes the lesson viewed along the functions laid

out in the pedagogical content analysis framework (chapter 3).

227

 

Table 4.3

Isabel ’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films

 

Isabel chose a clip that depicts WWI combat on the Western Front; it
Content coverage features key military technology (poison gas, artillery, machine guns)
discussed in her lecture

..................................................................................................................

The clip is set on the French front in 1915 at the height of trench warfare (a
major topic in Isabel’s lecture), yet the ﬁlm’s ﬁctional skirmish has no

 

Penigt. trenches; Isabel did not discuss with students how the ﬁlm’s battle scene
represen Ion better represents the ﬂuid situation in 1918 (after US entry) rather than
static trench warfare of 1915-1917
. . The ﬁlm’s three brothers are Americans serving in the French Army; Isabel
Hrstorrcal . . .
construction repeatedly pornted out that the ﬁlm narrative put the brothers m the French

Foreign Legion as volunteers because the US was still neutral in 1915

There is a major female character in the ﬁlm, but she appears only brieﬂy

Social in the clip; Isabel pointed out how the ﬁlm constructs a difference between
construction the conditions suffered by the three brothers on the front and the
comfortable lives back in the US

 

Isabel mobilized students’ natural sympathy for the ﬁlm’s characters (three
young, handsome brothers) to magnify student interest in the lecture topic

..................................................................................................................

Isabel downplayed connections to broader issues and dismissed student
comments that deviated from the lesson’s topical focus; Isabel purpose was
to dramatize the horrors of WW1 and elicit student responses to machine
guns and poison gas

Moral response

 

 

 

Given Isabel’s narrow focus in using the ﬁlm, content coverage stands out in
terms of pedagogical functions of the history ﬁlm. Her lecture emphasized trench
warfare and the role of new military technology in the war, and so she chose a ﬁlm clip
that prominently features poison gas, artillery, and machine guns. Yet, the actual ﬁghting
amidst trenches is not featured in the ﬁlm. The ﬁlm’s ﬁctional story needs for the
youngest brother to be killed by the Germans as the middle brother is running to save
him, and trenches would interfere with this visual image. The most historically salient
feature of WWI warfare—vast networks of defensive trenches that were devastatingly

lethal to attack—is not actually really portrayed by the ﬁlm clip.

228

Historical and social construction were minor issues in Isabel’s lesson. The
ﬁlmmakers, in order to have their American characters experience the First World War at
its worst, place the three brothers in the French Foreign Legion in 1915. Isabel pointed
this construction out to her students each day when stressing Legends of the Fall is a
ﬁctional story. The only use to which Isabel puts the ﬁlm in terms of social construction
is to contrast the harsh wartime experiences of the brothers with the comfortable lives of
their family back home in isolationist America.

Empathy was emphasized in Isabel’s motivations for using this ﬁlm in her lesson.
Fearing that the topic of gruesome WW1 combat was too distant for her teenage students,
she used the ﬁlm clip to make the topic visually real to them through the experiences of
the ﬁlm’s three brothers. The scene packs considerable emotional power. Placed early in
the ﬁlm, the scene’s purpose is to set up the emotional states of the two surviving
brothers for the rest of the narrative. The death of the youngest brother is meant to be
traumatic, and Isabel utilized students’ natural sympathy for these young (and all of them
handsome, it should be added) brothers to magnify student interest in the topic.

Yet, it cannot really be said that Isabel’s lesson generated deeper moral response.
Isabel had a narrow instructional purpose for using the ﬁlm—seeing gas masks, poison
gas, machine guns. The only moral response Isabel sought to elicit was a general
reaction to the horrors of WWI like poison gas and machine guns, but this failed to
appreciate why people during WWI felt compelled to use them (to say nothing of why
even more terrible weapons are used by armies today). Her lesson capitalized on
empathy to motivate student interest. Moral responses to the broader issues in the era of

the First World War went unexamined.

229

Taking Stock

So what can we learn from Isabel? Isabel’s case represents a third possible mode
for using history feature ﬁlms in the classroom—as an extra visual aid or mnemonic tool
injected into regular instruction. The goal of her lesson was to help her students
remember details about WWI by visualizing what it would have looked like. Her case
represents a teacher actively editing a ﬁlm, choosing a select portion of it and ﬂexibly
applying it to a speciﬁc educational end.

Like Regina and Marie, Isabel praises movies as a good way to help students
remember things. The visual and emotional stimulation of movies makes them more
memorable than any school textbook. Her ﬁlm-based lesson demonstrates astutely
ﬂexible use of ﬁlm for speciﬁc purposes. Most history movies are two or three hours
long, often requiring four or ﬁve days of class time to show in full. Injecting ﬁlm clips
into instruction exerts maximum teacher control over the ﬁlm, selecting just the short
portions that are directly relevant to the lesson’s topics and purposes. Films used this
way are a nice extra, because if the ﬁlm is required for formal lectures, assignments, or
activities then the teacher conﬁonts the problem of absenteeism. A movie used in class is
not like a textbook, with a copy given to every student which they can “make up” later.

Isabel’s case raises an additional caution. One thing that makes movies so
appealing is their psychological power and dense information load. This can open up a
virtual Pandora’s Box of questions and issues students might want to discuss. The
teacher cannot possibly have answers to everything on the spot, and opening the door to
anything students might want to ask can threaten control over lesson timing. Thus, the

use of ﬁlm clips confronts a tension between control and depth. The price of limited,

230

mechanistic use of ﬁlm may be an overly literal, mechanical tone for the kinds of
knowledge emphasized and an avoidance of deeper intellectual engagement.
Kellie: Witnessing the Horror of the Holocaust

Kellie is a beginning teacher around age 30. She holds a bachelor’s degree with
a major in International Relations from a prestigious undergraduate program. For the
past ﬁve years she has been teaching (along with Isabel) at Ottawa High School. Of the
26 students in the observed IOm-grade class, 23 were White/Caucasian of European
extraction and two more were of Middle Eastern origin; one student was Asian American.
Kellie’s classroom is like virtually every other classroom in the building, of moderate
size with space for 20-some desks, an attached side room for the teacher’s use, large
Whiteboards instead of chalkboards, a computer for the teacher, and a large television
mounted on the wall. Like many other teachers’ rooms, Kellie’s room also has a video
projector with which to show PowerPoint presentations, videos, and DVDs.

The observed movie lesson was part of her unit on World War II and the
Holocaust for World History, the second Social Studies course required for graduation.
Her students were 10th graders (mostly 15-16 years old). Kellie’s teaching load consisted
of three sections of World History and two sections of elective courses. Kellie has had
different preps every year, but every course assigned to her for 2005-06 she has taught at
least one time in the past. For this unit, she showed her students the 2002 movie The
Pianist. A French-Gennan-British-Polish joint production distributed by in the U.S. by
Focus Features, the Oscar-winning ﬁlm is rated R for graphic violence and some
profanity. Directed by Roman Polanski, The Pianist is an adaptation of Polish classical

pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman’s own account of his experience in Warsaw during WWII.

231

Kellie’s is the only teacher who used a ﬁlm she had not shown before. She is also
the only teacher to change her ﬁlm selection. Initially, Kellie had planned on showing
Life is Beautiﬁtl, the 1997 Italian ﬁlm directed by and starring Roberto Benigni.
However, after talking with me, Kellie came to question whether she should show Life is
Beautifirl. Though it was not my intention to challenge or affect her ﬁlm choice, Kellie
was dissatisﬁed that she was unable to articulate precisely what she hoped her students
would learn from Life is Beautiﬁtl.

The Teacher ’5 Intentions and Views on Film

Compared to the other teachers in my sample, Kellie uses video media in her
history classroom only lightly: “In World History. . .maybe every three weeks, maybe.
Usually more documentaries [than movies].” All other videos shown in class up until
January were documentaries. Life Is Beautiful was to be the ﬁrst movie. “I haven’t
shown a [feature] ﬁlm yet [this year], and I feel like, one, it’s a nice break for the
students, but they also are actually Ieaming something, too.” Kellie was the only teacher
in my study to note, even in passing, that showing a movie in class was meant to be a
pleasant reward for students in addition to any other motivations.

Kellie and Isabel were both affected by a department-wide curricular
reorganization at Ottawa HS. The Social Studies Department had recently moved U.S.
History down to the ninth grade and World History to the 10th grade. This was why
Isabel was concerned that her Legends of the Fall clip might not be as appropriate for
ninth graders as it had for 10th graders. Kellie got the opposite side of the coin, with
older students in her class than previously. However, the curricular reorganization

imposed problems of its own for Kellie’s use of ﬁlm. While the other three teachers in

232

my study worried that coverage pacing and the demands of state standards assessment
would cut into the amount of time they could use for ﬁhn-based lessons, Kellie pointed
out how even localized curricular changes could raise problems in this regard:

We’ve changed our whole World History curriculum, so it’s more current now.

Like second semester is supposed to lead us up to modem-day issues, whereas

before we started with the Renaissance and we got to World War 11. So now

starting with the Industrial Revolution and we’re getting to more current things.

So there’s not a lot of ﬁlms that I know I’ll be showing because everything is

changing.

For the movies that Kellie knew she would use in class, she—like the other
teachers in my study—emphasized their potential for motivating student interest. The
trick is to relate the past to students’ lives emotionally. She told me, “I think teenagers
get the most out of ﬁlms that relate directly to their lives. Any movie that they feel a
personal connection to is going to have more impact.” Her ﬁrst reaction to Life Is
Beautiful was that it would make an easier emotional impact on students because it
showed a father and his child in a concentration camp. Kellie has a personal passion for
ﬁlms that touch her emotionally. She described herself to me as a “total movie junkie.”
Recently, she was deeply moved by two ﬁlms from 2005, Crash and Hotel Rwanda, and
was thinking about ways to bring them into her classes. “If it makes an impact on me, if
it makes me cry. That’s the test,” she laughingly told me, for whether a movie was a

good choice for her classroom.

233

Like Marie and Isabel, Kellie evinced an awareness that the emotional power of a
movie possibly can go too far for some people. In our conversation after her ﬁlm-based
lesson, Kellie revealed a concern she had about a particular student and it was resolved:

One of my students is Jewish, and she had watched [The Pianist] last year, and I

was concerned about her because she had said that she wasn’t wanting to go [on a

class ﬁeld trip] to the Holocaust museum [in southeastern Michigan] because she

was very sensitive to all of it. So I was a little bit worried about her. But, I guess

I didn’t think that would ever come up. Especially a Jewish student, I thought

she’d be more wanting to watch it maybe, to learn more about her history. But it

turned out ﬁne. She had seen it before, and she had watched it with her parents.
Kellie’s concern ﬁts the pattern emerging across the teachers who participated in this
study. Some ﬁlms are emotionally intense, in large part because they contain disturbing
or painful content. Some students are more sensitive to this than others—due to maturity
(as Marie and Isabel suggested) or to personal family background (as suggested by Kellie
and her Jewish student). These concerns shaped how teachers thought about using ﬁlm.
In the case of ﬁlms that teachers still had concerns about, they looked to parents as the
ultimate arbiter. If it is ﬁne with the parents, then it is ﬁne in the classroom.

Another concern for Kellie, as it was for Regina and Isabel, was how easily
students accepted the ﬁctionalized accounts seen in movies as reliable historical accounts.
She said,

You hear them saying things like, “Oh yeah, is that like what happened in the

ﬁlm? Like what happened in Pearl Harbor?” So I think when they see a movie

234

they forget that it’s a movie. They’re like, “Oh, this is a movie about history.
Well, this is how it really must have happened.”
Kellie further elucidated how this informs her use of them as an educator:

[Movies] deﬁnitely inﬂuence [students], and I guess if I can as a teacher get them

to take a critical look at those history Hollywood dramas, maybe they can bring

that with them and say, “Okay, I need to actually notjust take it for what it is and
look a little bit more deep[ly] into it.”

How a movie covers content, then, is an important motivation for Kellie. It
means using a ﬁlm in ways that help students distinguish historical fact amidst the
ﬁctional story. When I asked her how this style of ﬁlm use looked in the classroom, she
related an example:

Using [the ﬁlm] more to say, “Okay, here’s what the ﬁlm presents what

happened, let’s talk about what really happened”.... Using Hollywood ﬁlms to

say, “Okay, this is how Steven Spielberg is presenting this. What’s the real story
behind it?” So getting them to critique it and look a little more in depth, not just
taking it for what it is.
Just as Isabel felt that an important purpose of a ﬁlm-based lesson was to train students to
be smart consumers, Kellie wanted to help students learn how to critique historical
dramas.

Our ﬁrst interview explored Kellie’s motivations for choosing Life Is Beautrﬁd.
At ﬁrst she believed it was an effective choice and pointed out the ﬁlm’s merits:

Ijust think the ﬁlm is done really well. . .. Some of them have never seen a

foreign ﬁlm before with subtitles, so I think it’s important for them to get used to

235

seeing a foreign ﬁlm and being exposed to that. But. . .when I ﬁrst saw [the ﬁlm]

I really loved it, so I just want them to love it, too.

For Kellie, the ﬁlm was a personally moving experience. She wanted to share this
personal passion with her students. As an added extra, showing it in class would expose
students to subtitled foreign ﬁlms, something they might not ever see on their own.
However, the ﬁlm also had other virtues to recommend it. She explained,

[Life is Beautiﬁrl] basically takes a tragic experience and turns it into something

hopeful. So it’s not a gruesome, Holocaust, shocking ﬁlm, and part of the reason

I chose it too is that it’s not rated R. That’s another thing to keep in mind with

sophomores. I don’t want to deal with parents and permissions slips, and so it’s

like a safe Holocaust movie. But just the fact that it takes something really tragic
and turns it into a story. And it’s told through the eyes of like a child, so I think
the students kind of relate to that maybe more than showing something like The

Pianist or something like that.

Thus, Kellie’s original ﬁlm choice represented a safe selection. In her view, it
would still engage student interest in the Holocaust without being too disturbing or
depressing. It could function as entertainment, education, and inspiration all at once. It
would raise problems neither with parents nor with students. Yet, Kellie was not
altogether sold on the choice. When I asked her if she had considered using other
Holocaust ﬁlms instead, she admitted that Ottawa’s social studies teachers had talked
over other possibilities:

The Pianist was one that we all kind of thought about, but most teachers, we

talked about this yesterday, were like, “Oh, that’s rated R, I think that you might

236

get some phone calls.” So I think the rating is a big thing to consider when

showing ﬁlms.

However, as she talked about the educational purposes of the choice, Kellie began
to reconsider the safe choice. When I asked what she hoped her students would learn
about the past from Life is Beautiful, Kellie mused,

I hope that it will teach them, ﬁrst of all, just about what it looks like to be in a

concentration camp. . .. The ﬁlm is more of a story and not so much a focus on the

harsh reality, so it’s really more an entertainment than anything. And now I’m

thinking maybe I shouldn’t show this movie. I guess I need to think about that—

what I am really trying to get them to gain by watching all of this?.... It’s not

based on a true story... The Pianist, there’s more reality to that.
In responding to my question, Kellie confronted a tension in her motivations. First, she
wanted them to visualize what life in a concentration camp was like, in much the same
way Isabel wanted her students to visualize the WWI battleﬁeld. Kellie wanted to reward
students with a “nice break,” an entertaining ﬁlm. She also had a personal passion for the
uplifting, hopeful Life Is Beautiful. But then she began considering her conﬂicting
intentions. As a teacher she wanted to uplift her students’ spirits and entertain them, but
she also wanted them to learn content. The Pianist, a ﬁlm with “more reality,” would
better serve this purpose. Even though it is R rated, even though it contains more
disturbing, controversial material, and even though it would require parental permission

slips, Kellie ended up choosing The Pianist.

237

At the end of Kellie’s WWII/Holocaust unit, I sat down with her and asked her to
walk me through her decision to use The Pianist instead of Life Is Beautiful. She
explained,

I think what it came down to is that I see more value in showing a ﬁlm based on a

real person, a real event, and I liked the idea that it was a story of resistance,

which is something the students don’t hear about a lot, the Jewish resistance. . ..

Whereas Life Is Beautrﬁil is a great movie, it’s more uplifting, more happy, but

it’s not based on a real person. And so I think it just really came down to a story

versus historical fact.
Kellie’s historical fact/ﬁctional story dichotomy was important to her thinking about
teaching and Ieaming history. Fictional stories are entertainment. They may be inspiring
and even enlightening, but in Kellie’s view they still cannot cover historical content as
effectively as ﬁlms closely modeled on factual events.

Kellie detailed why The Pianist worked so well for her lesson. She emphasized
its close connection to course content, then speculated about the kind of moral
development the ﬁlm provided students:

We talked about resistance [to the Holocaust] quite a bit, and [The Pianist]

deﬁnitely covered resistance, which again is something that’s not really taught,

about Jewish resistance. Just getting a feel for anti-Semitism in Poland, among
the Nazis, of course, and just how brutal the Nazis were when they didn’t
necessarily need to be. We talked about that quite a bit, like they’re given orders
to do one thing but they take it a step further with nobody looking over their

shoulders, like they’re always going the extra step of brutality. Just some of those

238

things I think the ﬁlm really showed, so those were the things we wanted to go

over in class.

Closely bound up with Kellie’s conceptions of content coverage was a particular
worldview—by which I mean a psychological schema or ideological lens for perceiving
and making sense of the world and history. For Kellie, teaching about the Holocaust and
anti-Semitism was linked to the broader issue of brutality and the corruption of power.
The Nazis heaped insult on injury—not only did they commit mass murder, but they
engaged in petty cruelties to boot. The Pianist ﬁt with her worldview and helped her
convey this message in her classroom.

Kellie was hesitant to openly discuss worldviews with students. In general,
avoiding revealing her own ideological stances was important to her, so she would not
alienate students with contrary political beliefs. She told me, “I think it’s sort of your
duty as a teacher” to present a neutral approach to issues. I asked her if she would ever
admit her personal beliefs to students. She replied,

No, I would never. My students ask me, “Well, what do you think?” And I never

tell them. I’m like, “It doesn’t matter, I want to know what you think”. . .. I hear

about teachers who do that sometimes, and I just think it is a bad idea to do that.
This may help to explain why Kellie was intimidated when I asked her what she hoped
her students would learn about the world from her ﬁlm lesson:

Oh boy, that’s scary. I think it will hopefully teach them that we have to

remember these tragic events that happened in the past, and we’ll be talking a lot

about that. Like, what do we do to punish people who participated in this? What

can we do to ensure that something like this never happens again, and have we

239

really progressed as a society, as people, that something like this wouldn’t

happen. That’s a perfect point to bring in, like Bosnia, the Serbs, [Rwanda].

Have we really progressed that far and what can we do to make sure we have.

[“We” being] the world community. Human beings in general.

For Kellie, there are lessons to be learned ﬁ'om the Holocaust that generalize to
other times and places. These lessons concern human beings’ inhumanity to other human
beings. According Peter Novick (1999), many scholars in American Jewish
historiography have argued that the Holocaust is unique and incomprehensible. From
Kellie’s perspective, the educational value of the Holocaust is not in its uniqueness or
incomprehensibility but in its generalizable applicability. The worldview that Kellie
subtly conveyed in her ﬁlm-based lesson stressed the universalism of the Holocaust as a
moral lesson about excessive brutality, hatred, and human progress.

Observing the Lesson

Kellie debated which ﬁlm to show right up until the weekend before. I did not
know what ﬁlm I would be watching until I arrived in the classroom the ﬁrst day. Kellie
showed the whole ﬁlm over four class periods, not all of them consecutive. The class had
a ﬁeld trip to a Holocaust museum in the Detroit area that Friday, and Ottawa schools
were closed for a holiday the following Monday. Her students watched the ﬁlm at their
desks during regular class time.

My ﬁrst visit was on a Monday morning. Kellie started the period by collecting
parental permission slips, including one for Friday’s ﬁeld trip to the Holocaust museum
and one to watch The Pianist, and then ﬁnishing up student in-class presentations left

over from the Friday before. Afterward, Kellie talked for a few minutes about the ﬁlm’s

240

production background, Adrian Brody (who won the Oscar for his role), and the director
Roman Polanski. When Kellie told the class how Polanski’s wife was murdered by the
Manson family, one young woman asked if the killers were rock-star Marilyn Manson’s
family. It did not seem to be ajoke, and Kellie clariﬁed that she meant Charles Manson,
a name most students did not seem to know. A moment later, Kellie brought up the rape
charges that drove Polanski from the U.S., and another confused young woman asked
whether it was Polanski or Manson who raped the teenage girl. To quiet down the
subsequent tumult, Kellie responded that these were topics better left for another course.
Kellie passed out a small handout with ﬁve questions which the students were

assigned as homework. Figure 4.5 recreates the handout:

 

 

Questions to answer on The Pianist -— Due Tuesday, 5 points
1. Who directed the ﬁlm? Why was he so passionate about doing the ﬁlm?
2. Why did Szpilman’s book go unnoticed for so long?
3. Who was the German captain who discovered Szpilman?
4. What ends up happening to this captain?

5. How did Adrian Brody (who plays Szpilman) prepare for the role?

 

Figure 4.5. Kellie’s ﬁrst student handout.

Though no student asked and Kellie did not state it or provide any websites, the
tacit expectation was that the students would use the intemet to ﬁnd the answers. The
ﬁrst four questions all position the ﬁlm as a true story. In looking them up online,
students would discover that the ﬁlm very closely followed Szpilman’s memoir and that

the director was passionate about recreating events that really happened in Poland. The

241

 

ﬁfth question reﬂects Kellie’s hope that students will enjoy The Pianist as a movie by
focusing on the ﬁlm’s headlining Hollywood star.

Over the following 10 minutes, Kellie directed student attention to the front
whiteboard and provided some background information about the Holocaust, particularly
the Warsaw Ghetto. Kellie’s ﬁrst question (“Where is Warsaw located?”) was simple
enough, and many students answered, “Poland.” However, questions from the students in
response to Kellie’s notes demonstrated the graver complexity of the topic. One young
woman asked if the whole city were a Jewish ghetto or just part. Another female student
asked where the idea of ghettos came from. When Kellie described how the Jews in the
ghetto were intentionally underfed, a young woman asked, “Why were they fed at all?”
Kellie tried to respond brieﬂy to each question without getting bogged down.

With the 20-some minutes remaining in class, Kellie started up the DVD and
video projector. Kellie explained she was showing the ﬁlm because it does a “good job
showing what the situation was really like.” The movie played for the rest of the Monday
period and for most of the period on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Kellie ﬁnished
the movie and the Holocaust lesson the following Tuesday (after the ﬁeld trip and
holiday).

Most of the class periods began with some activity or interaction prior to picking
up where the movie left off. At the start of Tuesday, Kellie spent ﬁve minutes with the
class on the questions handed out the day before (Figure 4.5). Kellie then presented some
additional notes on the Warsaw Ghetto. Some of the information looked to be in
response to students’ questions from Monday. There were details of the population of the

Warsaw Ghetto, about deportations to the camps, and about the 1943 uprising in the

242

Warsaw Jewish ghetto. These notes sparked some new questions. One young woman
asked if the Germans wanted to eventually kill every Jew, even those who survived the
camps, or did they want some as slaves. Kellie responded that Germany wanted to
destroy all Jews, not to keep slaves for economic reasons. Another young woman then
asked if Germany wanted to destroy all non-Aryans, and speciﬁcally mentions the
Gypsies. Kellie replied that the Germans targeted certain groups, but to her knowledge
they did not want to destroy peoples like British or French.

She did not present additional notes on the other days, but each period began with
some time spent on announcements, speciﬁcally getting students ready for Friday’s ﬁeld
trip to the Holocaust museum. The students were reminded that it would be a serious
rather than entertaining trip—though some time was spent debating which fast-food
restaurant the buses would stop at for lunch.

While her students watched the movie from their seats, Kellie remained at her
desk. There was a noticeable shift in the students’ demeanor as the ﬁlm progressed. In
the part of the movie showing Szpilman’s life before the war as a classical pianist on
Polish radio, there was a general restlessness. Some students chatted under their breath
or played with materials on their desks. However, by the time the war breaks out, the
students were quiet, and watching the screen very intently. They remained almost
uniformly riveted for the rest of the movie. Throughout the days there were a few
distractions (a student talking privately with Kellie at her desk, a student coming in late, a
young woman ﬂipping through papers at her desk), but it is surprisingly how quickly

most students returned their attention to the movie.

243

The Pianist contains many disturbing scenes of brutality and suffering that
provoked noticeable reactions among students. A female student originally from
Germany seemed to have consistently strong reactions. Kellie conﬁded to me that she
was always worried this ﬁlm would be hard for this student because she apparently had
expressed some guilty feelings about the Holocaust. In a scene when German troops raid
an apartment and push an old man in a wheelchair to his death out a window, one young
woman closed her eyes and looked away. In another scene, a starving man wrestles a can
of beans from an old woman; they spill on the road and he devours them on the
pavement. Another student looked away in disgust. In a later scene, German soldiers
raid a warehouse and a Jewish girl who asks what they want is shot point-blank in the
forehead. Several students visibly jumped at the gunshot, and one young woman covered
her mouth with her hand, staring wide-eyed at the screen.

Most of the student reactions, though, looked to me to be from confusion.
Students frequently whispered questions and sometimes Kellie responded, but often the
questions could not be heard by the whole class. For example, in one scene a German
soldier inspects a bag that Szpilman is packing with hidden weapons for the resistance;
the soldier ﬁnds only grain and throws it in his face. A young woman softly asked what
happened, but Kellie did not seem to hear her. In another scene, Szpilman worries that he
may have jaundice. A female student turned around to the young man behind her and
asked, “What’sjaundice?” The young man shrugged. The chaotic battle scenes
depicting the Warsaw uprisings seemed to provoke the most confusion. Kellie tried to
brieﬂy explain what was happening without pausing the ﬁlm. Some questions revealed

the teacher herself was confused, too. Toward the end of the movie, Captain Hosenfeld,

244

a German officer who beﬁiends Szpilman, is in a prisoner-of-war camp. One young
woman asked Kellie if the guards watching the prisoners are Polish. Kellie answered, “I
think some of them are.” The guards shown were wearing Russian uniforms—an
example of how history ﬁlms often contain esoteric information not readily obvious to a
casual viewer.

The Pianist depicts complex, intricate historical elements in intriguing, often
subtle ways. Occasionally students picked up on the intricate content and asked
questions, but often the most nuanced content went unnoted. As I observed the lesson, I
wondered if students could perceive and understand powerful historical subtleties in a
movie when they are not made explicit by the teacher. For example, the scene in which
Szpilman’s family is deported to the death camps depicts three different groups with
power: German troops, Polish auxiliaries, and Jewish police; a Polish guard beats an old.
Jewish man to death with his riﬂe butt when he makes a commotion. Could the students
perceive and understand these distinctions of power hierarchy on their own? Shortly later
there is a scene in which German troops pull out a group of Jewish workers at random
and shoot them in the head. Kellie’s students were totally silent, all staring at the screen.
The Germans frequently used collective punishment to control captive populations, but
could the students perceive this in light of what looks like random, malicious brutality?

The scene depicting the April-May 1943 Jewish uprising is another important one.
Szpilman asks the female patroness helping to hide him, “What good did it do?” She
believes that it allowed the Jews to die with dignity and will encourage the rest of the
Poles to rise, too. The character’s point is historically contentious. Had the ethnic Poles

risen along with the Jewish ghetto, they might have posed a more serious threat to the

245

German occupation, but singly both were destroyed without serious damage to German
forces. Could students understand this complication without having it directly addressed
in the lesson? Another scene plays on the ﬁlm’s historical construction of spoken
languages. During a New Year’s celebration, drunken German troops order Jewish
workers to sing something cheerful; the Jews sing the Polish national anthem, which the
Germans guards do not understand (since in the ﬁlm English is used in place of Polish
but German remains in German). A few of Kellie’s students giggled quietly at what
seemed to them a strange scene. Could students pick up on subtleties in language without
having them made explicit? The ﬁlm ends with text blocks reporting what happened
after the war: all that is known of Captain Hosenfeld is that he died in a Russian prisoner
of war camp in 1952. That is seven years after Gennany’s defeat.

Could students realize what these dates mean in terms of the coming Cold War
without having it directly pointed out by the teacher? Of course, simply having historical
elements like these addressed by the teacher is no guarantee that students will learn
anything about them. My point here is not that students will necessarily learn subtle
historical elements in ﬁlms if they are pointed out by the teacher—but that most students
almost certainly will not learn this kind of information unless it is made explicit by the
teacher (directly or indirectly) through lecture, discussions, writing, or other activities.

I returned for one last day of observations the following Tuesday morning, after
the ﬁeld trip and the Monday holiday. Only eight minutes remained in the movie, and
afterward Kellie passed out a worksheet with ﬁve new questions (see Figure 4.6). The

students were given around 10 minutes to write individual responses.

246

 

 

The Pianist
Please answer all questions on this sheet of paper.

1. If you were given the choice to join the Jewish police as Szpilman and his brother
were, what would you do and why? What would be the consequences of your
decision?

2. What did you like about the ﬁlm and why? What did you dislike?

3. What were the most important things you learned from the ﬁlm?

4. Did this ﬁlm help you understand the Holocaust, anti-Semitism, WWII, and/or the
Warsaw uprising? Explain

5. What questions does this ﬁlm leave you with?

 

Figure 4. 6. Kellie’s second student handout.

Over the next 25 minutes, Kellie discussed the questions with the whole class.
First she asked if there were things in the ﬁlm that students did not understand. Most
questions revolved around the ﬁlm’s plot or characters. Only one student question was
about actual historical content (How were the Jews able to ﬁght the Germans in
Warsaw?)

Kellie’s woiksheet sparked very interesting discussions about students’ moral
responses to the ﬁlm. Referring to Question #1 a young woman asked, “Why would any
Jews join the ghetto police?” One student pointed out that the Germans were killing all
Jews regardless, but another student said that Jews did not know that at ﬁrst. The young
woman subsequently pressed for more details about the police, and Kellie framed the
dilemma as a tension between getting better treatment versus betraying your people.
Intennixed in the discussion were student responses about what they would do in that

situation. Most said they would not want to join the police because it would be like

helping the Germans. One young woman pointed out that none of the students had ever

247

 

been in a desperate situation like the Warsaw Jews, and though she hoped she would not
join, she was not certain what she would actually do. The next young woman said she
was persuaded by the previous student’s point—who knows what you would do in a
desperate situation?

Afterward, Kellie pointed out some of the ﬁlm’s historically accurate details. As
before, most comments and questions revolved around human personalities. Was the
romance plot real? Why did Captain Hosenfeld ask Szpilman to play the piano for him?
The German-bom student tried to focus on broader history by arguing that by the end of
the war most Germans were questioning the Nazi government. Kellie steered away from
this new direction by replying that the class would talk about that issue later.

Almost a third of the discussion time was spent talking about how the students
“liked” the movie. Kellie asked for a show of hands of who liked the ﬁlm, and almost all
students raised their hands. She asked how many found it hard to watch, and maybe a
third kept their hands up. The same handful of students did most of the talking. Several
students said that they wished the ﬁlm had depicted more about Szpilman personally.
Kellie suggested in response that Polanski did not do this because he wanted Szpilman to
appear numbed by the horrible experience. Two young women agreed—one said that she
had read how people in the concentration camps often reported feeling numb, and another
in the back of the room had previously read an account by a Holocaust survivor who
reported all people in the camps expected to die.

Kellie concluded by asking if there were other things students wanted to know.
One young woman said, “How can people be so cruel to each other?” This inspired

Kellie to ask whether any students wanted to know if the Nazis were punished. A few

248

students mumbled yes, and Kellie said they would address that topic later in the week.
There were a few overlapping student questions and comments about what happened to
Hitler himself, but they were indistinct and not taken up. Kellie ended the discussion by
passing out a textbook worksheet to go along with the assigned homework reading. The
students packed up, lined up at the door, and talked among themselves until the bell rang
three minutes later.

The WWII and Holocaust unit was ﬁnished just before the end of the school’s
ﬁrst semester. Rather than requiring that students complete a separate assessment, Kellie
included 23 questions that she might have used on a separate WWII/Holocaust unit test
on her semester exam (which was approximately 141 questions in length). Of the 23
multiple-choice questions, seven related to the Holocaust; four of them were speciﬁcally
about deﬁning genocide, none speciﬁcally involved events depicted in The Pianist.
Kellie ’s Reactions to the Lesson

Later, when I asked her how the student work went, Kellie did not bring up the
test. Instead she talked about the writing and discussion in class:

I think it went well. A lot of time when you have these kind of opinion questions,

students will just write a sentence to get it over and down with. Like, ‘Okay, I got

my opinion down, that’s all I need.’ But students who typically don’t write a lot
were writing a ton of things, because I got the feeling that they really cared about
it and were really interested in it and were kind of shocked and inspired by the

story.

249

For Kellie, the value of the lesson did not require a separate test or assignment. Her chief
purpose was to motivate student interest in the Holocaust and to provoke an emotional
response, to get them to care, to get them to see what the Holocaust was like.

The students’ written responses to the questions and the in-class discussion gave
her the evidence she needed:

[The students] all seemed to have a lot to say about it when we had the discussion

questions, follow-up discussion. Just reading through the responses, they said

they learned a lot. A lot of them said it was hard to watch, but they said this is not
an easy time period to study, so they were glad it was a brutally honest ﬁlm. I just
feel that using something that really happened, looking at the ghetto, the uprising
in the Warsaw ghetto, and Szpilman’s story, just having a real story was really
helpful, they really understood part of what the uprising was all about.
Kellie’s perception of what the students gained ﬁ'om the lesson mirrors the diverse
motivations she brought to it. The ﬁlm lesson was a rewarding break that most students
liked, it motivated student interest in the topic and helped them visualize the Holocaust, it
provoked an emotional response that ﬁt with the universal humanitarian themes Kellie
hoped to stress, and most importantly it covered “real” content.

Ultimately, it was this sense of authenticity that Kellie kept coming back to in
validating her ﬁlm choice. Not that she felt the lesson was perfect. When I asked how
she might teach the lesson differently, she pondered, “I think that would have been
interesting to research more. I think I should read Szpilman’s memoirs. . .. I would have

[students] read. . .an excerpt. That would be good.” For Kellie, the best way to improve

250

 

the lesson would be to make it even more authentic, to get even closer to Szpilman’s real
experiences by reading his own words.
Understanding Kellie 's Lesson: Visualizing the Past for Humanitarian Development

Kellie used ﬁlm to increase student interest in a difﬁcult, potentially
overwhelming topic by giving them an emotionally powerﬁrl, moving visualization of
one part of the story. Combined with the museum ﬁeld trip, she aimed to make her
students care about the Holocaust and its broader humanitarian meanings. However,
other movies like Life Is Beautiﬁrl could have met this function. So why did Kellie
choose The Pianist? First, The Pianist is closely based on real events and its characters
were actual participants in those events. This ﬁlm choice is an authentic historical story
that she felt better met her content goals. Second, The Pianist depicts Jewish resistance,
an element about which Kellie seemed to be personally passionate. The Pianist allowed
her to bring resistance into her lesson more viscerally than perhaps any other mode of
instruction.

For Kellie, The Pianist is part of an in-depth departure from the regular class
routine. Her ﬁlm-based lesson in many ways meshed with the ﬁeld trip to the Holocaust
museum. Both represented in.depth departures from the rest of the unit and signiﬁcant
investments of time. Taken together, the ﬁeld trip and the ﬁlm-based lesson provided
students with a powerful, emotional experience that encouraged them to care about the
Holocaust, notjust as an historical event but as a universal human problem. Though she
did not explicitly link the Holocaust to more recent genocides, she indirectly mobilized
the ﬁlm’s themes to get students thinking about transcendent humanitarian issues.

Perhaps this is best reﬂected in the question on her second handout (see Figure 4.6 above)

251

asking the students what they would have done in Szpilman’s position. From this
perspective, the Holocaust was not just a past event but a way to think about moral
humanitarian behavior more universally.

Interestingly, Kellie did not emphasize the connection between the two events in
class (though she may have on the ﬁeld trip). She and her students talked a little about
the ﬁeld trip at the start of the Tuesday period while getting ready to ﬁnish the movie. A
few students did make connections between the Warsaw Ghetto in the movie and the
Holocaust museum during the discussion after the ﬁlm. However, the lesson did not
explicitly connect the movie’s subject to the broader unit topic, World War II. The
Warsaw Ghetto happened, just like the Holocaust happened, but how both affected or
related to the Second World War remained unexplored in the days that I observed.
Hence, this lesson represents a departure from the rest of the unit.

Kellie’s lesson helped her students visualize the horror of the Holocaust and
consider some of the ethical dimensions of genocide, but she contained the degree of
deeper intellectual engagement. The Holocaust is such a vast and disturbing topic that
she could not deal with all the complexities of its historical context, allow students to
explore their own personal reactions more deeply with the whole class, or rigorously
debate what genocide remains a global problem even after the Holocaust. Opening such
a Pandora’s Box of wide-ranging issues probably would have been unmanageable. Thus,
she contained the issues of the Holocaust in her lesson within a more manageable and
general scope of humanitarian development.

Evidence from Kellie ’3 students. Kellie arranged for me to interview three of her

10th graders. Julie was the Gerrnan-bom student mentioned above. She and her family

252

have lived in the U.S. for most of her life. Amy is a White teenager who described
herself as someone who takes school seriously. Brad was one of the few students in class
not of European ancestry. He identiﬁed himself as Arab American and said that his
family came to the U.S. from a sub-Saharan African country more than 10 years ago.
Kellie wanted her students to visualize the terrible truth of the Holocaust through an
emotionally powerful ﬁlm, and all three students responded positively to her intention. I
asked the students why they thought their teacher showed The Pianist:
Julie: 1 think she choose to show it because it showed us like it was documentary.
It didn’t sugarcoat things, or it didn’t say like how pe0ple were nice, it didn’t
show the best times.
Amy: I think she showed it to put a face on numbers, because you can look at all
the numbers and they can tell you six million people were killed. But, I think that
just watching the movie and being able to see it happen, it’s a really different
experience.
Brad: She shows us a lot of [still] pictures during class to try to give us the feel of
it, but she could never really show it to us until we watched the movie. And we
really get a better experience from it than just looking at a bunch of pictures. You
get to hear the people and understand everything they’re going through.
Julie, Amy, and Brad liked The Pianist and agreed with Kellie’s goal of making the
reality of the Holocaust come alive through dramatic ﬁlm.
It is interesting to point out that, while the students admitted to enjoying watching
movies in school as a relaxing break ﬁom the regular routine, they were not

automatically accepting of every ﬁlm. Amy recalled,

253

In the 7th grade, we were studying a unit on the Middle East and we watched [the
1992 animated musical] Aladdin. That’s pretty much the least historically
accurate movie there possibly is. I have no idea what my teacher was thinking.
And she wasn’t even like, “This movie shows a lot of stereotypes, you know
they’re false.” It’s like, “Okay, we’re watching Aladdin because we’re studying
the Middle East.” I think a lot of times teachers don’t do very good jobs of
picking movies.
Brad also shared a similar experience: “I was in Biology class when we were doing the
Ice Age and everything about that, we watched [the 2002 animated ﬁlm Ice Age]... We
had to actually identify all the animals and everything was so boring.” For these
students, the problem lay in a disconnect between the ﬁlm choice and its instructional
use. Amy could conceive of a good use for Aladdin (exposing false stereotypes), but she
believed the teacher simply picked a bad ﬁlm to show because it nominally ﬁt the topic.
Brad felt the instructional use of Ice Age was tedious and pointless. Kellie’s lesson was
powerful and effective for them because they clearly saw the connection between her
ﬁlm choice and educational purposes.
Kellie did not choose The Pianist lightly. She worried that the graphic R-rated
ﬁlm could disturb some students. Julie reﬂected on how the ﬁlm disturbed her:
Like when I saw the Nazis push the grandfather over the balcony, that really got
to me. And when they shot the woman in her face, that was horrible. And
sometimes I don’t feel proud to be German. I don’t know. I can’t say I’m

disappointed with who I am, but it’s hard for me to think that we did that.

254

The Pianist opened up painful feelings for Julie that she was left to grapple with alone.
Collective guilt for atrocities and historical shame are tough intellectual questions, but
they went beyond the purview of Kellie’s lesson. Kellie was right, it seems, to worry
about the troubling implications of her ﬁlm choice but she could not open up the post-
ﬁlm discussions too include them explicitly without risking loss of control over the topic,
classroom conversation, and lesson momentum. Kellie very much wanted students to
reﬂect morally on the ﬁlm and topic, but she sought to contain the reﬂection within
manageable, broadly general humanitarian boundaries.

Amy, Brad, and Julie picked up on Kellie’s broadly humanitarian approach to
thinking about the Holocaust. The Holocaust seemed less an incomprehensible, unique
historical event and more an understandable, broadly applicable moral lesson
transcending historical context. When I asked what the movie taught them, Julie told me:
“It really makes me feel that our generation never, ever let anything happen like this
again. And I think that it’s our job to not let this happen again.” She later added,

It really just boils down to how cruel humanity can be. It boils down to what

happens when we let prejudice and hate come so far that we kill six million, no

seven million people, seven million Jews to cleanse the race. And that’s really
horrible.
Amy also echoed the idea of prejudice and hate out of control. She told me:

It kind of made me feel like, ‘How could people do this?’ I know we talked about

the Treaty of Versailles and how like everything kind of lead up to it, but it’s like

[the German perpetrators] aren’t human beings. . .. And it’s like so that happened

in the past, but could it happen again today? Like there have been genocides

255

since then, and it’s just kind of hard to think about how people just let this hate

completely rule their lives.

She agreed with Julie that preventing genocide from happening again was a universal
lesson of the Holocaust and global duty. She said, “Americans shouldn’t just be
concerned with the United States. I mean, we should be concerned about the world. It’s
our world, we’re all human beings. It’s not about like race or country.”

Brad, like Julie, had a very personal reaction to The Pianist. When asked what he
learned from the ﬁlm he said, “I was really looking at racism, because I’m an Arab
American myself and ever since 9/11 I’ve gotten so many racist remarks. . .. It just
reminded me like how serious racism can get in one spot and how it can spread so
easily.” He later added, “It reminds you it’s notjust the Jews, it’s like everybody. . ..
Like the racism against Blacks, it shows you really the true side and how people let
things get out of control. It’s notjust one race, it’s like so many.” For Brad, the
Holocaust became such a universal humanitarian lesson that it had less to do with the
speciﬁc attempt to exterminate the Jewish people and more to do with the dangers of
racism writ large that could strike any racial group at any time.

What these three students say they learned from Kellie’s lesson suggests that deep
intellectual engagement with hard, enduring historical issues is elusive in how even
smart, well-intentioned teachers use feature ﬁlms to teach history. The problem is not
that Kellie used a Holocaust movie to get her students to think about universal
humanitarian concerns; such a moral response is probably natural and healthy in a
democratic society. But if Kellie’s lesson was successful in getting these three students

to ask questions about how the Holocaust could happen, why people do such terrible

256

things to other people, and how to prevent genocides in the ﬁrture, her lesson did not help
students confront the hard political, social, economic, and historical complications behind
those questions or grapple with difﬁcult answers. These students readily embraced
“never again” in response to the Holocaust but were unable to articulate how to achieve it
or why racial mass violence has continued to the present day.

Learning history. So what did Kellie’s lesson accomplish in terms of teaching
and Ieaming history? Table 4.4 summarizes the lesson viewed along the functions laid
out in the pedagogical content analysis framework (chapter 3).

Table 4.4

Kellie ’s Lesson Viewed in Terms of Pedagogical Functions of History Films

 

The Pianist dramatizes Nazi-occupied Poland in rich detail, yet its main
Content coverage subject (the Warsaw Ghetto) is only a narrow subset of her broader

WWII/Holocaust unit
Kellie framed The Pianist as a movie about the Holocaust, yet its narrative!
Period never actually goes to the death camps; Kellie’s ﬁeld trip to the Holocaust
representation museum served as a useful companion experience to the ﬁlm’s limited
representation

 

Kellie was aware of the ﬁlm’s basis in Szpilman’s autobiography and put
faith in the veracity of its historical constructions by its reputation; the
ﬁlm’s rich, subtle details (uniforms to distinguish different groups, use of
different languages, etc.) were not pointed out to the students who likely
could not notice them on their own

................................................................................................................. ,
The Pianist constructs the transcendent humanity of Szpilman and his

Social family; their commonalities as Polish citizens are stressed over their
construction Jewishness; Kellie discussed the Jewish characters mainly in human terms
and rarely uniquely as Jews

Historical
construction

 

Transcendent universality was at the heart of Kellie’s lesson in questions
like, “What would you have done if you were in Szpilman’s place?”

u-------9----.ooun---0--ICO-.---------------DCOOOOOQOOCO0-.----CC-------Q------n---D---.-u-OOOQOOODIO-OOO-C. ......

Kellie used the graphic brutality depicted in the ﬁlm to dramatize the
horrors of the Holocaust; Kellie’s lectures emphasized the Nazis’ attempted
Moral response genocide of the Jews, after the ﬁlm she stressed the universality of the
Nazis’ moral crimes over the uniqueness and incomprehensibility of Jewish
suffering

 

 

 

 

257

Content coverage and historical construction stand out in Kellie’s lesson in ways
that indicate how problematic these pedagogical ﬁrnctions can be in the classroom. The
Pianist is ﬁlled with rich historical detail about the German occupation of Poland, anti-
Semitism, and the Holocaust. However, the focus of this content coverage (the Warsaw
Ghetto and uprising) is, ultimately, a narrow subset of the broader unit (the Second World
War). In a similar vein, the ﬁlm lesson was designed to cover the Holocaust—yet the
period representation of The Pianist actually never includes the death camps where the
vast majority of murdered Jews died. The death camps are part of the backdrop, of
course (in the ﬁlm Szpilman’s family are loaded onto trains to the camps), but the ﬁlm _
narrative is not really about them. Kellie’s unit, however, provided students with a
visceral encounter with the camps through the ﬁeld trip to the Holocaust museum. Thus,
there is an impressive totality to Kellie’s lesson, reﬂecting the potential need for ﬁlm-
based lessons to provide extra content beyond a ﬁlm’s scope.

Kellie made an important place for historical construction in her lesson. From the
beginning, she stressed to students that the ﬁlm was an adaptation of Szpilman’s
autobiography, a true story. Her initial homework assignment (Figure 4.5) required the
students to research how the ﬁlm came to be made, choices that director Polanski made,
and background details about the events. Though Kellie had not read Szpilman’s
memoirs, she put faith in the ﬁlm’s veracity by its reputation as a true story.
Furthermore, The Pianist presents a difﬁcult challenge because it is rich with details like
uniforms, language, weapons used to convey subtle information about how the historical
narrative was constructed. Kellie did not directly engage her students with these details,

and it seemed unlikely that her students could intuit them on their own. Not explicitly

258

engaging students in such rich details of historical construction seems to under-use the
ﬁlm’s potential, but explicitly engaging students in them requires considerable class time
and expertise. With limited time and energy, teachers face a dilemma in how much of a
ﬁlm’s potential they can afford to engage explicitly with students.

Kellie’s lesson framed the Holocaust as transcendent and universal human
experience. Her post-ﬁlm discussion aimed at eliciting empathy in this regard by asking
students to contemplate what they would do if they were in Szpilman’s position. That the
Holocaust targeted Jews (overwhelmingly) was downplayed and its universality
highlighted in getting students to think if something similar could ever happen to them
and, if so, what they would do. The lesson’s overarching moral response to the
Holocaust was as a human tragedy transcending historical context. Kellie stressed the
universality of the Nazis’ crimes over the uniqueness and incomprehensibility of the
Holocaust. The message was, as one young woman astutely noted, “How can people be
so cruel to each other?” Of course, in many ways this is a very relevant question since
there is still racial/ethnic hatred and mass violence ongoing in the world today, but
Kellie’s lesson did not engage very deeply with the historical complexities of the
student’s question.

Taking Stock

Kellie’s case represents one more possible mode for using history feature ﬁlms in
the classroom—as an in-depth departure from regular class routine to engage in deep,
prolonged study of a particular topic. In Kellie’s case, deep study did not mean simply
watching a movie for several class periods; her in-depth experience included supporting

lectures and a ﬁeld trip to a Holocaust museum. Her goal was to let her students see the

259

horror of the Holocaust through a visually graphic, emotionally powerful, and highly
authentic feature ﬁlm and to generalize universal moral lessons of the Holocaust.

Kellie did what was necessary to adjust her ﬁlm-based lesson to the circumstances
of schooling. She secured parental permission slips because of the ﬁlm’s R rating for
disturbing violence. She showed the lengthy movie over ﬁve class periods, even though
doing so sprawled over two different weeks (due to the ﬁeld trip) and required her to
spend a few minutes at the start of each class period trying to ﬁgure out where her
students remembered leaving off at the end of the previous period. Furthermore, she
provided students with discussion questions and framed the ﬁlm in a way that contained
the range of student engagement. Her ﬁlm-based lesson motivated student interest within
manageable boundaries, without letting student enthusiasm spill over into uncontrollable
questions and discussions that would have taken too long or would have been too
complicated to handle within reasonable time limits.

Kellie’s lesson demonstrates the potential for teachers to use history feature ﬁlms
to support in-depth study of a historical topic. She combined the ﬁlm with content
lectures and a trip to a Holocaust museum to maximize the unit’s comprehensiveness and
educational impact. Kellie’s case also points to some difﬁculties. Film choice can be an
intricate process. She changed her mind about what ﬁlm to use based on her educational
goals, but she did not make this decision lightly. A ﬁlm’s ﬁt with community and school
cultures and standards is an unavoidable concern—both Kellie and Isabel talked about the
Ottawa HS parent protesting the classroom use of Saving Private Ryan. Kellie was
hesitant to use the R-rated The Pianist, but ultimately she faced this added risk because

she felt it was the sounder educational choice.

260

History movies like The Pianist contain a dense information load. It is difﬁcult
for teachers to ﬁnd the time or develop the subject matter expertise required to deal with
such historically rich detail. When students are not guided toward deeper intellectual
engagement with the ﬁlm’s historical content, they are likely to gravitate toward what is
most naturally comprehensible to them—personalities. Thus, in Kellie’s lesson most
students wanted to talk about what Szpilman was really like, his psychology, and what
happened to his family or other characters in the ﬁlm rather than seeking to relate
Szpilman’s experience and the events depicted in the movie to the broader historical
themes in the WWII/Holocaust curricular unit.

Seeing the Past Through Safe Coverage

As we look across the four cases, we see that Regina, Marie, Isabel, and Kellie
chieﬂy used history feature ﬁlms to help students visualize the past. Regina wanted to
show her students what communism in Mao’s era was really like for China. Marie
wanted her students to see the brutality of slavery in American history. Isabel wanted to
show her students what ﬁghting in the First World War was like. Kellie wanted her
students to see the suffering endured by Jews during World War II as well as Jewish
resistance to the Holocaust.

Their cases suggest why history teachers are drawn to using feature ﬁlms in the
classroom. For teachers looking to make their students care about history, movies
uniquely supply the past with a semblance of “reality” through human stories, motion,
and sound. Movies humanize the past by visually depicting recognizable people (movie
stars playing identiﬁable roles) in comprehendible situations (contained, linear narrative

plots). This ability to make the past come alive (“It’s kind of like you’re there,” in the

261

words of Kellie’s student Amy) is something to which students respond positively. The
youth-culture appeal of movies makes them attractive to teachers, although their allure to
adolescents can wane over time as popular culture shifts; as a ﬁlm ages, it can seem less a
part of contemporary youth culture and more an artifact of an older generation (hence
why several of the teachers avoided using black-and-white ﬁlms). Thus, teachers often
carefully pick movies both to cover content and stimulate student interest.

History movies have considerable educational potential to depict the past in ways
that raise provocative educative questions and that go beyond traditional teacher-centered
modes of instruction like lecture and textbooks. And yet, the four teachers in this study
did not actually use movies in ways different from how other classroom texts are
normally used—the movies were set-up by teacher-directed lectures, guided by teacher-
supplied questions, and examined (in varying degrees of length) through teacher-scripted
discussions. Nor did they use the movies to fuel deeper intellectual engagement with the
historical topics. If these four teachers are typical, it seems that the revolutionary
potential of history feature ﬁlms is difﬁcult to realize in the classroom. Why?

To understand why teachers are likely to use non-traditional instructional texts
like movies in conservative, traditional ways, we must consider the nature of schooling.
Larry Cuban (1984/ 1993) has described high schools (the level at which three of the four
teachers in this study taught) as a graveyard of progressive, student-centered reform
ideas. Teachers, he argues, historically have hybridized new instructional ideas largely
within the scope of traditional, teacher-centered approaches because their pedagogical
choices are situationally constrained by the structure of schooling. Movies may be no

exception. Teachers who want to bring movies into their classroom still must deal with

262

the ﬁxed organization of school (periods, bells, terms, prescribed curricula), students of
diverse backgrounds and Ieaming abilities, parental concerns and expectations, and
community norms. These circumstances of schooling may get in the way of what David
Cohen (1988) has called “adventurous” teaching. Cohen (1988) describes teaching as an
“impossible profession” because of the risks and uncertainties involved in working with
young people for human improvement. Thus, teachers tend to favor traditional modes of
instruction in which their control is maximized and vulnerability minimized.
Given the complicated circumstances of schooling, Magdalene Lampert (1985)
has asked, how do teachers manage to teach? Teachers, she points out, must cope with a
host of competing dilemmas. Lampert (2001) explains,
The problems in teaching are many. Teachers face some students who do not
want to learn what they want to teach, some who already know it, or think they
do, and some who are poorly prepared to study what is taught. They must ﬁgure
out how to teach each student, while working with a class of students who are all
different from one another. They must respond to the many authorities who tell
them what to teach. They have a limited amount of time to teach what needs to be
taught, and they are interrupted often. (p. 1)
These were issues that Regina, Marie, Isabel, and Kellie grappled with in their ﬁlm-based
lessons. They wondered whether all of their students were mature enough to handle or
understand the movies. They responded to school, community, or curriculum pressures
about what ﬁlms and topics they could teach. They faced limits on instructional time—

Regina and Isabel said they wished they could do even more with ﬁlm but felt they could

263

not afford the class time for it. Just like any other instructional choice, then, movies are
constrained by practical considerations.

The circumstances of schooling get in the way of substantive, meaningful uses of
history ﬁlms. Kellie already devoted ﬁve periods to The Pianist and would have been
hard-pressed to spend even more time on student-directed discussions or exploring
complex questions. Getting students to recognize the evils of genocide is manageable;
getting them to understand the difficulties in stopping genocides since the Holocaust is
harder and more time-intensive. Showing select ﬁlm clips as an addition to her lectures
was manageable for Isabel; spending more time on whole ﬁlms would take time away
from covering curriculum standards. Using Roots to expose her White eighth graders to
African American history was manageable for Marie; confronting the legacy of slavery
and racism with adolescents would be much more intellectually demanding and
controversial. These teachers reconciled their use of ﬁlm to the realities of schooling,
with the result that their ﬁlm-based lessons were relatively safe, traditional, and not
particularly engaged intellectually. Regina, the one teacher in this study who tried to use
ﬁlm in a non-traditional way by bringing all her classes together for a full day to watch
the ﬁlm and then spend a couple hours in the afternoon discussing the movie, was
completely foiled by the circumstances of schooling. Her lesson conﬂicted with
organization of the school day, many students could not get out of their classes for the
entire day, and hourly bells triggered a migration of coming and going pupils. Schedule
conﬂict with the school band scrubbed Regina’s plan for the afternoon of discussion and

disrupted her control over the behavior of 100 or so students under her charge. Regina

264

was forced to jettison the planned ﬁlm discussions and turn her questions into a silent,
individual writing assignment.

Mary Kennedy (2005) cautions that there are “nonnegotiable circumstances of
teaching” which educational reformers need to keep in mind: “Teaching requires a large
number of students to occupy a small space; students are novice thinkers and are highly
likely to veer off in unanticipated directions; and children are physically active, quickly
bored, and frequently restless” (p. 234). Whatever the revolutionary potential of history
feature ﬁlms, their instructional use is not free from the circumstances of teaching.
Indeed, movies may prove especially challenging because, unlike textbooks, worksheets,
and other traditional school materials, they are not exclusively in the teacher’s domain.
Movies are in the popular-culture domain and part of students’ personal lives. This
characteristic can mean that students get excited when movies come into their classroom,
but also that they may want to do things with movies that the teacher is not prepared for
or does not want to address. History movies can open up a Pandora’s Box of questions or
observations from students, and teachers cannot deal with them all.

As a result, teachers need to keep control over the timing and ﬂow of ﬁlm-based
lessons. If they give up too much control, the classroom can become chaotic and
cacophonic and the lesson can get off track in terms of time and focus. This may explain
why in the four cases I observed so many instances of what Kennedy (2005) calls
“dismissal”—teachers putting off students’ questions and comments (I don’t have an
answer for that now... We’ll talk about that issue later. . .). A ﬁlm’s dense information

load could result in potentially endless student questions and comments, so the teacher

265

must keep the lesson on track and not get bogged down, even if this means avoiding
issues that individual students ﬁnd interesting or important.

Maintaining control may come at the cost of deeper intellectual engagement with
the ﬁlm. All four teachers in my study sought to contain the depth of intellectual
engagement by guiding their students to focus superﬁcially on plot, characters, or
comfortable moral lesson rather than to debate the ﬁlms’ historical content or
controversial messages about the past and our world today. The teachers wanted to take
advantage of the visual and emotional power of movies and to stimulate student interest,
but on their terms and within controllable limits. It seems counterintuitive that teachers
would seek to arouse student enthusiasm by showing movies but then contain the level of
student engagement with the ﬁlm and its historical topics. Kennedy (2005) offers an
explanation:

If teachers succeed in engaging students intellectually, then students, in their

enthusiasm, are likely to share their partial thoughts and their misconceptions with

the group, creating for teachers the problem of how to respond to these comments
while also keeping the larger group on track and maintaining momentum. Given
how frightened teachers are of distractions, it is easy to imagine that many
teachers would actually prefer not to have students too enthusiastic about the
content, because they would rather not have students volunteering all their

thoughts. (pp. 122-123)

In other words, teachers cannot risk letting the classroom become a verbal free-
for-all because students may veer off in unexpected or distracting directions, raise

inappropriate or unwanted questions or topics, or share conﬁrsing ideas about the ﬁlm or

266

history. Deeply engaged student-centered approaches to ﬁlm-based lessons could
become too unwieldy, too raucous, and too long. As Kennedy (2005) points out,
“Teachers can't permit too much engagement, because the more engaged students are
with an idea, the more they will want to pursue it. Yet eventually they must move on” (p.
124). Thus, teachers try to develop practices “that keep intellectual engagement within
manageable boundaries” (Kennedy, 2005, p. 123).

In her study of elementary classrooms, Kennedy (2005) found that teachers
“appeared to seek an optimal level of student engagement that was not too low but also
not too high” (p. 183). Based on the four cases in this study, I suggest that this is likely
to be true for the instructional uses of history movies even at the secondary level.
Regina, Marie, Isabel, and Kellie wanted their students to like the chosen movies and get
interested in their topics, but discussion was largely teacher-scripted and limited (around
half an hour for Kellie, around seven minutes for Isabel, less than one minute for Marie,
and cancelled altogether by Regina). The four teachers had speciﬁc goals for using ﬁlm
and did not want to risk straying beyond them.

History movies, then, may end up being used to passively engage with
manageable historical content. Teachers can use dramatic ﬁlms as visually and
emotionally stimulating reinforcement of content; the four teachers in my study were
hesitant to rely on them for coverage of required content. What to do about absent
students and uncertainty about requiring content from ﬁlms on tests were reasons these
teachers cited. As a result, their ﬁlm-based lessons became a nice “extra” for students
who happened to be there for it. Such optional lessons may be less likely to require or

encourage active intellectual engagement.

267

Maintaining student compliance is an inescapable aspect of teaching. Like any
other instructional interaction, ﬁlm-based lessons are constrained by the dynamics of tacit
bargaining between how much rigorous Ieaming teachers can ask of students in return for
their continued cooperation (Sedlak, Wheeler, Pulling, & Cusick, 1986). Linda McNeil
(1986) has noted that teachers, outnumbered by pupils and feeling the tenuous nature of
their authority, simplify content and reduce academic demands in exchange for classroom
order and student compliance. It is a phenomenon that Reba Page (1999) has called
“kickbacks” and “kicking back”: The teacher avoids angering students or their parents by
making minimal demands, and in return the students get to avoid rigorous work.

Most students like watching movies, and teachers may be attracted to using ﬁlms
because students typically cooperate with ﬁlm-based lessons. When the movie is
appealing, appropriate, and connected to understandable instructional ends, students are
happy to watch them in class even if they do not do much with them. But as Amy’s
frustration with Aladdin and Brad’s complaint about Ice Age demonstrate, uses of ﬁlm
that seem purposeless or brainless can be resented by students. On the other hand,
adventurous ﬁlm-based lessons that require rigorous intellectual engagement and
demanding work may threaten student compliance with the teacher. The middle course
for ﬁlm-based lessons is safe coverage—using movies that comfortably ﬁt within school
climate and local community culture as extra visual reinforcement for basic historical
content in ways that avoid unnecessary controversy or parent and student backlash. Of
course, this is not to say that it is impossible to use ﬁlms in the classroom in adventurous
or academically demanding ways, only that the circumstances of teaching make it

exceedingly difﬁcult.

268

Teachers may tend toward using ﬁlms in traditional, teacher-centered, fact-
oriented ways because this is safest. Movies often raise profound moral questions (for
example, Roots and the legacy of slavery in the U.S., or The Pianist and moral responses
to hate and mass violence). But teachers face dangers if they bring profound moral
questions into school—they surrender some of their control and become more dependent
on students’ thinking, and they potentially open themselves to charges of indoctrinating
children and could face angry parents. Also, they themselves simply may feel
uncomfortable addressing profound or painful issues (such as social justice, racism,
genocide, or rape) for which they may not have clear understanding or answers.
Speaking about moral issues with others, especially children, is treacherous territory.
Thus, even though teachers are drawn to the visual and emotional power of history

movies, they may be equally drawn to traditional, safe ways of teaching with them.

269

Chapter 5
Conclusion: The Place of History Feature Films in Historical Literacy

This concluding chapter summarizes what we can learn about the interactions
between history ﬁlms, teachers, and students. First, I return to the guiding questions that
prompted this study and consider why teachers use history movies in the classroom.
Next, I consider some intellectual competencies that relate to learning about the past from
history movies and connect them to a vision of historical literacy. Finally, I discuss
some practical implications of history ﬁlms on teaching and learning in the classroom
and suggest directions for further research.

Addressing the Questions

I begin by returning to the questions that drove this inquiry. The ﬁrst question:
“What can students learn about the past, the people in it, and its relationship to our world
today from history movies?” What students can learn from the instructional use of
history ﬁlms is shaped by the ﬁlm’s qualities and the ways that the teacher’s lesson
activates them. Teachers have no control over what a commercial feature ﬁlm contains.
They can choose a particular ﬁlm over another, or they can selectively use only particular
scenes or elements in a ﬁlm to meet a speciﬁc purpose, but ultimately they are
constrained by the chosen ﬁlm’s content and composition. If a teacher’s lesson fails to
use the movie in purposeful, meaningful ways then it may end up solely as passing
entertainment or time ﬁller. Two of Kellie’s students (Amy and Brad) negatively
reﬂected on teachers who showed movies (Aladdin, Ice Age) that did not strike them as
appropriately connected to a lesson or unit. They were neither entertained nor impressed

by these experiences with movies in the classroom.

270

Understanding the educational potential of history movies requires a schema for
considering a ﬁlm’s historical content, representations of eras and people in the past, and
themes and messages about the past. In this dissertation, I have offered a framework for
pedagogical content analysis of history ﬁlms along three pairs of related pedagogical
functions. Content coverage and period representation examine issues of historical fact
and ﬁction in a ﬁlm’s narratives and how it presents the past. Historical construction and
social construction examine how a ﬁlm actively constructs both an approach to history as
well as people in history. Empathy and moral response examine how a ﬁlm encourages
the viewer to react to the past. Viewed cumulatively, these pedagogical functions point
to what a ﬁlm teaches about the past and the kinds of deeper historical questions ﬁlms
can raise. In classrooms, one of the most valuable things that a pedagogical content
analysis can do is to base instruction and activities in thematic educative questions that
emerge from a careful consideration of the ﬁlm.

Furthermore, it is important to contemplate history movies as a new mode of
historical storytelling. Each history feature ﬁlm is grounded in a style of storytelling
shaped by the twin dynamics of authenticity and imagination—the need to be real and to
be creative. Many ﬁlms careﬁrlly blend factual history and ﬁctional drama together to
make metaphorical statements about the past (Toplin, 2002b). Activating the educational
potential of history movies requires negotiating this tension. Learning content knowledge
is an important purpose for studying history in schools, so being attentive to historical
accuracy is very appropriate when looking at instructional uses of history movies. But
most history movies (at least commercial mainstream releases) are not meant to be

scholarly works. Toplin (1996a) suggests that if critics hold history movies to the same

271

standards as published works of history “we are almost certain to be disappointed, for
ﬁlmmakers must attend to the demands of drama and the challenges of working with
incomplete evidence” (p. 10). Historians also must deal with incomplete evidence, but
their written medium is not necessarily dramatic. Thus, imagination is an essential
element of ﬁlmic historical storytelling. It is also a crucial reason why the dramatic
history feature ﬁlm is a popular and respected part of popular culture. Imagination lets
ﬁlmmakers communicate messages about the past and draw connections to the present 1
beyond what a strict adherence to evidentiary authenticity could allow.

The educative potential of history movies is inseparably tied to issues of historical
storytelling. History movies balance the need for authenticity with imagination to create
emotionally powerful visual and auditory statements about the past in light of the present.
In some ways, they are similar to works of written history. Historians, too, are inﬂuenced
by present-day interests and concerns and must make choices about what perspectives to
include, how to interpret historical uncertainties, how to divide up periods of time.
Scholarly, written history, however, is constrained by professional standards (disputed
and evolving but a real presence nonetheless) for evidence and argumentation.
Filmmakers, coming from traditions of storytelling, have greater freedom to use
imagination in how they approach perspectives, uncertainties about the past, and
periodization of time. This power of imagination gives ﬁlmmakers license to incorporate
myths—longstanding, inﬂuential cultural notions and beliefs—into their stories.
Regardless of whether or not they are strictly historically accurate, myths resonate
emotionally and psychologically with viewers who are part of its cultural context. Toplin

( 1996a) has observed:

272

Not surprisingly, myth has found a prominent place in movies about the past. In

studying the record of cinematic history, the challenge is not simply to denounce

myth’s presence but to distinguish between falsely distorted myths and

impressively imaginative efforts to speak the truth through mythic images. (p. 13)
In other words, history movies have the potential both to distort the past as well as to
communicate deeper historical truths through mythic, imaginative storytelling.
Awareness of this dynamic is necessary to tap into the full educational potential of
history movies.

Films have the power to stimulate historical thinking in meaningful ways, but
whether they will accomplish this in the classroom depends on what teachers do with
them. Rosenstone (2002) usefully describes three ways they can be used to further
historical thinking. Films can “vision history” by providing some idea of how events and
people of the past looked/sounded; they can “contest history” by critiquing unquestioned,
received notions about the past; and they can “revision history” by using expressive
modes of visual representation link aesthetics to moral judgment about the past and the ,
present (Rosenstone, 2002, p. 478).

In my study, all four teachers used their ﬁlm choices to en-vision history for their
students. They wanted to help students imagine and understand the past by bringing the
past “to life” visually. Most of them also wanted their students to re-vision history to
some extent as well (Regina with the dark side of Maoist communism, Marie with the
psychological trauma of slavery, Kellie with the humanitarian tragedy of the Holocaust).
That is, they worried that students did not possess developed views on important

intellectual, moral, or ethical topics and used ﬁlms to stimulate development in a desired

273

direction. I am not certain if the teachers I observed were able to contest history in their
ﬁlm-based lessons. This may be the most difficult way to use movies because it
intentionally makes comfortable notions about the past uncomfortable. To the extent that
it courts controversy, contesting history could stir up trouble with parents. Perhaps for
these reasons, teachers are hesitant to attempt it.

The second question: “What movies do teachers use in the classroom, in what
ways, and to what purposes and educational ends?” When it comes to movies, teachers
are drawn to what Rosenstone (1995b; 2002) has called “history as drama” or the
“dramatic feature ﬁlm”—dramatized, narrative historical storytelling. They are not the
only visual media teachers use; all four teachers in my study also used historical
documentary videos in their classes and said they used more of them than feature ﬁlms.
Films are not used in uniform ways and not necessarily in their entirety; in my study,
Regina showed To Live as part of an all-day special event (although coming and going as
they did, not all students experienced the full day), Marie thematically threaded the Roots
series across a semester, Isabel injected a short clip from Legends of the Fall into a
lecture presentation, and Kellie showed an entire ﬁlm (The Pianist) divided up across
several class periods. Thus, the four teachers demonstrated that movies have a surprising
ﬂexibility in how they can be used. They did not demonstrate any one dominant way that
teachers use ﬁlms, and even the kinds of discussions and questions that came after the
ﬁlms varied considerably.

My limited sample conﬁrms what other researchers have noted—that history
teachers eagerly employ a range of movies in their classroom instruction. Stoddard and

Marcus (in press) surveyed teachers and found that they frequently used Glory, Amistad,

274

Schindler ’s List, Saving Private Ryan, and Dances with Wolves. In addition to the ﬁlms I
observed, the teachers in my sample mentioned other titles that they also use or have used
before: The Alamo, April Morning, The Cotton Club, The Crossing, Disney’s Tall Tales,
Far and Away, Forrest Gump, Gallipoli, Gandhi, Gettysburg, Gladiator, The Godfather
Part1], Hidalgo, Kundun, The Patriot, Pearl Harbor, and T raﬂic. Regina has shown
other international ﬁlms like Osama, My Life as a Dog, and The Seven Samurai, and
Kellie previously has used the Italian ﬁlm Life Is Beautiful. All four teachers stressed, to
some extent, a belief that the vicarious realism of feature ﬁlms appealed to students in a
way no other instructional material could, including documentary videos. Regina and
Isabel said that they always preferred to use feature ﬁlms (especially newer ones) instead
of documentaries (particularly older ones) whenever they could ﬁnd appropriate titles.
The four teachers in my study challenge the conventional folklore that teachers
show movies in class just to take up time. None of these teachers used movies as a way
to avoid teaching—they used them as consciously selected tools to meet curricular and/or
instructional goals. This is not to say that a pleasant “break” for the teacher and students
from the normal classroom routine cannot be a consequence. But all my teachers seemed
to have carefully constructed rationales for why they used a ﬁlm in their lessons.1 For '
each teacher, the desire to get their students to care about the past and its connection to
our world today was central. These teachers harnessed the visual and emotional power of
history dramatic feature ﬁlms in their lessons, engaging their students with a narrative

story told from a human perspective to which they could relate. However, these teachers

 

' Of course, this could result from my presence. Teachers might have not wanted to admit that they used
ﬁlms for a break or have an observer witness them doing so. Either way, the teachers’ rationales and plans
existed mainly in their heads. I asked all of them for copies of their unit plans, but none of them had
written plans to give me. Only Kellie gave me a photocopied packet that contained her lecture notes and
some intemet printouts she used for background.

275

also strove to keep students’ intellectual engagement with the ﬁlms and historical topics
within manageable boundaries. They did not want to risk too much student enthusiasm '
or intellectual engagement, which could raise awkward or unplanned questions or issues
that threaten the teacher’s control over lesson timing and momentum. Thus, the teachers
tended toward safe, traditional, teacher-directed uses of ﬁlms as classroom texts.

Why Do Teachers Use History Movies?

All four teachers in my study used ﬁlms for their lessons because they found a
title that aligned up with particular topics and brought them to life for students in a way
no other instructional technique could. It is not that these teachers felt they had to use a
movie for their units. They certainly had other options. But once these teachers had
found ﬁlm choices that they felt were a good ﬁt for their curricular units, they brought
them into their classrooms eagerly—and, in the cases of Regina, Marie, and Isabel (who
had shown their ﬁlm choices for the past several years), repeatedly.

Why are these teachers, and others like them, drawn to history feature ﬁlms in
their lessons? I can theorize some possible explanations. Something about movies as an
art form seems to resonate with what history teachers feel is a key purpose of studying
history and social studies in schools. These subjects are part of the liberal arts and
humanities, which have a longstanding purpose in a democratic society of humanizing
future citizens, inculcating in the next generation broad, civic-minded sensitivities.
Dramatic history movies are, by their very nature, a visceral, emotionally powerful way
to experience history. As we have seen, empathy is a central function of movies. History
movies, like school history curriculum, play a humanizing role as well—they seek to

generate empathy on the part of the viewer with perspectives in the past and to

276

communicate deep-felt moral or ethical responses. Teachers may be drawn to history
movies in history classrooms because of their shared humanizing potential.

In addition to their humanizing role for the individual, movies are also socializing
experiences. They exist in a wider context beyond the classroom. Films are circulated
nationally and increasingly globally at the same time. Movies are in theaters and video
stores, on television and the intemet, and circulate in public discourses involving millions
of people who see them. They become part of what Wertsch (2002) calls a “cultural
toolkit”—the commonly available pool of text resources that provide narratives people
employ to describe their world and their place in it.

Teachers may be drawn to history movies speciﬁcally because they are cultural
texts outside the standard school curriculum. They possess a popular relevance to young
people that ofﬁcial curricular texts never will. Movies exist in a broader social discourse
that lets students actively participate in what meanings they choose to make of them,
while the traditional textbook represents an ofﬁcial version of what somebody else says is
important. Thus, history movies can give students a sense of ownership over the lessons
and understandings they draw from them. Insomuch as ﬁlms usually reﬂect on cultural
norms and values of the society in which (or for which) they are made, their socializing
role is closely linked to their humanizing role. This makes them doubly potent for
teachers.

Simply put, movies can do something that textbooks cannot. There are other texts
and experiences that may play similar roles (reading novels, viewing art, visiting
museums), but those instructional tools were not the focus of this inquiry. Furthermore,

they lack at least one of the components of the feature ﬁlm—novels typically are not

277

visual, graphic art lacks movement and sound, museums are not narrative human dramas.
As instructional tools, ﬁlms permit teachers to address a range of different (and
sometimes conﬂicting) motivations at once. For example, they can allow teachers to give
students a pleasant break from normal class routine while at the same time “covering”
more course content or presenting a particular worldview the teacher feels is important.
They can even make space for the teacher to attend to personal needs while still
providing students with powerful Ieaming opportunities—if the teacher cannot be
physically present, it is still possible to have an educationally effective ﬁlm lesson if he
or she does the upfront work of scaffolding the viewing experience for students through
preparation, extra support resources, and classroom activities. Given their tremendous
ﬂexibility, cultural signiﬁcance, and power to make students care about the past, it is
hardly surprising that teachers are so drawn to the instructional use of history ﬁlms.
Toward a Theory of Historical Literacy

So how can history feature ﬁlms meaningful inform Ieaming about the past? It is
necessary to consider how they connect to historical literacy. Literacy, at heart, is the
mastery and application of communication. It involves perceiving and comprehending V
messages and ideas, analyzing their explicit and implied meanings and the manner in
which they are conveyed, and formulating communicable messages and ideas in
response. Traditionally, notions of literacy have revolved around reading and writing text
(Lankshear, 1999). However, Lankshear (1999) points out an important sociocultural
component. Literacy is socially constructed—reading and writing are sociocultural
interactions grounded in political, economic, and historical practices. Most texts,

especially commercial ones, are produced for broader audiences by creators who are

278

 

themselves inﬂuenced by sociocultural factors. It is helpful to think of literacy more
generally as understanding social communication, including not just traditional print texts
but also newer media like video and ﬁlm.

Furthermore, bodies of knowledge are types of communication, as information I
and ideas are exchanged between practitioners and learners. Thus, it is possible to think
in terms of subject area literacy—the mastery and application of communicating
information and ideas in a content domain, like history. In the late 19805, the Bradley
Commission on History in the Schools published Historical Literacy: The Case for
History in American Education (Gagnon, 1989). The contributing scholars offered a rich
picture of historical literacy as intellectually engaged, humanistic, and based in rigorous
content knowledge. In other words, historical literacy involves both Ieaming something
meaningful about the past and doing something meaningful with that knowledge by
applying it to broader, signiﬁcant concepts. This view of broader signiﬁcance as a
deﬁning characteristic of historical literacy is visible in two national standards for history
curriculum released over the past 10 years (National Center for History in the Schools,
1996; World History for Us All, n.d.). These standards documents counsel teachers to
relate particular subject matter to larger patterns of historical meaning and signiﬁcance.

In the classroom, history feature ﬁlms become sociocultural, audiovisual texts
“read” by students. What makes history movies challenging to use instructionally is that
they represent a variety of different things. Movies are commercial products made for .
proﬁt by a mass industry (Giroux, 2002). They are popular entertainments that exist as a
part of youth culture and are appropriated into young people’s lives in a variety of

different ways (Buckingham, 2003). They are public texts that people can commonly

279

refer to when communicating ideas about the world in the past and present (Wertsch,
2002). They are depictions of information or understandings about the past intentionally
constructed in particular ways to convey particular messages (Rosenstone, 1995b). The
task of the teacher is to scaffold the viewing experience for students in ways that help
them make navigate these different features of ﬁlm.

However, as we have seen in this dissertation, it can be precarious for teachers to
use movies in intellectually engaged ways. The structure of schooling—periods, bells,
interruptions, coverage, pacing, assessments, ﬁxed curricula—often puts up barriers to
deeply rigorous ﬁlm-based lesson. It is quite possible for movies to join many other
common instructional tools that do not particularly contribute to historical literacy.
Wineburg and Martin (2004) complain that in many classrooms an obsession with
intemet search engines, computer slideshows, and other visual displays undercuts real
historical literacy, which requires reading primary and secondary sources, analyzing their
meaning, and writing about this historical thinking. Applying their warning to fihn-based
lessons, history movies risk becoming a distraction from historical literacy if students
only passively engage with a ﬁlm’s ideas and content and do not have to think very hard
or communicate what they learn.

Divorced from historical literacy, history feature ﬁlms can end up doing very little
or, even worse, doing mischief. The dominant narrative in a well-made history movie is
emotionally powerful, memorable, and persuasive. When students watch history movies
without the support of sufficient content knowledge and nuanced understandings of
history, a possible (perhaps probable) outcome is for the ﬁlmic account to “colonize”

their thinking about the past—taking up residence in the mind as a kind of literal truth, as

280

VanSledright (2002) and Wineburg, Mosborg, and Porat (2000) found when talking with
students about the historical events behind the Disney’s Pocahontas. If history feature
ﬁlms as classroom texts are to help students develop competencies in historical literacy,
they need to be “read” by students in a lesson that guides them in identifying important
information and ideas about the past and relating this knowledge to broader patterns of
historical signiﬁcance.

Competencies for Historical Literacy

So what might some speciﬁc competencies look like and how could instructional
uses of history feature ﬁlms support them? Here I nominate ﬁve that reﬂect major
proﬁciencies in historical thinking advocated in research literature on history education.
By no means is this list exhaustive or exclusive, nor is it in order of primacy, but it is a
useful starting point toward a theory for historical literacy that incorporates a role for
visual media like feature ﬁlms.

Learning and using content knowledge. Like any academic subject, history
contains a surfeit of detail that cannot possibly be covered entirely. Identifying important
content and arranging detailed facts in support of a broader, signiﬁcant conceptualization
of the past is essential to rigorous historical Ieaming. Wilson and Sykes (1989) have
argued that good history teaching involves more than just memorizing facts—good
teaching helps students see the creative forces behind history writing and the tentative,
interpretive nature of historical knowledge.

History feature ﬁlms can be powerful tools for meeting these goals. They
reconstruct a past event or imagine what the past was like during a dramatic or engaging

moment (a very common example are history movies set during wars). In this way,

281

history movies enable students to learn factual information about a historical topic or
period while being entertained (by the action scenes, human stories, or emotional
subplots). History movies contain numerous details about the past as well as ﬁctionalized
elements that are used to build the narrative story. When students passively engage with
a history ﬁlm in the classroom, they may focus only one the most obvious details or the
details of greatest personal interest. Intellectually engaging ﬁlm-based lessons, on the I
other hand, can help students discern signiﬁcant historical information, distinguish
ﬁctional elements, and consider the ﬁlm as a historical statement created by ﬁlmmakers
to present particular themes and interpretations of the past. History movies can be a
powerful way for teachers to present history as knowledge to be used—in examining and
developing interpretations of the past, and in constructing broader patterns of
signiﬁcance—rather than simply memorized.

Analyzing narratives. As Wertsch (2004) observes, people express historical
consciousness through “narratives” that help them organize the chronology of events
important to themselves and their society. Narratives can be speciﬁc stories about the
past or abstract, generalizable themes that function like templates when people talk about
the past. Texts about history are also built on narratives——through the particular stories
told, the details arranged together, and the meanings ascribed. VanSledright (2004)
describes the “novice” thinking that many schoolchildren bring to working with texts,
believing that “the meaning is in the text, it is unmediated by the author, and it is their job
to extract it correctly” (p. 344). Shifting students toward expert thinking requires them to

practice the kinds of heuristics used by practitioners in the domain—reading

282

intertextually (corroborating evidence across sources) and reading for subtexts (inferring
subtle or implied meanings).

History feature ﬁlms are narratives about the past, conveying messages both
explicit and implied (subtexts). Movies can give students a powerful opportunity to
analyze historical narratives. Historians use a “sourcing heuristic” to evaluate the
perspective of a text as a human creation, but students are often oblivious to how the
source shapes a text (Wineburg, 2001, p. 76). Reading a ﬁlm text critically can approach
the thinking behind the sourcing heuristic. Why is this ﬁlm depicting the past in this
particular way, from the perspective of these particular characters, and using these
particular images, stories, or themes? How do these images, stories, and themes shape
the way the past is presented and received by the viewer? History movies, especially
mainstream commercial ﬁlms, typically offer one dominant narrative about the past
undistracted by counter-narratives. For example, The Patriot offers a narrative of heroic
Americans triumphing over the arrogant British. This is one possible account open to
critique. Film-based lessons have great potential to help students see the past as a
constructed narratives supported by evidence and interpretation. Students can learn to
analyze historical narratives by reading a ﬁlm for explicit meanings and subjects,
corroborating or challenging a ﬁlmic account of the past across other sources (such as
textbooks), and recognizing alternative accounts to the one presented by the ﬁlm.

Considering cultural positioning. Texts, including history ﬁlms, are culturally
situated. They are made by people at a particular place in time, located within a
particular culture, and with particular cultural meanings in mind. Understanding how a

text is positioned within its culture (shaped by the time and place of its production) as

283

well as how a culture positions the text (its uses within a society) is another important
competency for historical literacy. History movies start out as texts about the past. Over
time, movies become documents of the past that can be used like primary sources from
previous eras (Matz & Pingatore, 2005). Movies inﬂuence the way people across
generations think about and collectively remembered the past. For example, the iconic
understandings of what the 19605 were like for Americans communicated by the 1994
ﬁlm Forrest Gump reinforce the memory of certain historical elements (hippies, protests
against the Vietnam War) while forgetting dissonant counter-narratives like pro-war
rallies (Wineburg et al., 2000).

In this way, history movies afford opportunities for students to encounter the past
as social memory, with ﬁlms ﬁrnctioning as cultural texts that communicate widely
recognized identities and understandings of the past. Why was a history ﬁlm made at a
particular place and time? How do the ﬁlm’s themes and images conform to or contrast
with the broader culture of its time? These are the kinds of questions relating to the
deeper nature of ﬁlms as texts that can be explored by considering the cultural
positioning of a history feature ﬁlm.

Discerning presentism. Wineburg (2001) argues that historical thinking is an
“unnatural act” because engaging with the past on its own terms can feel strange and
difﬁcult for us in the present. Much easier is presentism—“the act of viewing the past
through the lens of the present. . ..a way of thinking that requires little effort and comes I
quite naturally” (Wineburg, 2001, p. 19). Confronting presentism is a problem that
history feature ﬁlms are well suited to meet. Though they visually bring to life the past,

history movies are products of the present. Films that approach the past on its own terms

284

can be strange, uncomfortable, and confusing to contemporary viewers. Thus,
ﬁlmmakers often read the present onto the past, using a historic event as a metaphor for
current concerns, attitudes, and values that are easier to sell to contemporary audiences.
For example, The Patriot almost entirely excises White racism from its South Carolina -
militiamen heroes in favor of the anachronistic but more comfortable attitudes of racial
harmony. Viewers today might like these kinds of historical heroes better, but this
presentist depiction does not help us better understand what occurred in the past or why.
Intellectually engaged ﬁlm-based lessons provide sufficient content support and guidance
in viewing the movie to discern presentism in ﬁlmic accounts of the past.

Historical empathy. Meaningful history Ieaming requires the ability to
understand the perspectives of different peoples in the past. Otherwise, past perspectives
become undifferentiated and highly simpliﬁed, resulting in an unsophisticated reading of
the past in terms of heroes and villains, right and wrong, all judged by how well they ﬁt
with present-day perspectives that past actors might not have valued or even recognized.
Historical empathy is an emotional and psychological competency that requires the
viewer to recognize and identify with certain perspectives in the past. Barton and Levstik
(2004) distinguish two modes of empathy for making sense of the past. Perspective
recognition involves rational examination of past perspectives, explaining historical
actions in terms of the attitudes, beliefs, and intentions of the people of the past.
Empathy as caring involves making personal connections to history through topics we
want to learn, moral judgments, and a desire to help by applying what we learn from

history to our world today.

285

As visually and emotionally powerfully depictions of the past, history movies are
a powerful way to experience historical empathy in the classroom. Some movies try to
depict perspectives in the past on their own terms—for example, the 2004 version of The
Alamo shows Travis and Bowie as unrepentant slave-owners. But other movies construct
past perspectives in a manner that makes them more comprehensible or even attractive to
contemporary audiences—as The Last Samurai does with the reactionary samurai rebels
of the 18705. Part of the potential of history movies lies in educating students to
recognize different historical perspectives as well as when ﬁlmic narratives construct past
perspectives in contemporized ways. The other part lies in the emotional appeal of ﬁlms
to make the viewer care about the past through its characters and the historical situations
in which they are shown. Historically literate viewers are able to make their own moral
judgments about people in the past while understanding the historical conditions behind
the events they are judging and the reasons why they happened the way they did.

In sum. These ﬁve competencies form a vision of historical literacy that
emphasizes learning rigorous content knowledge, applying it to broader patterns of
historical signiﬁcance, and communicating informed understandings about the past.
History feature ﬁlms can contribute meaningfully to the development of each of these
competencies. However, tapping the full educational potential of a history feature ﬁlm
requires deep intellectual engagement with the movie as an interpretive, constructed, and
sociocultural text. As Marcus (2005) writes, “The power of ﬁlm to develop historical
understanding is lost unless teachers cultivate students’ ability to interpret ﬁlm, which we

might call their historical literacy” (p. 62).

286

Considering Competencies in Regina, Marie, Isabel, and Kellie ’s Lessons

The cases of these four teachers demonstrate the challenges in using ﬁlm-based
lessons to reinforce historical literacy competences in students. As observed in chapter 4,
these teachers’ lessons, by and large, passively engaged with history ﬁlms within
manageable boundaries. Each teacher tried to reach for something more in her ﬁlm-
based lesson, but some aspect of the context of schooling got in the way of the higher
competencies they hoped to address.

Learning content knowledge was reﬂected to some degree in each lesson, but
using that knowledge in substantive ways eluded the teachers. Regina showed To Live
because she wanted students to understand what communism was really like in Chinese
history, but the difficulty of scheduling an all-day event for all of her classes prevented
every student from seeing the entire ﬁlm and impeded her hopes of engaging in larger
conversations about what students learned from the ﬁlm. Marie used Roots to cover
slavery in the early American Republic, but possibly because of her concerns about
dealing with disturbing content with immature students she did not explicitly go into
much depth of detail. Isabel used a short, focused clip from Legends of the Fall
speciﬁcally to depict military technology ﬁom World War 1; she sometimes wished she
could do more with movies but felt time was limited by the pace of curricular coverage.
Kellie showed The Pianist as a way to cover the Holocaust and Jewish resistance and
spent much of one class period having her students write about and discuss the ﬁlm, but
the lesson did not do much to help students put the speciﬁc events in the ﬁlm in broader
context of their signiﬁcance for World War II and global changes in the 19405.

Ultimately, none of these teachers’ lessons required students to make much use of what

287

they learned from the movies. The ﬁlms were optional or not a part of unit assessments
and remained simply extra reinforcement of covered content for those who saw them.

Analyzing narratives and discerning presentism were not reﬂected in the observed
lessons. These teachers used ﬁlms much as they would a textbook—as a singular,
authoritative depiction of content. None of the lessons analyzed ﬁlmic narratives as
partial or possible accounts of the past, guided students to consider how the ﬁlm’s story,
characters, or images conveyed particular messages about the past, or look at how
present-day attitudes affected the ﬁlm’s outlook on the past. Considering cultural
positioning was also largely ignored. Regina’s lesson tried to get students to consider the
cultural positioning of To Live as a Chinese ﬁlm, but the distractions of the school day v
disrupted her control over the large number of students and her planned group discussion
was replaced by individual writing that did not require students to think about this issue
and communicate their ideas to other students.

Historical empathy was the competency most palpably addressed by these
teachers. As I speculated above, teachers seem to be attracted to the visceral and
emotional power of history feature ﬁlms to get students to care about the past. Historical
ﬁgures become real people in real situations with which students can more readily relate.
Regina wanted her students to experience what communism was like through the eyes of
one Chinese family. Marie wanted her students to empathize with the abuse suffered by
African Americans under slavery. Isabel wanted her students to feel the lethality of
World War 1 military technology through the tragic story of the three brothers. Kellie

wanted her students to witness the Holocaust through the experiences of a Jewish

288

survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto. They all hoped that the ﬁlms would motivate student
interest and encourage students to engage with the topic—within manageable bounds.

In the end, none of the teachers made much space for students to reﬂect on
historical perspectives as depicted in the ﬁlms or to communicate their own moral
judgments about people in the past. Doing so would have presented the risk of losing
control over the momentum, timing, and direction of the lesson. As a result, these
teachers encouraged limited historical empathy, trying to cash in on the emotional power
of ﬁlms to invite manageable student enthusiasm without opening up the classroom to the
potential ﬂood of student-initiated reactions, questions, and ideas that might distract the
teacher from her speciﬁc content goals, planned organization, and momentum. The
teachers strove to keep discussion within the limits of time and topic for which they were
prepared. Marie, who seemed most sensitive to confronting her young students with
disturbing content, avoided discussing how her students felt about Roots almost entirely.

The cases of these four teachers represent the challenge of using history feature
ﬁlms in the classroom to support student historical literacy. Films have considerable
potential to help students learn and use content knowledge, analyze narratives, consider
cultural positioning, discern presentism, and experience historical empathy. But pursuing
any of these competencies in depth requires meaningful intellectual engagement with the
ﬁlm. This, in turn, requires a substantial investment of teacher preparation time (to
position the ﬁlm and acquire necessary subject-matter knowledge) and classroom time (to
let students watch, reﬂect on, and talk about the ﬁlm and their own historical thinking in
response to it). Given the many competing demands placed on teachers, it can be very

difficult to make such investments of time. Likewise, encouraging deep intellectual

289

engagement with ﬁlm texts risks opening up the classroom to students’ novice historical
thinking and their partially formed, potentially distracting questions, ideas, and
directions. Thus, teachers may be strongly tempted to use history feature ﬁlms in safe, .
traditional, teacher-centered, fact-oriented ways that minimally address some of the
competencies of historical literacy while keeping maximum teacher control over how the
ﬁlm and its historical messages are used in the classroom.

Practical Implications on Teaching and Learning in the Classroom

In part, I undertook this study because I am a history educator who is an avid and
critical consumer of ﬁlms. So I end this dissertation as a teacher and scholar, exploring
some possible problems and limitations for the classroom uses of history movie that
emerged from this study as well as some potential avenues for future research.

First, there are implications about learning historical content ﬁom ﬁlm-based
lessons. The teachers in my cases did not really engage students in the historical details
of the ﬁlm in much depth. Discussions and activities involving the ﬁlm tended to be
short (barely a minute in Regina’s classroom). The teachers carefully chose their ﬁlms in
order to illustrate curricular content, but not to cover it exclusively. All teachers were
wary of using a movie by itself to teach content. It may difficult for teachers to gauge
what students actually learn from watching movies. Isabel told me she was certain that
students would remember what technology was associated with WWI from Legends of
the Fall, but one of her students (Jack) could not remember whether the technology was
from WWI or WWII. This little bit of confusion points to a larger problem that students
may be paying attention to different elements in a movie than what the teacher hopes they

are learning.

290

Second, the ﬁlm-based lessons I observed tended to be teacher-centered and fairly
traditional. Regina was probably the most ambitious in scope by trying to arrange a
special assembly for all her classes and to organize discussion groups after the ﬁlm, but
her ﬁlm-then-discussion formula was not fundamentally different from what other
teachers did and she jettisoned her ﬁlm discussion when circumstances made it
impractical. Do these four cases reﬂect the fundamentally conservative nature of
teaching? None of the teachers used the ﬁlms to do anything that would be unusual or
particularly critical in a lesson that did not use ﬁlm. None of the cases used ﬁlm to
expose students to the interpretive nature of history, to examine the ways in which the
identities of different social groups are constructed and depicted in our culture, to debate
or question conventional interpretations or textbook characterizations, or to debate ethical
or moral tensions in history. This raises an important question about the uses of
empathy—in application does it tend to be limited merely to emotional catharsis?

Third, the teachers in my cases heavily emphasized using movies as a way to
motivate students. All of them said that engaging student interest or provoking an
emotional response was a chief goal. But some teachers worried that an emotional
response could be too strong. Marie was passionately opposed to gratuitous violence and
disliked using war movies in class. Kellie was concerned that The Pianist would be too
emotionally painful for her students to watch. It is possible that such an emotional
emphasis may encourage a na'r've reading of history. The teachers in my study were less
likely to deal with emotionally charged issues in depth. The two girls who watched The

Pianist told me that people should do more to stop hatred and mass violence, but their

291

answers on how were vague and did not show much understanding of the complexities '
that have daunted attempts to prevent or stop genocide or ethnic cleansing.

Fourth, there may be a “maturity gap” for schoolchildren watching history movies
that depict other cultures. We should not be surprised when adolescents laugh at things
adults consider inappropriate or make fun of differences. During To Live, for example, .
some boys loudly mocked the acting style of the Chinese lead actor in a scene when he
was crying after his wife left him. This was not a very masculine way of portraying grief
in American movies. Teachers may need to watch for these moments and use the
opportunity to conﬁ'ont cultural differences rather than overlooking immature reactions.
If not, students could potentially take away from movies negative stereotypes about other
cultures.

Fifth, is there a “shelf life” for history movies in the classroom? Several of the
teachers in my study talked about wanting to use recent movies. They were afraid that as
a movie got older, it wouldn’t appeal to students any more. Regina thought that To Live
ﬁ'om 1994 was on the verge of being too old. Isabel wished she could ﬁnd a newer
movie that showed the same elements as Legends of the Fall, also from 1994. At a
certain point, a movie no longer feels a part of youth culture. It feels like an artifact from
a previous generation. Teachers may need to approach older ﬁlms differently than more
recent ﬁlms starring contemporary movie celebrities.

So what would it take to prepare teachers to use ﬁlms in more adventurous ways?
I recommend that what would help teachers most is explicit preparation in using ﬁlms as
both instructional tools and cultural texts in the classroom. My study suggests that

teachers do not need to be convinced that movies are worthwhile or that movies may be

292

inaccurate or distort the past. The four teachers in my sample were already sold on the
educative potential of movies and were eager to use them. All of them were fully aware
of the factual limitations of movies, and some had received training in this regard (Kellie
and Isabel both told me about an East Asia studies seminar that addressed accuracy
problems in The Last Samurai). What these four teachers lacked were a range of
powerful pedagogical strategies for teaching through ﬁlm.

Teacher education in the U.S. commonly exposes beginning teachers to strategies
for literacy and interrogating written texts but not necessarily visual media. It is not as if
teachers are hopelessly benighted on their own. The four teachers in my sample were
doing what they could with ﬁlms in absence of a developed range of tools and strategies
needed to tap the potential of ﬁlm-based lessons. What teachers are likely to do on their
own, however, is safe, traditional, teacher-centered instruction with ﬁlms. Social studies
teacher education could lay the groundwork for more adventurous ﬁlm-based teaching by
incorporating explicit preparation that 1) models how to ﬁnd and use content knowledge
to help students evaluate historical accuracy, 2) trains teachers to recognize a ﬁlm’s
approach to historical storytelling and its uses of authenticity and imagination, 3)
educates teachers about ﬁlms as cultural texts that communicate overt and implicit social
messages connecting the past to the present, and 4) confronts the challenges of
representing ﬁlms and their historical content to diverse students, who already bring to
watching the ﬁlm their own personal background, knowledge, and experiences.

In conclusion, there are several possible avenues for further research. First, what
do students actually learn from movies? An important direction would be to investigate,

if there is any link between ﬁlm-based lessons and student performance on assessment. It

293

might be that ﬁlms deeply stimulate memory and recall—or that ﬁlms’ narrative
storytelling and visual and auditory composition distract or distort memory and recall.

Second, how much of what students think they know about history comes from
movies? Many students watch a lot of movies, but what is uncertain is how widespread
history movies are in students’ cinematic experiences and whether they see them mainly
in school or on their own. Furthermore, it would be intriguing to gauge students’
historical knowledge to see if ﬁlms they report having seen affect their responses to
questions about the past. For example, are fans of Gladiator more likely to respond to
questions about the Roman Empire with answers that reﬂect the movie’s account?

Third, do students in different settings respond to and learn from ﬁlms
differently? This dissertation, based on its volunteer sample of convenience, deal entirely
with predominantly White, middle-class, suburban public schools. It would be
worthwhile to investigate speciﬁcally how students of color, students in urban schools,
economically disadvantaged students, and students in religious schools react to ﬁlm-
based lessons or think about history movies as representations of the past.

Finally, what might adventurous teaching with history movies actually look like?
This dissertation has suggested some important concepts and useful characteristics, but it
remains to be seen what higher-order, student-centered, inquiry-based teaching with ﬁlms
would look like in the classroom. Careful “model practice” studies in which educational
researchers and classroom teachers collaborate to design, implement, analyze, and report

on these kinds of ﬁlm-based lessons could provide a more complete picture.

294

APPENDIX A: SCHOOL CONSENT FORM

When Hollywood Comes to the History Classroom:
Educational Uses of Commercial Mass-Media History Motion Pictures

 

 

One or more of your teachers, .
is interested in participating in a research project exploring how history motion pictures
are used in the classroom to teach students about history and what students learn about
the past from watching them. With the school’s permission, the researcher will visit the
school during a unit when the teacher is using a history ﬁlm in class, talk with the teacher
about the choice of ﬁlm and educational goals, observe the class while the students are
watching and conducting activities relating to the ﬁlm, and interview the teacher and a
sample of students in the class about history movies in the classroom. This research is
for a doctoral dissertation in the College of Education at Michigan State University. The
study will produce scholarship contributing to the ﬁeld of history education.

The dissertation research will be conducted in late 2005 and early 2006. The
researcher would visit the teacher’s classroom when a history motion picture is shown,
talk with the teacher about the ﬁlm and educational goals, look at the unit plan and
observe the class while the students are watching and conducting activities relating to the
ﬁlm, and interview teacher and a sample of students. The researcher will not to interfere
in any way with the normal functioning of the classroom. Interviews with the teacher will
be arranged at times convenient to his/her schedule. Interviews with the small sample of
students will be brief (30-60 minutes), held at their convenience, and ideally conducted in
pairs (so that no student will feel awkward in a one-on-one interview with an outside
researcher). Interviews will be audio-recorded (with participant consent) for research
purposes only and kept conﬁdentially within the university research setting.

Your identity, your teacher's identity, and the identity of your students and their
parents will be kept strictly conﬁdential throughout the study and in any written
manuscripts or oral presentations resulting from the study. Data collected will be
securely stored and accessed only by researchers working with the study, all of whom
are bound to maintain conﬁdentiality. Results of the study will be reported in such a way
that individuals cannot be identiﬁed. The privacy of everyone involved will be protected
to the maximum extent allowable bylaw.

Granting permission for the teacher and classroom to participate in this study is
entirely voluntary. You may choose not to allow participation, or later discontinue
participation, and you may refuse to permit participation in certain procedures. There are
no penalties or consequences whatsoever for doing so. There are no personal beneﬁts
to participation in the study, but participating may contribute to a better understanding of
how schools teach and help students learn history. There are no known risks associated
with participation in this study.

If you have any questions about this study, please contact Dr. Suzanne Wilson,
Principal Investigator (e-mail; phone). For any questions about the protection of human
subjects of research, please call Peter Vasilenko, Ph.D., Chair of the University
Committee on Research Involving Human Subjects by phone or email.

If your school district consents to allow the researcher to conduct this study,
please provide the researcher with a letter to that effect on official school/district
letterhead and signed by an authorized principal/administrator. To meet university
policy, the letter should contain the following or similar language:

 

"I have carefully read the description of the study and the procedures for conducting the
study. I agree that participation is voluntary and may be withdrawn at any time during the
study. I give permission for the named teacher(s) and their classrooms to participate in
this study."

295

 

APPENDIX A: TEACHER CONSENT FORM

When Hollywood Comes to the History Classroom:
Educational Uses of Commercial Mass-Media History Motion Pictures

You are invited to participate in a research project exploring how history
motion pictures are used in the classroom to teach students about history and
what students learn about the past from watching them. This research is for a
doctoral dissertation in the College of Education at Michigan State University.
The study will produce scholarship contributing to the ﬁeld of history education. '

The dissertation research will be conducted in late 2005 an d early 2006.
The researcher would like to visit your classroom when you are showing a
commercial history motion picture to your students, to talk with you about the ﬁlm
and your educational goals, to look at your unit plan and observe your class while
the students are watching and conducting activities relating to the ﬁlm, and to
interview you and a sample of your students. Beyond your normal class time,
you will be asked to spend no more than 3-4 hours on interviews before, during,
and after the lessons. Interviews will be audio-recorded for research purposes
only and kept confidentially within the university research setting. '

Your identity and the identity of your students will be kept strictly
conﬁdential throughout the study and in any written manuscripts or oral
presentations resulting from the study. Data collected will be securely stored and
accessed only by researchers working with the study, all of whom are bound to
maintain conﬁdentiality. Results of the study will be reported in such a way that
individuals cannot be identified. Your privacy will be protected to the maximum
extent allowable by law.

Your participation in this study is entirely voluntary. You may choose not
to participate, or later discontinue participation, and you may refuse to participate
in certain procedures or answer certain questions. There are no penalties or
consequences whatsoever for doing so. There are no personal benefits to your
participation in the study, but participating may contribute to a better
understanding of how schools teach and help students learn history. There are
no known risks associated with participation in this study.

If you have any questions about this study, please contact Dr. Suzanne
Wilson, Principal Investigator (e-mail; phone). For any questions about the
protection of human subjects of research, please call Peter Vasilenko, Ph.D.,
Chair of the University Committee on Research Involving Human Subjects by
phone or email.

I have carefully read the description of the study and the procedures for
conducting the study. I agree that my participation is voluntary, and that I may
withdraw my participation at any time during the study. I agree to be a teacher
participant in this study.

 

Signature

 

Printed name

 

Date

296

APPENDIX A: PARENT/STUDENT CONSENT FORM (OBSERVATION)

When Hollywood Comes to the History Classroom:
Educational Uses of Commercial Mass-Media History Motion Pictures

 

 

Your child’s classroom is participating in a research project exploring how
history motion pictures are used in the classroom to teach students about history
and what students learn about the past from watching them. Part of this
research involves observing the teacher and students during lessons in the
classroom. This research is for a doctoral dissertation in the College of
Education at Michigan State University. The study will produce scholarship
contributing to history education.

The dissertation research will be conducted in late 2005 and early 2006.
The researcher will visit classes during a unit when a Hollywood history movie is
shown, observe how the teacher and students make use of the ﬁlm, and listen to
in—class discussion/activities about the ﬁlm. The researcher will watch and listen
in the background, taking notes about what occurs and is discussed in the
classroom. The purpose for observing students in classes is to better
understand how history ﬁlms affect student learning.

Your identity and your child’s identity will be kept strictly conﬁdential
throughout the study and in any written manuscripts or oral presentations
resulting from the study. Data collected will be securely stored and accessed
only by researchers working with the study, all of whom are bound to maintain
conﬁdentiality. Results of the study will be reported in such a way that individuals
cannot be identiﬁed. Your privacy will be protected to the maximum extent
allowable by law.

Your child’s participation in these observations is entirely voluntary. You
may choose not to allow your child to be observed or later discontinue
participation, and in such case the researcher will not include your child in the
observation notes about what occurs in the classroom. There are no penalties or
consequences whatsoever for doing so. There are no personal benefits to your
child’s participation in the study, but participating may contribute to a better
understanding of how students learn and know history in schools. There are no
known risks associated with participation in this study.

If you have any questions about this study, please contact Dr. Suzanne
Wilson, Principal Investigator (email; phone). For any questions about the
protection of human subjects of research, please call Peter Vasilenko, Ph.D.,
Chair of the University Committee on Research Involving Hum an Subjects by
phone or email.

I have carefully read the description of the study and the procedures for conducting
the study. I agree that my child's participation is voluntary, and that I may withdraw my
consent at any time during the study. I agree to allow my child to participate in this study.

 

 

 

Parent/Guardian’s signature Student’s signature
Parent/Guardian's printed name Student’s printed name
Date

297

APPENDIX A: PARENT ISTUDENT CONSENT FORM (INTERVIEW)

When Hollywood Comes to the History Classroom:
Educational Uses of Commercial Mass-Media History Motion Pictures

 

 

Your child's classroom is participating in a research project exploring how
history motion pictures are used in the classroom to teach students about history
and what students learn about the past from watching them. Your child is invited
to participate, with your consent, in an interview for this study. This research is
for a doctoral dissertation in the College of Education at Michigan State
University. The study will produce scholarship contributing to history education.

The dissertation research will be conducted in late 2005 and early 2006.
The researcher would like to interview participating students, ideally in pairs. The
interview will take around an hour, at a time convenient for you and your child
(during or after the school day). The researcher will schedule the interview with
your child in advance. The interview will ask your child to talk about history
movies and what he/she has learned about history from watching them. The
purpose for interviewing students is to include their thoughts and reactions to
history movies in the study. The interview will be audio-recorded for research
purposes only and kept conﬁdentially within the university research setting.

Your identity and your child’s identity will be kept strictly conﬁdential
throughout the study and in any written manuscripts or oral presentations
resulting from the study. Data collected will be securely stored and accessed
only by researchers working with the study, all of whom are bound to maintain
conﬁdentiality. Results of the study will be reported in such a way that individuals
cannot be identiﬁed. Your privacy will be protected to the maximum extent
allowable by law.

Your child’s participation in this study is entirely voluntary. You may
choose not to allow your child to participate, or later discontinue participation,
and your child may refuse to participate in certain procedures or answer certain
questions. There are no penalties or consequences whatsoever for doing so.
There are no personal benefits to your child’s participation in the study. but
participating may contribute to a better understanding of how students learn and
know history in schools. There are no known risks associated with participation
in this study.

If you have any questions about this study, please contact Dr. Suzanne
Wilson, Principal Investigator (e-mail; phone). For any questions about the
protection of human subjects of research, please call Peter Vasilenko, Ph.D..
Chair of the University Committee on Research Involving Hum an Subjects by
phone or email.

I have carefully read the description of the study and the procedures for conducting
the study. I agree that my child's participation is voluntary, and that I may withdraw my
consent at any time during the study. I agree to allow my child to participate in this study.

 

 

 

Parent/Guardian’s signature Student’s signature
Parent/Guardian's printed name Student’s printed name
Date

298

APPENDIX B

Observational Framework for Classroom Use of History Films
September 2005

Rationale:

The purpose of this instrument is to guide and structure observations involving the use of
history motion pictures in the classroom. The forms record information about the school
site and classroom, about the instructional context, and about the chronology and
events/activities that take place in the classroom during each observed hour/period. The
attached analytical framework will be used to code and interpret the observational data.

Directions:

0 This instrument contains three separate forms: observation site overview (1 page);
observation daily record (4 pages); analytical framework (2 pages).

0 Upon ﬁrst visiting a research site, fill out an observation site overview form. This
needs to be completed only once for each research site.

0 Each time the classroom is observed, fill out an observation daily record form. A
new form needs to be ﬁlled out every hour/period observed.

0 Use the daily record form to note the amount of time spent on different
events/activities in the classroom. Record the time at which a new event/activity
begins. Especially focus on the amount of time spent showing the movie, time spent
talking about the movie, and time spent on in-class activities/assignments relating to
the movie.

0 Also, use the form to take notes on the questions and comments raised in-class.
Record the speaker (e.g., White female student and other pertinent characteristics)
and a concise description of what was said. In additional, for any question record
whether it was addressed (directly responded to), unanswered (not addressed with
factual information), unrecognized (unheard or ignored), or avoided (redirected,
delayed, or bypassed) by the teacher.

0 On the last page of the form, record any observations and analysis of teacher actions
and student actions involving the movie. This is where notes that do not ﬁt into the .
other categories on the form may be recorded.

a After completing observations and interviews at a research site, use the analytical
framework to help organize, code, and interpret the observational and interview data.

299

Observation Site Overview
[Fill out this one-page form once at the start of visitations to a site]

Classroom Context:

 

Teacher Name

 

School Site/Location

 

Course Name/
Department

 

 

Grade Level

 

 

School/District Characteristics: socio-economic status; urban/rural/suburban; physical

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

location
Student Context:
I # of Students I I # of Males I I # of Females I
# White # Black # Native
American
# Hispanic/Latino # Asian/Pacific # Other/
Islander Multiracial

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Instructional Context:

 

What is current unit
topic?

 

What is the textbook(s)?

 

What movie will be
shown?

 

 

 

Scheduled dates for the unit: start of unit, showing the movie, assessment?

 

 

 

 

 

300

Observation Daily Record

[Fill out this four-page form for each class hour/period observed]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Teacher observed I

mbserver I
Site of Date of
observation observation
Hou r/period Total classtime
observed available

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Special circumstances or notes for the hour/period observed:

 

 

 

 

301

Classroom Chronology:

Clock Time Event/A

 

302

Classroom Conversation L_og:

Clock Time S / estion or Comment

 

303

Field notes: Teacher actions

 

Describe and write down preliminary analysis for teacher actions in the classroom relating to
educational activities and the teacher’s stated nistructional goals

Pay special attention to teacher intentiong for using the movie (covering content; motivating
student interest; rewarding student behavior; maintaining the teacher ’5 emotional health;
complicating historical interpretations provided by textbooks; advancing a particular world-
view), and pedagogical categories (content coverage/period representation; historical
construction/social construction; empathy/moral response) for classroom activities involving
the ﬁlm.

 

 

 

Field notes: Student actions

 

Describe and write down preliminary analysis for student actions in the classroom involving,
relating to, or in response to the use of the movie.

 

 

 

304

 

 

APPENDIX C
Interview Protocol for Classroom Teachers

IQirections: Interview the teacher privately. Audio-record the interview for subsequent
transcription and coding. If the teacher says something that inspires the interviewer to
ask a spontaneous question not on the script, record both the question and the teacher’s
response to it.] '

Background Interview

I. Introduction: Begin by explaining the purpose of the study to the participating
teacher. Go over the details in the introductory letter sent earlier to the teacher.

0 Explain that there will be one interview before and one gﬁﬁ the ﬁlm is shown in
class.

0 Interviews will be audio-recorded for research purposes only. All recordings will
be kept within the research setting to protect privacy to the maximum extent
allowed by law.

0 Explain that consenting to participate does not commit the teacher or any of the
students to ﬁirther involvement in this dissertation beyond the observations and
interviews.

ll. Consent: If the teacher agrees to participate, hand over the consent form to be signed.

III. Background questions: Read: “Thanks for letting me come into your classroom and
watch you teach. First, I have some background questions I’d like to ask in order to learn
aboutyouf’

1.) Tell me about your background as a teacher. How long have you been teaching?
A. Where did you go to college? What degrees and certiﬁcation do you hold?
B. What is your teaching load like this year? Is this year’s load typical?

2.) How often do you use video media (television programs, educational videos, movies,
documentaries) in your classroom?
A. Can you tell me some of your favorite titles that you show in class each year?
B. What Hollywood history movies do you show in class each year?

3.) Where do you get the video media you use in class?

A. Are there other resources you would like to use but can’t? If so, what are
they?

B. What would it take for you to get those materials?

4.) What topics are you covering in the unit I’ll be observing?

A. Why did you decide to use a history movie in this unit?
B. Ask the teacher for a copy of the unit lesson plan, if possible.

305

Pre-Film Interview: Conduct this interview before the ﬁlm is shown in class.
1. Choosing the history ﬁlm for this unit:

I.) What movie did you choose to show for this unit?
A. Why did you choose it?
B. What else do you think I should know about this movie?

2.) Were there any other movies you considered choosing instead of this one?
A. If so, what were the other titles?
B. Why did you select the movie you did over the other possible titles?

3.) Did you have any concerns about choosing this particular movie to show in class?
A. If so, what are the concerns?
B. How did you think through the pros and cons of using this movie?
C. Why did the concerns not dissuade you from choosing this movie?

4.) How does the movie chosen for this unit compare with other history movies you have
previously shown in the classroom (either last year or earlier this year)?
A. Is the movie you picked for this unit typical of what you’ve done in the past?
B. Are there any ways that it is different from what you’ve done in the past?

5.) Are there other movies that you’ve shown in the past, or that you are planning on
showing in the future, that you think are better than this movie (in terms of educational
value and quality)?

A. If so, what makes these other movies better?

B. If not, what makes the movie chosen for this unit better than the others?

6.) Can you tell me a little about what you want the students to do during or after the
ﬁlm?

A. Will any questions on the unit test be based directly on the ﬁlm? [How
many?]

B. Will portions of the unit test indirectly draw from the ﬁlm? [In what way?]

C. Will activities relating to the ﬁlm be graded? [What portion of the unit’s
points?]

D. Will activities relating to the ﬁlm be included in an overall participation
grade?

II. Teacher intentions in using history films:
7.) What do you think is the generally best reason for a teacher to use a history movie in
class? ‘

A. What do you think is the worst reason?
B. Are there other reasons why you’ve used movies in class in the past?

306

8.) What do you speciﬁcally hope your students will get from watching this movie in
class?

A. What do you hope it will teach them about history?

B. What do you hope it will help them think about our world today?

111. Teacher opinions about history ﬁlms:

9.) Based on your experience working with kids, do you think Hollywood history movies
inﬂuence how they think or what they know about the past?

A. If yes, how much inﬂuence? In what ways?

B. If no, why are students not inﬂuenced by history movies?

10.) I’d like to hear your opinions on two statements about Hollywood history movies...

0 Statement 1: “The motion-picture industry has an obligation to historical fact. Since
so many people see their movies, ﬁlmmakers should tell the truth about the past as
much as possible.”

a Statement: 2: “The motion-picture industry is in the business of entertainment.
Filmmakers should have complete freedom to tell ﬁctional stories and make things up
about the past.”

Post-Film Interview: Conduct this interview alter the ﬁlm is shown in class.
I. Reﬂecting on the ﬁlm used:

I.) Are you glad you chose this movie to show to your students?
A. If yes, why was it the right choice?
B. If no, what ﬁlm do you wish you had used? Why?

2.) Did you discover any beneﬁts to using this movie in class that you didn’t expect?
A. Did you ﬁnd any problems that you didn’t anticipate?

3.) Overall, how do you think the movie lesson went?
A. What goals for the unit do you feel the movie lesson met?
B. Do you feel the movie lesson fell short of any of your goals?
C. Would you make any changes to this movie lesson if you taught it again?

4.) How do you feel the student work with the movie went?
A. Would you make any changes to the student work if you used this movie
again?

II. Thinking about teacher intentions: Read: “I’m going to read some short scenarios

involving history movies in the classroom. What are your thoughts about the teacher’s
goals and choices?”

307

5.) A teacher has been assigned world history as a new prep. He gets to the unit on the
modemization of Japan and, because he himself doesn’t have any background in
Japanese history, decides to show the Tom Cruise movie The Last Samurai to cover the
content.

6.) A teacher wants to make her unit on World War II more exciting for her students. She
shows them Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan to motivate interest in D-Day.

7.) A teacher has just completed a unit on ancient Greece and Rome that required his
students to work hard. The next week he shows them the Russell Crowe movie Gladiator
as a fun reward.

8.) A teacher is facing a family crisis. She needs to miss several days this week and
doesn’t have time to work up alternate lesson plans. Her students have been studying the
United States before the Civil War, so she has her students watch the 2004 version of The
Alamo that week.

9.) A teacher feels that his district’s required textbook is biased against the U.S. in the
Vietnam War. He shows the Mel Gibson movie We Were Soldiers in class to challenge ‘
the textbook.

10.) A teacher is an advocate for gay rights. She shows scenes from Oliver Stone’s
Alexander in which Alexander the Great expresses romantic love for a male friend. She
hopes that teaching students about homosexuality in history will advance greater
acceptance for gays today.

308

APPENDIX C
Interview Protocol for Students

gea_d: “Thanks for talking with me today. I want to ask you some questions about your
reaction to the history movie you watched in class and what you think about history
movies. I need to audio-record our conversation, and I want you to know that the
recording will be used only for my research. The recording won’t be shared with your
teacher, parents, or classmates. Do you have any questions for me?”

[Address any concerns raised]

I. Student reactions to the ﬁlm used in class:
I.) What did you think about the movie you watched in class?

2.) Would you have watched this movie on your own, on TV, video, or DVD? Why or
why not?

3.) Why do you think your teacher chose to show this movie?

4.) Did you learn anything from watching this movie in class?
A. What did the movie teach you or make you feel about the past?
B. What did the movie teach you or make you feel about our world today?

5.) Tell me what you thought about the work you did in class involving the movie.
A. How did the work help you understand the movie better or get more out of it?
B. How did the work help you learn more about history from the movie?

ll. Student reactions to history media in general:

6.) What’s the best Hollywood or TV movie about history or set during the past that
you’ve ever seen (in school or on your own)?

A. What made this movie so good?

B. Do you think this movie could be used in school? Why or why not?

7.) How often do you watch videos (movies or educational programs) in your social
studies classes?

A. Do you think this is too much, not enough, or just the right amount?

B. Can you tell me about a time when you watched a history video in class and
really learned a lot from it? What was it, what happened to make it so memorable?

8.) Do you like watching Hollywood movies about history in school? Why or why not?

309

9.) When you watch Hollywood history movies, do you believe you are learning about
real history?

A. Have you ever watched a history movie and then read about that period of time
in order to learn whether something in the movie was true or made-up?

B. How much of what you know about the past do you feel you’ve learned from
movies?

10.) I’m going to give you a list of ways people learn about history. This list is in
alphabetical order, but I ’d like you to put them in order of how much inﬂuence you think
they have had on what you know about history. So you put the one you’ve learned the
most from ﬁrst, and the one you’ve learned the least from last...

Books (either books required at school or books you found on your own)

Family (talking with parents, grandparents, and other relatives)

Movies (Hollywood moves either in the movie theater or on TV, video, or DVD)
Museums (including other kinds of historic sites or monuments)

Teachers (what you learn at school)

TV programs (educational shows on TV, like the History Channel or PBS).

310

REFERENCES

Afﬂerbach, P., & VanSledright, B. (2001). Hath! Doth! What? Middle graders reading
innovative history text. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 44, 696-707.

Appleby, J., Hunt, L., & Jacob, M. (1994). Telling the truth about history. New York:
W.W. Norton & Company.

Ashby, R., & Lee, P. J ., (1987). Children's concepts of empathy and understanding in
history. In C. Portal (Ed.), The history curriculum for teachers (pp. 62-88).
Lewes, UK: Falmer.

Bain, R. (2000). Into the breach: Using research and theory to shape history instruction. .
In P. N. Steams & P. Seixas & S. Wineburg (Eds), Knowing, teaching, and

learning history: National and international perspectives (pp. 331-352). New
York: New York University Press.

Bal, M., Crewe, J ., & Spitzer, L. (Eds). (1999). Acts of memory: Cultural recall in the
present. Hanover, NH: University Press of New England.

Barton, K., & Levstik, L. (1998). "It wasn't a good part of history": National identity and
students' explanations of historical signiﬁcance. Teachers College Record, 99,
478-513.

Barton, K. C ., & Levstik, L. S. (2004). Teaching history for the common good. Mahwah,
NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Bartov, O. (l 997). Spielberg's Oskar: Hollywood tries evil. In Y. Loshitzky (Ed.),
Spielberg’s Holocaust: Critical perspectives on Schindler's List (pp. 41-60).
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Boix-Mansilla, V. (2000). Historical understanding: Beyond the past and into the present.
In P. N. Steams & P. Seixas & S. Wineburg (Eds), Knowing, teaching, and
Ieaming history: National and international perspectives (pp. 390-418). New
York: New York University Press.

Brands, H. W. (2004). Lone star nation: The epic story of the battle for Texas
independence. New York: Anchor Books.

Briley, R. (2002). Teaching ﬁlm and history. OAH Magazine of History, 16(4), 3-4.

Buckingham, D. (2003). Media education: Literacy, learning and contemporary culture.
Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.

311

Buckingham, D., & Sefton-Green, J. (1994). Cultural studies goes to school: Reading
and teaching popular media. London: Taylor & Francis, Ltd.

Carnes, M. C., Mico, T., Miller-Monzon, J ., & Rubel, D. (Eds). (1996). Past imperfect:
History according to the movies (lst Owl Books ed.). New York: Henry Holt and
Company.

Carretero, M., Jacott, L., Limon, M., Lopez-Manjon, A., & Leon, J. A. (1994). Historical
knowledge: Cognitive and instructional implications. In M. Carretero & J. F. Voss

(Eds.), Cognitive and instructional processes in history and the social sciences
(pp. 357-376). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Cheyette, B. (1997). The uncertain certainty of Schindler's List. In Y. Loshitzky (Ed.),
Spielberg’s Holocaust: Critical perspectives on Schindler’s List (pp. 226-238).
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Cohen, D. K. (1988). Teaching practice: Plus ca change. In P. W. Jackson (Ed.),
Contributing to educational change: Perspectives on research and practice (pp.
27-84). Berkeley, CA: McCutchan.

Cuban, L. (1984/1993). How teachers taught: Constancy and change in American
classrooms, [890-1980 (2nd ed.). New York: Teachers College Press.

Davis, N. Z. (2000). Slaves on screen: Film and historical vision. Cambridge: Harvard '
University Press.

Doherty, T. (2002). Film and history, foxes and hedgehogs. Magazine of History, 16(4),
13-15.

Dupuy, R. E., & Dupuy, T. N. (1993). The Harper encyclopedia of military history (4th
ed.). New York: HarperCollins.

Dupuy, T. N., Johnson, C., & Bongard, D. L. (1995). The Harper encyclopedia of
military biography. Edison, NJ: Castle Books.

Edgerton, G. R. (2001). Television as historian: A different kind of history altogether. In
G. R. Edgerton & P. C. Rollins (Eds.), Television histories: Shaping collective
memory in the media age (pp. l-l 8). Lexington: University of Kentucky Press.

Edgerton, G. R., & Rollins, P. C. (Eds). (2001). Television histories: Shaping collective
memory in the media age. Lexington: University of Kentucky Press.

Ellsworth, E., & Whatley, M. H. (Eds). (1990). The ideology of images in educational
media: Hidden curriculums in the classroom. New York: Teachers College Press.

Emmerich, R. (Director). (2000). The patriot [Motion picture]. United States: Sony.

312

Epstein, T., & Shiller, J. (2005). Perspective matters: Social identity and the teaching and
learning of national history. Social Education, 69, 201-204.

Evans, R. J. (1997). In defense of history. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.
F iske, J. (1989). Understanding popular culture. Boston: Unwin Hyman.

Frisch, M. (1989). American history and the structures of collective memory: A modest
exercise in empirical iconography. Journal of American History, 75, 1130-1155.

Gagnon, P. A. (Ed.). (1989). Historical literacy: The case for history in American
education. New York: Macmillan.

Gedi, N., & Elam, Y. (1996). Collective memory—What is it? History & Memory, 8(1),
30-50. .

Geertz, C. (1973). The interpretation of cultures. New York: Basic Books.

General Accounting Ofﬁce [GAO]. (1989). Content analysis: A methodology for
structuring and analyzing written material. Washington, DC: United States
General Accounting Office.

Genovese, E. D. (1972). Roll, Jordan, roll: The world the slaves made. New York:
Vintage.

Giroux, H. A. (1999). The mouse that roared: Disney and the end of innocence. Lanham,
MD: Rowman & Littleﬁeld Publishers.

Giroux, H. A. (2002). Breaking in to the movies: Film and the culture of politics. Oxford,
UK: Blackwell Publishers.

Giroux, H. A., & Simon, R. I. (Eds). (1989). Popular culture, schooling, and everyday '
life. Granby, MA: Bergin & Garvey Publishers, Inc.

Goldfarb, L. (Producer/Director), Desnoo, D. A (Producer/Director), & Toshihiro, S
(Producer). (2003). Japan: Memoirs of a secret empire [Motion picture].
(Available ﬁ'om PBS Home Video, http://www.pbs.org)

Goldstein, P. (1995). Teaching Schindler's List. Social Education, 59, 362-364.

Grindon, L. (1994). Shadows on the past: Studies in the historical ﬁction ﬁlm.
Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Haffner, C. (Executive Producer), Lusitania, D. E. (Executive Producer), Alper, J. S.
(Producer/Director), & Rehr, D. C. (Producer Director). (2003). Remember the

313

Alamo [Motion picture]. Greystone Communications, Inc. for the History
Channel, A&E Television Networks. (Available from the History Channel,
httpz/lHistoryChannel.com)

Hafﬁter, C. (Executive Producer/Director), Lusitania, D. E. (Executive Producer), &
Drooker, A. (Producer). (1992). The real west: The battle of the Alamo [Motion
picture]. Greystone Communications and the Arts and Entertainment Television
Network. (Available from the History Channel, http://HistoryChannel.com)

Hancock, J. L. (Director). (2004). The Alamo [Motion picture]. United States: Buena
Vista.

Hayward, S. (l 996). Key concepts in cinema studies. London: Routledge.

Henretta, J. A., & Nobles, G. H. (1987). Evolution and revolution: American society,
1600-1820. Lexington, MA: D.C. Heath and Company.

Hovde, E., & Meyer. M. (Producer/Director). (1997). Liberty! The American Revolution
[Motion picture]. Twin Cities Public Television in association with Middlemarch
Films. (Available from PBS Home Video, http://www.pbs.org)

Husbands, C., Kitson, A., & Pendry, A. (2003). Understanding history teaching:
Teaching and learning about the past in secondary schools. Maidenhead, UK:
Open University Press.

Husbands, C., & Pendry, A. (2000). Thinking and feeling: pupils' preconceptions about ‘
the past and historical understanding. In J. Arthur & R. Phillips (Eds.), Issues in
history teaching (pp. 125-134). London: Routledge.

Jenkins, K. (1991). Re-thinking history. London: Routledge.

Johnson, W. (I 999). Soul by soul: Life inside the antebellum slave market. Cambridge:
Harvard University Press.

Johnson, J. & Vargas, C. (1994). The smell of celluloid in the classroom: Five great
movies that teach. Social Education, 58. 109-1 13.

Justice, B. (2003). Historical ﬁction to historical fact: Gangs of New York and the
whitewashing of history. Social Education, 67, 213.

Kammen, M. (1995). Some patterns and meanings of memory distortion in American
history. In D. L. Schacter (Ed.), Memory distortion: How minds, brains, and ,
societies reconstruct the past (pp. 329-345). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press.

314

Keene, D. (2002). Emperor of Japan: Meiji and his world, 1852-1912. New York:
Columbia University Press.

Kennedy, M. (2005). Inside teaching: How classroom life undermines reform.
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Klein, K. L. (2000). On the emergence of memory in historical discourse.
Representations, 69, 127- 145.

Knowlton, D. C., & Tilton, J. W. (1932). Auditorium versus classroom showing of
motion pictures in history teaching. Journal of Educational Psychology, 23, 663-
670.

Lampert, M. (1985). How do teachers manage to teach? Perspectives on problems in
practice. Harvard Educational Review, 55, 178-194.

Lampert, M. (2001). Teaching problems and the problems of teaching. New Haven: Yale
University Press.

Landy, M. (1996). Cinematic uses of the past. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press.

Landy, M. (Ed.). (2001). The historical ﬁlm: History and memory in media. New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

Lankshear, C. (1999). Literacy studies in education: Disciplined developments in a post-
disciplinary age. In M. Peters (Ed.), After the disciplines: The emergence of
cultural studies (pp. 199-228). Westport, CT: Greenwood.

Leinhardt, G., Stainton, C., & Virji, S. M. (1994). A sense of history. Educational
Psychologist, 29, 79-89.

Levstik, L. (2000). Articulating the silences: Teachers’ and adolescents' conceptions of
historical signiﬁcance. In P. N. Steams & P. Seixas & S. Wineburg (Eds)
Knowing, teaching, and Ieaming history. National and international perspectives
(pp. 284- 305). New York: New York University Press.

List, D. (2002). Know your audience: A practical guide to media research. New Zealand:
Original Books.

Loshitzky, Y. (Ed.). (1997). Spielberg’s Holocaust: Critical perspectives on Schindler's
List. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Lowenthal, D. (1997). History and memory. The Public Historian, 19(2), 31-39.

Masterman, L. (1985). Teaching the media. London: Comedia Publishing Group.

315

Marcus, A. (2005). "It is as it was": Feature ﬁlm in the history classroom. The Social
Studies, 96, 61-67.

Matz, K. A., & Pingatore, L. L. (2005). Reel to reel: Teaching the twentieth century with
classic Hollywood ﬁlms. Social Education, 69, 189-192.

McClain, J. L. (2002). Japan, a modern history. New York: Norton & Company.

McNeil, L. M. (1986). Defensive teaching and classroom control, Contradictions of
control: Schools structure and school knowledge (pp. 157-190). New York:
Routledge & Kegan Paul.

Megill, A. (1998). History, memory, identity. History of the Human Sciences, 11(3), 37-
62.

Metzger, S. A. (2005). The Kingdom of Heaven: Teaching the Crusades. Social
Education, 69, 256-262.

Middlekauff, R. (2005). The glorious cause: The American Revolution, 1763-1789
(revised ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Morgan, P. D. (1998). Slave counterpoint: Black culture in the eighteenth-century
Chesapeake and Lowcountry. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

National Center for History in the Schools. (1996). National standards for history. Los
Angeles: University of California, Los Angeles.

Nelson, C., Treichler, P. A., & Grossberg, L. (Eds). (1992). Cultural studies. New York:
Routledge.

Nora, P. (1989). Between memory and history: Les lieux de memoire. Representations,
26, 7-24.

Novick, P. (1988). That noble dream: The "objectivity question " and the American
historical profession. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Novick, P. (1999). The Holocaust in American life. New York: Houghton Mifﬂin
Company.

O'Connor, J. (2002). Image as artifact: Historians and the moving-image media.
Magazine of History, 16(4), 23.

O'Connor, J. (Ed.). (1990). Image as artifact: The historical analysis of ﬁlm and
television. Malabar, Florida: Robert E. Krieger Publishing Company.

316

Olick, J. K., & Robbins, J. (1998). Social memory studies: From "collective memory" to
the historical sociology of mnemonic practices. Annual Review of Sociology, 24,
105-140.

Ozick, C. (1999). The rights of history and the rights of imagination. Commentary,
107(3), 22-27.

Page, R. N. (1999). The uncertain value of school knowledge: Biology at Westridge
High. Teachers College Record, 100, 554-601.

Pancake, J. S. (1985). This destructive war: The British campaign in the Carolinas, 1780-
1 782. University: University of Alabama Press.

Paxton, R. J., & Meyerson, P. (2002, April). From "Birth of a Nation " to "Pearl Harbor":
The inﬂuence of a movie 's perspective on students' historical understandings.
Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research
Association, New Orleans, LA.

Price, J. (1998). Accommodation and critique in the school lives of six young African-
American men. Curriculum Inquiry, 28, 443-471.

Radstone, S. (Ed.). (2000). Memory and methodology. Oxford, UK: Berg.
Rosenstone, R. A. (1995a). The historical ﬁlm as real history. F ilm-Historia, 5(1), 5-23.

Rosenstone, R. A. (1995b). Visions of the past: The challenge of ﬁlm to our idea of
history. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Rosenstone, R. A. (2002). The visual media and historical knowledge. In L. Kramer & S.
Maza (Eds.), A companion to Western historical thought (pp. 466-481). Malden,
MA: Blackwell. '

Rosenstone, R. A. (Ed.). (1995c). Revisioning history: Film and the construction of a new
post. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Rosenzweig, R., & Thelen, D. (1998). The presence of the past: Popular uses of history
in American life. New York: Columbia University Press.

Schacter, D. L. (Ed.). (1995). Memory distortion: How minds, brains, and societies
reconstruct the past. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Schatz, T. (Ed.). (2004). Hollywood: Critical concepts in media and cultural studies.

Volume IV: Cultural dimensions: ideology, identity, and cultural industry studies.
New York: Routledge.

317

Schudson, M. (1995). Dynamics of distortion in collective memory. In D. L. Schacter
(Ed.), Memory distortion: How minds, brains, and societies reconstruct the past
(pp. 346-364). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Sedlak, M., Wheeler, C., Pulling, D., & Cusick, P. A. (1986). Selling students short:
Classroom bargains and academic reform in the American high school. New
York: Teachers College Press.

Segall, A. (1997). "De-transparent-izing" media: Texts in the social studies classroom. In
1. Wright & A. Sears (Eds.), Trends and issues in Canadian social studies (pp.
228-249). Vancouver: Paciﬁc Educational Press.

Segall, A. (1999). Critical history: Implications for history/social studies education.
Theory and Research in Social Education, 27, 358-3 74.

Seixas, P. (1993). Popular ﬁlm and young people’s understanding of the history of Native
American-White relations. The History Teacher, 26, 351-370.

Seixas, P. (1994). Confronting the moral ﬂames of popular ﬁlm: Young people respond
to historical revisionism. American Journal of Education, 102, 261-285.

Seixas, P. (Ed.). (2004). Theorizing historical consciousness. Toronto: University of
Toronto Press.

Seixas, P., Steams, P., & Wineburg, S. (1999). History, memory, research and the
schools. Perspectives of the American Historical Association, 37(1), 28-31.

Shohat, E., & Stamm, R. (1994). Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the
media. London: Routledge.

Shulman, L. S. (1986). Those who understand: Knowledge growth in teaching.
Educational Researcher, 15(2), 4-14.

Shulman, L. S. (1987). Knowledge and teaching: Foundations of the new reform.
Harvard Educational Review, 5 7, 1-22.

Sklar, R. (1997). Scofﬂaws and the historian-cop. Reviews in American History, 25, 346-
350.

Sobchack, V. (Ed.). (1996). The persistence of history: Cinema, television, and the
modern event. New York: Routledge.

Sorlin, P. (2001). How to look at an “historical” ﬁlm. In M. Landy (Ed.), The historical

film: History and memory in media (pp. 25-49). New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers
University Press.

318

Stemler, S. (2001). An introduction to content analysis. Retrieved June 15, 2005, ﬁ'om
ERIC Digests Web site: http://www.ericdigests.org/2002-2/content.htm

Stoddard, J. (2004, November). The burden of historical representation: Race and
'educational ' Hollywood ﬁlm. Paper presented at the College and University
Faculty Assembly of the National Council for the Social Studies, Baltimore,
Maryland.

Stoddard, J. (2005, November). "Was that how it really happened? " Using ﬁlm to engage
students in historical thinking. Paper presented at the College and University
Faculty Assembly of the National Council for the Social Studies, Kansas City,
Missouri.

Stoddard, J ., & Marcus, A. (in press). The burden of historical representation: Race,
freedom and “educational” Hollywood ﬁlm. Film and History.

Stone, L. (1991). History and post-modemism. Past and Present, 131, 217-218.

Sturma, M., & MacCallum, J. (2000). JFK in the classroom. The Social Studies, 91, 101-
104.

Taves, B. (2001). The History Channel and the challenge of historical programming. In
G. R. Edgerton & P. C. Rollins (Eds.), Television histories: Shaping collective
memory in the media age (pp. 261-281). Lexington: University of Kentucky
Press.

Toplin, R. B. (1996a). History by Hollywood: The use and abuse of the American past.
Urbana: University of Illinois Press.

Toplin, R. B. (2002a). Invigorating history: Using ﬁlm in the classroom. Magazine of
History, 16(4), 5-6.

Toplin, R. B. (2002b). Reel history: In defense of Hollywood. Lawrence: University Press
of Kansas.

Toplin, R. B. (Ed.). (1996b). Ken Burns's The Civil War: Historians respond. Oxford,
UK: Oxford University Press.

Toplin, R. B., & Eudy, J. (2002). The historian encounters ﬁlm: A historiography.
Magazine of History, 16(4), 7-12.

Tovares, J. (Producer/Director). (2004). American experience: Remember the Alamo
[Motion picture]. (Available from PBS Home Video, http://www.pbs.org)

319

VanSledright, B. (2002). Conﬁ'onting history's interpretive paradox while teaching ﬁfth
graders to investigate the past. American Educational Research Journal, 39,
1089-1 1 15.

VanSledright, B. (2004). What does it mean to read history? Fertile ground for cross-
disciplinary collaborations? Reading Research Quarterly, 39, 342-346.

von Borries, B. (1994). (Re-)constructing history and moral judgment: On relationships
between interpretations of the past and perceptions of the present. In M. Carretero
& J. F. Voss (Eds.), Cognitive and instructional processes in history and the
social sciences (pp. 339-356). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.

Weinstein, P. (2001). Movies as the gateway to history: The history and ﬁlm project. The
History Teacher, 35, 27-47.

Wertsch, J. (1994). Struggling with the past: Some dynamics of historical representation.
In M. Carretero & J. F. Voss (Eds.), Cognitive and instructional processes in
history and the social sciences (pp. 323-338). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum
Associates.

Wertsch, J. V. (2000). Is it possible to teach beliefs, as well as knowledge about history?
In P. N. Steams & P. Seixas & S. Wineburg (Eds.), Knowing, teaching, and
Ieaming history: National and international perspectives (pp. 38-50). New York:
New York University Press.

Wertsch, J. V. (2002). Voices of collective remembering. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.

Wertsch, J. V. (2004). Speciﬁc narratives and schematic narrative templates. In P. Seixas
(Ed.), T heorizing historical consciousness (pp. 49-62). Toronto: University of
Toronto Press.

Whelan, M. (1997). The historical subject matter that ultimately matters most. Theory
and Research in Social Education, 25 , 506-510.

Wills, J. S. (1994). Popular culture, curriculum, and historical representation: The
situation of Native Americans in American history and the perpetuation of
popular stereotypes. Journal of Narrative and Life History, 4, 277-294

Wilson, 8., Shulman, L., & Richert, A. (1987). “150 different ways” of knowing:
Representations of knowledge in teaching. In J. Caldcrhead (Ed.), Exploring
T eachers' Thinking (pp. 104-125). Eastbome, England: Cassell.

Wilson, 8., & Sykes, G. (1989). Toward better teacher preparation and certiﬁcation. In P.

A. Gagnon (Ed.), Historical literacy: The case for history in American education
(pp. 268-286). New York: Macmillan.

320

Wineburg, S. (1991). Historical problem solving: A study of the cognitive processes used
in the evaluation of documentary and pictorial evidence. Journal of Educational
Psychology, 83, 73-87.

Wineburg, S. (2001). Historical thinking and other unnatural acts: Charting the future of
teaching the past. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Wineburg, S., Mosborg, S., & Porat, D. (2000). What can Forrest Gump tell us about
students' historical understanding? Social Education, 65, 55-58.

Wineburg, S., & Martin, D. (2004). Reading and rewriting history. Educational
Leadership, 62(1), 42-45.

Wise, H. A. ( I 939). Motion pictures as an aid in teaching American history. New Haven,
CT: Yale University Press.

Woodruff, W. (2002). A concise history of the modern world: 1 5 00 to the present, a
guide to world affairs (4th ed.). London: Palgrave Macmillan.

World History for Us All. (n.d.). The idea behind this curriculum. San Diego State
University in cooperation with the National Center for History in the Schools at
UCLA. Retrieved July 9, 2006, from the World Wide Web:
http://worldhistoryforusall.sdsu.edu/dev/foundations/idea_behind.htm

Wyke, M. (2001). Projecting ancient Rome. In M. Landy (Ed.), The historical ﬁlm:
History and memory in media (pp. 125-142). New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers
University Press.

Zelizer, B. (1997). Every once in a while: Schindler’s List and the shaping of history. In
Y. Loshitzky (Ed.), Spielberg's Holocaust: Critical perspectives on Schindler's
List (pp. 18-35). Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

Zerubavel, E. (2003). Time maps: Collective memory and the social shape of the past.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Zwick, E. (Director). (2003). The lost samurai [Motion picture]. United States: Warner
Brothers.

321

 

IIIIIIIJQIIIIIIIIjII[[11:11