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Robin Williams played inspiring English teacher John Keating in "Dead Poets Society."

As a Gen X parent of Gen Z teens and young adults, I'm used to cringing at things from 80s and 90s movies that haven't aged well. However, a beloved movie from my youth that I didn't expect to be problematic, "Dead Poets Society," sparked some unexpected negative responses in my kids, shining a spotlight on generational differences I didn't even know existed.

I probably watched "Dead Poets Society" a dozen or more times as a teen and young adult, always finding it aesthetically beautiful, tragically sad, and profoundly inspiring. That film was one of the reasons I decided to become an English teacher, inspired as I was by Robin Williams' portrayal of the passionately unconventional English teacher, John Keating.

The way Mr. Keating shared his love of beauty and poetry with a class of high school boys at a stuffy prep school, encouraging them to "seize the day" and "suck all the marrow out of life," hit me right in my idealistic youthful heart. And when those boys stood up on their desks for him at the end of the film, defying the headmaster who held their futures in his hands? What a moving moment of triumph and support.

My Gen Z kids, however, saw the ending differently. They loved the feel of the film, which I expected with its warm, cozy, comforting vibe (at least up until the last 20 minutes or so). They loved Mr. Keating, because how can you not? But when the movie ended, I was taken aback hearing "That was terrible!" and "Why would you traumatize me like that?" before they admitted, "But it was so gooood!"

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The traumatize part I get—that film gets very heavy all of a sudden. But in discussing it further, I uncovered three main generational differences that impacted their "Dead Poets Society" viewing experience and what they took away from it.

1) Gen Z sees inspiring change through a systemic lens, not an individual one

The first thing my 20-year-old said when the credits rolled was, "What? That's terrible! Nothing changed! He got fired and the school is still run by a bunch of stodgy old white men forcing everyone to conform!" My immediate response was, "Yeah, but he changed those boys' individual lives, didn't he? He helped broaden their minds and see the world differently."

I realized that Gen X youth valued individuals going against the old, outdated system and doing their own thing, whereas Gen Z values the dismantling of the system itself. For Gen X, Mr. Keating and the boys taking a stand was inspiring, but the fact that it didn't actually change anything outside of their own individual experiences stuck like a needle in my Gen Z kids' craw.

2) Gen Z isn't accustomed to being blindsided by tragic storylines with no warning

To be fair, I did tell them there was "a sad part" before the movie started. But I'd forgotten how deeply devastating the last part of the movie was, so my daughter's "Why would you do that to me?!" was somewhat warranted. "I thought maybe a dog would die or something!" she said. No one really expected one of the main characters to die by suicide and the beloved teacher protagonist to be blamed for it, but I'd somehow minimized the tragedy of it all in my memory.

But also to be fair, Gen X never got any such warnings—we were just blindsided by tragic plot twists all the time. As kids, we cheered on Atreyu trying to save his horse from the swamp in "The Neverending Story" only to watch him drown. Adults showed us "Watership Down" thinking it would be a cute little animated film about bunnies. We were slapped in the face by the tragic child death in "My Girl," which was marketed as a sweet coming of age movie.

Gen Z was raised in the era of trigger warnings and trauma-informed practices, while Gen X kids watched a teacher die on live TV in our classrooms with zero follow-up on how we were processing it. Those differences became apparent real quick at the end of this movie.

3) Gen Z fixates on boundary-crossing behavior that Gen X overlooked

The other reaction I wasn't expecting was the utter disdain my girls showed for Knox Overstreet, the sweet-but-over-eager character who fell for the football player's cheerleader girlfriend. His boundary-crossing attempts to woo her were always cringe, but for Gen X, cringe behavior in the name of love was generally either overlooked, tolerated, or sometimes even celebrated. (Standing on a girl's lawn in the middle of the night holding a full-volume stereo over your head was peak romance for Gen X, remember.) For Gen Z, the only thing worse than cringe is predatory behavior, which Knox's obsessiveness and pushiness could be seen as. My young Gen X lens saw him and said, "That's a bit much, dude. Take it down a notch or three." My Gen Z daughters' lens said, "That guy's a creepo. She needs to run far the other way."

On one hand, I was proud of them for recognizing red flag behaviors. On the other hand, I saw how little room there is for nuance in their perceptions, which was…interesting.

My Gen Z kids' reactions aren't wrong; they're just different than mine were at their age. We're usually on the same page, so seeing them have a drastically different reaction to something I loved at their age was really something. Now I'm wondering what other favorite movies from my youth I should show them to see if they view those differently as well—hopefully without them feeling traumatized by the experience.

He was a natural born storyteller.

When it comes to meticulous world-building, nobody does it quite like J.R.R. Tolkien. But not many know that before Tolkien had brought the elves, orcs and hobbits of Middle Earth to life, he delighted his four children with epic tales of “Father Christmas” the North Pole, and they were every bit as sprawling and in-depth as his famous works.

According to Letters of Note, in December of 1920, shortly after he returned home from WWI, Tolkien secretly hand wrote a letter—as Father Christmas, of course—to his 3-year-old son, John, and placed it in his bedroom along with an illustration of Father Christmas’ home in the North Pole. It would become a recurring tradition in the Tolkien household for the next 23 years.

Each year the letters—usually written in Father Christmas’s spidery handwriting—would grow more complex as they recounted the adventures of Father Christmas and his temperamental sidekick North Polar Bear, whose rascally antics were regularly the cause of mayhem. And always, there would be a vivid illustration as well as a North Pole stamp and postage marks, designed by Tolkien.

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In the letter below, written in 1925, we find out that North Polar Bear accidentally broke the North Pole while climbing on top of it to retrieve Father Christmas’s runaway hood. Poor fella crashed through the roof of Father Christmas’s home, broke his leg and spoiled that year’s gift haul with the snow that crashed down with him.

Thanks to the folks at Letters of Note, we have an easily readable transcription:

Cliff House

Top of the World

Near the North Pole

Xmas 1925

My dear boys,

I am dreadfully busy this year — it makes my hand more shaky than ever when I think of it — and not very rich. In fact, awful things have been happening, and some of the presents have got spoilt and I haven’t got the North Polar Bear to help me and I have had to move house just before Christmas, so you can imagine what a state everything is in, and you will see why I have a new address, and why I can only write one letter between you both. It all happened like this: one very windy day last November my hood blew off and went and stuck on the top of the North Pole. I told him not to, but the N.P.Bear climbed up to the thin top to get it down — and he did. The pole broke in the middle and fell on the roof of my house, and the N.P.Bear fell through the hole it made into the dining room with my hood over his nose, and all the snow fell off the roof into the house and melted and put out all the fires and ran down into the cellars where I was collecting this year’s presents, and the N.P.Bear’s leg got broken. He is well again now, but I was so cross with him that he says he won’t try to help me again. I expect his temper is hurt, and will be mended by next Christmas. I send you a picture of the accident, and of my new house on the cliffs above the N.P. (with beautiful cellars in the cliffs). If John can’t read my old shaky writing (1925 years old) he must get his father to. When is Michael going to learn to read, and write his own letters to me? Lots of love to you both and Christopher, whose name is rather like mine.

That’s all. Goodbye.

Father Christmas

So many parallels to Middle Earth are interwoven throughout these stories that there’s been much debate as to whether or not the Father Christmas letters were an influence to Lord of the Rings, or merely showcased concepts Tolkien was already contemplating for the series. There’s invented languages, nods to real-world folklore and historical events, and even elf clans and goblin battles. May have argued that Father Christmas himself was a precursor to Gandalf.

Tolkien would continue writing his Father Christmas letters until 1943, when the gift-giving hero dubbed Tolkien’s children “too old” to hang their stocking anymore. And these stories remained a secret to all but the Tolkien family until 1973, when they were published posthumously.

Tolkien might have been the father of modern fantasy, but as we can see from these enchanting letters, he was also just a dad trying to make Christmas magical for his family. It just so happened that he was very well equipped to do so.

You can also listen to a reading of the Tolkien’s 1925 Father Christmas letter below:

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Pop Culture

How Matilda Gage, history's long lost suffragist, inspired the witches of Oz

Her radical views shaped the way we view witches today—and we don't even know it.

Universal Pictures/YouTube, Wikipedia

A feminist icon deemed too radical for society? Sounds pretty witchy, if you ask us.

Part of what makes L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, such an enduring story—providing inspiration for countless other books, movies, television shows, musicals and beyond—is its compelling, dynamic, self-possessed female characters…which is all the more impressive when you remember that women weren’t even allowed to vote at the time of Baum writing it.

And yes, while the kind, compassionate, and brave Dorothy is certainly compelling in her own right, we all know that it’s the witches that really leave us spellbound. Both Glinda of the North and the Wicked Witch of the West (or Galinda and Elphaba, for Wicked fans) have given us a lasting image for the complex theme of good and evil.

But very few know that these witches, or our current views of witches in general, might have never been conjured up in the first place, had it not been for an unsung hero of the 19th-century women’s rights movement, who just so happened to be Baum’s mother-in-law—Matilda Electa Joslyn Gage.

Gage was a suffragette who co-founded National Woman Suffrage Association along with Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. However, unlike her well-known cohorts, Gage was much more outwardly combative. In 1886 she famously showed up to the unveiling of the Statue of Liberty on a cattle barge with a megaphone, shouting that it was “a gigantic lie, a travesty and a mockery” to portray liberty as a woman when actual American women had so few rights.

Unlike Anthony Stanton, Gage also supported the 15th Amendment, and sheltered runaway slaves, and became a beloved ally to local Indigenous tribes, who adopted her as one of their own.

Gage would eventually cut ties with Anthony and Stanton after they aimed to get the support of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, an organization which wasn’t as much fighting for women’s rights as it was trying to dismantle the separation of church and state and make America a “dry and moral” country. And instead, she created a new group called the National Women’s Liberal Union.

During her time as an activist, Gage railed against religious leaders and politicians for oppressing women by accusing them of heresy and witchcraft. This is a theme most of us are extremely familiar with, thanks to her.

While writing her revolutionary manifesto Woman, Church and State: The Original Exposé of Male Collaboration Against the Female Sexin1893, Gage became an expert on the centuries long witch-hunts that forced women to be put to death by fire, hanging, torture, drowning or stoning. And she spared no expense when it came to depicting those scenes, or her thoughts about them.

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For example, she wrote about 400 women burning all at once in a French public square “for a crime which never existed save in the imagination of those persecutors and which grew in their imagination from a false belief in woman’s extraordinary wickedness.”

For Gage, the link between religion and oppression was unseverable.

“As soon as a system of religion was adopted which taught the greater sinfulness of women, the saying arose: One wizard for every 10,000 witches, and the persecution for witchcraft became chiefly directed at women.”

And how exactly did Gage’s male critics respond to her message? By calling her a “satanist” and a “heretic.” Thus proving her point, really.

Though Baum didn’t instantly win over his fierce mother-in-law, over the years she did become a spiritual mentor to him, not to mention his muse on multiple levels.

First off, Gage was the one who encouraged Baum to actually write down his whimsical tales in the first place, which previously he only spoke aloud with his children.

Second, Baum was fascinated by her evocative descriptions of witches, and the feminist ideals they represent, which we undoubtedly see in his work. His wizard coerces Dorothy into killing a fellow woman, the Wicked Witch of the West, and then is revealed to be an empty god. And then, through the help of another woman, Glinda the Good Witch, Dorothy learns the power was inside her all along.

Third, Gage introduced Baum to The Theosophical Society, which was basically an amalgamation of Buddhist and Hindu principles that spoke of following life’s golden path to enlightenment and would later be represented by the Yellow Brick Road.

Lastly, it was Gage who suggested incorporating the tornado that would take Dorothy off to Oz in the first place. Cause how else was she gonna get there?

And to think, none of this show’s up in Gage’s measly 205-word New York Times obituary, stationed below Tiffany & Co. ad which simply credits her for being “one of the earliest champions of woman’s rights in America.” In fact, it wasn’t until new research was found, mostly in the form of newspaper writings by Baum and as unpublished letters from Gage, that people began to link her to his work.

Gage’s unwavering radical views removed her from her rightful place in history, especially due to deliberate actions taken by Susan B. Anthony to distance Gage and her “dangerous” ideas from the suffragist movement altogether. But through the work of her son-in-law, she formed a different kind of legacy—one that continues to inspire women everywhere to click their heels three times and find their own courage, value their empathy, and believe in the power of their own intelligence.

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Pop Culture

'Wicked' author reveals how one line in 'The Wizard of Oz' inspired Elphaba and Glinda's story

Gregory Maguire says he "fell down to the ground" laughing when the idea hit him.

Public domain

Gregory Maguire was inspired by a line in the original 1939 film "The Wizard of Oz."

Have you ever watched a movie or read a book or listened to a piece of music and wondered, "How did they come up with that idea?" The creative process is so enigmatic even artists themselves don't always know where their ideas come from, so It's a treat when we get to hear the genesis of a brilliant idea straight from the horse's mouth. If you've watched "Wicked" and wondered where the idea for the friendship between Elphaba (the Wicked Witch) and Glinda (the Good Witch) came from, the author of the book has shared the precise moment it came to him.

The hit movie "Wicked" is based on the 20-year-old hit stage musical, which is based on the novel "Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West" written by Gregory Maguire. While the musical is a simplified version of the 1995 book, the basic storyline—the origins of the two witches from "The Wizard of Oz"—lies at the heart of both. In an interview with BBC, Maguire explained how Elphaba and Glinda's friendship popped into his head.

Maguire was visiting Beatrix Potter's farm in Cumbria, England, and thinking about "The Wizard of Oz," which he had loved as a child and thought could be an interesting basis for a story about evil.

"I thought 'alright, what do we know about 'The Wizard of Oz' from our memories,'" he said. "We have the house falling on the witch. What do we know about that witch? All we know about that witch is that she has feet. So I began to think about Glinda and the Wicked Witch of the West…

"There is one scene in the 1939 film where Billie Burke comes down looking all pink and fluffy, and Margaret Hamilton is all crawed and crabbed and she says something like, 'I might have known you'd be behind this, Glinda!' This was my memory, and I thought, now why is she using Glinda's first name? They have known each other. Maybe they've known each other for a long time. Maybe they went to college together. And I fell down onto the ground in the Lake District laughing at the thought that they had gone to college together."

In "Wicked," Glinda and the Wicked Witch, Elphaba, meet as students at Shiz University, a school of wizardry. They get placed as roommates, loathe each other at first, but eventually become best friends. The story grows a lot more complicated from there (and the novel goes darker than the stage play), but it's the character development of the two witches and their relationship with one another that force us to examine our ideas about good and evil.


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Maguire also shared with the Denver Center for Performing Arts what had inspired him to use the "Wizard of Oz" characters in the first place.

"I was living in London in the early 1990’s during the start of the Gulf War. I was interested to see how my own blood temperature chilled at reading a headline in the usually cautious British newspaper, the Times of London: 'Sadaam Hussein: The New Hitler?' I caught myself ready to have a fully formed political opinion about the Gulf War and the necessity of action against Sadaam Hussein on the basis of how that headline made me feel. The use of the word Hitler – what a word! What it evokes! When a few months later several young schoolboys kidnapped and killed a toddler, the British press paid much attention to the nature of the crime. I became interested in the nature of evil, and whether one really could be born bad. I considered briefly writing a novel about Hitler but discarded the notion due to my general discomfort with the reality of those times. But when I realized that nobody had ever written about the second most evil character in our collective American subconscious, the Wicked Witch of the West, I thought I had experienced a small moment of inspiration. Everybody in America knows who the Wicked Witch of the West is, but nobody really knows anything about her. There is more to her than meets the eye."

Authors and artists—and their ideas—help hold a mirror up to humanity for us to see and reflect on who we are, and "Wicked" is one of those stories that makes us take a hard look at what we're seeing in that mirror. Thanks, Gregory Maguire, for launching us on a collective journey that not only entertains but has the potential to change how we see one another.