MR. HOLLAND'S OPUS
Mr. Holland's Opus Aces The Final Exam
A film review by John Paul Powell
Copyright 1996 John Paul Powell
Published In The Outreach Connection Newspaper (Jan. 24, 1996)
Starring: Richard Dreyfuss, Glenne Headly, Jay Thomas, Olympia Dukakis and W.H. Macy. Written by: Patrick Sheane Duncan. Directed by: Stephen Herek. Produced by: Scott Kroopf and Patrick Seane Duncan. A Buena Vista Pictures Distribution release.
This review is dedicated to those whose love, guidance and support shaped and enriched my life. I am a better person for knowing you.
Mrs. Shirley Powell: You shared your love of literature and film, inspiring your grandson to follow in your footsteps.
Mr. Kellman: My high school English teacher. You opened my eyes to the special "gift" I had. The purpose and direction of my life changed forever.
John Lott, Lindy Oughtred and Steve Cogan: Journalism's "Holy Trinity". You altered my view of the world. My peepers thank you.
Chris Farrer/Adrian Bromley: My partners in crime. You are more than friends to me, you're my brothers.
Julie Powell: My wife. If there ever was a choice between you and my "gift", this keyboard would fall silent.
Bodies and minds recharged, we'd file into the ground floor music room, a leisurely stroll from the cafeteria. Chit-chatting, we unpacked our instruments. Hinges popped like fireworks. Metal clanged against metal. Trumpets blared. Tubas bellowed. Flutes cooed. Mr. Ford slung his jacket over a chair and rolled his sleeves up. The symphony of the damned evaporated into thin air. Class was in session.
Music was Mr. Ford's life. When he spoke, you half-expected a string of musical notes to cascade from his lips. He could play any instrument, any instrument at all, just like he'd crawled out of the crib with it tucked under his arm.
He taught in earnest. It was in the intensity of his eyes as he conducted. It was in his face which flushed blood-red when the class goofed off. It was in his smile when you really nailed apiece, stomped its ass and sent it home crying to Mother.
I don't remember much from music class, though I pulled decent grades. If I put a trumpet to my lips now, you'd swear a duck got its tail feathers caught in an outboard motor. Am I a failure? Nope. In that ground floor music room I learned the committment to hone a skill and the significance of respecting the "gift" God gave you.
Man, does my chest hurt. It hit me once the theatre lights illuminated the joint. I stood up. A sharp pain seared my ribcage. My family quack diagnosed it as "Gumpcarditis" (E.T.'s Disease). The symptoms are nausea, shortness of breath and the aforementioned chest pains.
Gumpcarditis manifests after prolonged exposure to sappy filmmaking. The kind that plucks at your heart-strings not with nimble fingertips but needle nose pliers. The cure? Plenty of bed rest and Clint Eastwood or John Woo flicks to cleanse the system.
Mr. Holland's Opus pushes the hokey meter. Sugary scenes stand out as deliberate attempts at manipulating our waterworks. I would be in favor of marching the producers to detentionhall. Yeah. Dig it. Scrub those boards. Scrape the gum off those desks. Mop those floors. And if they do a real good job, they'll be treated to lunch in the school cafeteria.
"What kind of people like to go to work at seven-thirty in the morning?" sums up Mr. Holland's feelings towards his new job. A travelling musician, Holland (Richard Dreyfuss) has settled down with his wife Iris (Glenne Headly) and at battle axe's urging, he nabs a teaching gig. Holland formulates a master plan. Teaching in the day will accord him "free time" to compose at night.
A teacher with "free time" on their hands? This guy has been watching too many Welcome Back Kotter re-runs.
The class is a tough crowd. Holland reads exclusively from the text and assigns homework. His students don't retain a thing. Frustrated, he almost calls it quits. Principal Jacobs (Olympia Dukakis) steps in, whispering words of wisdom. Holland drastically modifies his technique and the students excel.
In the meantime, Holland's relationship with his son isn't exactly Ward and Beaver Cleaver. Cole is deaf and Holland, the musician, has a hard time relating to him. Ain't life ironic?
In spite of the incriminating deficiencies, Mr. Holland's Opus makes the grade. Enough superior scenes balance out the defects. Richard Dreyfuss hangs tough as the anchor, stopping this leaky ship from drifting out to sea.
Mr. Holland's Opus is rated T for Touching. Dreyfuss bagging an Oscar nomination x two boxes of Kleenex x Glenne Headly - a nagging case of Gumpcarditis + a gym teacher who plays..chess?!?! - Dreyfuss butchering a John Lennon ditty x sign language for the word "asshole" - MTV video montages = a run on Teacher's College applications.
Outreach Rating: 9 bitter hall monitors / 10
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