This French faux documentary based on a year in a Parisian school won the Palme D’Or at Cannes and has opened in New York to unanimously rave reviews. Its protagonist is a real teacher, Francois Begaudeau, who wrote a book on which the film is based and stars as a version of himself with the fictional name of Monsieur Marin. His students, played by non-professional real students, would be the equivalent of our junior high school age (13, 14) and they are mostly Black, Arab and Asian immigrants. Considering the volatile mix of cultures, the students are relatively tame - no one has brought weapons to school and no recess fights end in stabbings, mutilation or death. Given the history of violence in American schools, things don’t seem as bad in France as in Columbine or New York City.

Perhaps it is precisely for this reason that the educational system we see enforced is so apparently and infuriatingly wrong-headed. Right from the beginning, we see the cluster of disaffected Black and Arab students sitting in the back, interacting with each other, oblivious to the teacher’s attempts to bring the class to order. Similarly, we see the cliques of gum-chewing girls who keep chattering away, ignoring the increasingly loud calls to attention. We wonder why the teacher, who knows all these students from the previous year, has not organized a seating plan that would separate the troublemakers from each other and bring them closer to the front. We wonder why there is no attempt to minimize all the ethnic differences with a school uniform or a dress code for the teachers as well as the students. To an outside observer, there is little sense of hierarchy in the classroom; the teacher engages in pointless back and forth arguments with his sullen charges, eventually precipitating a crisis by descending to their level of discourse. His authority is inconsistent and immature - he responds to a student taunting him with the suggestion that he is gay by actually answering that question. We see a faculty meeting to evaluate the students’ final grades where two student representatives are present, giggling,eating, whispering and disrupting the proceedings. No one reprimands them for the longest time as if even the simplest rules of decorum are outside the bailiwick of the ineffectual faculty and administration. There is one teacher who seems to speak for discipline but he is unpersuasive and unheeded.

We realize that many of these students come from difficult homes with parents who don’t speak French and don’t understand the requirements of the school, much less French society. We also realize that Monsieur Marin’s attempts to run his classroom less formally and better suited to an honors seminar, will not lead to good results with this group. Twenty minutes into the film, I started wishing that the TV Nanny would make an appearance and take Monsieur in hand, reminding him of the importance of structure and consistency, suggesting that he wear a shirt and tie to work, emphasizing that he is the leader of the class who must command respect, not plead for it.

Of course these destructive patterns exist in our schools as well with concern for self-esteem and students’ rights taking precedence over civilizing their behavior and expecting them to deliver some content related work. The Wall Street Journal review praised this film and noted that “The beauty of The Class is that it doesn’t take sides; it takes note without passing judgment.” The same might be said of the pedagogical system we observe - if thirteen year old girls are included at a faculty evaluation of their fellow students - clearly the inmates are running the institution. We could tolerate this depiction if there were some condemnation but without it, we are left with anger, frustration and the pessimistic conclusion that as an avatar of western education, it is school itself that needs to be re-thought.

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