Dead Poets Society - Carpe Diem

Painfully shy Todd Anderson has been sent to the school where his popular older brother was valedictorian. His room-mate, Neil, although exceedingly bright and popular, is very much under the thumb of his overbearing father. The two, along with their other friends, meet Professor Keating, their new English teacher, in this scene tells them of the Dead Poets Society. This is the start of something new for all the boys and encourages them to go against the status quo. Each, in their own way, does this, and are changed for life.

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EXT. WELTON GROUNDS - DAY

Keating is walking down towards the lake, whistling the same tune as before. The boys emerge from the building and chase after him.

NEIL
Mr. Keating? Mr. Keating? Sir?
Oh Captain,My Captain?

Keating immediately turns around.

KEATING
Gentlemen.

NEIL
We were just looking in your old annual.

He hands Keating the annual and Keating looks at his old photograph.

KEATING
Oh my God. No, that's not me. Stanley "The Tool" Wilson-

Keating crouches down and continues looking through the book.

KEATING
God.

Neil crouches down next to Keating.

NEIL
What was the Dead Poets Society?

KEATING
I doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that.

NEIL
Why? What was it?

KEATING
Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?

NEIL
Sure.

The other boys crouch down around Keating.

KEATING
The Dead Poets were dedicated to sucking the marrow out of life. That's a phrase from Thoreau that we'd invoke at the beginning of each meeting. You see we'd gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelley; the biggies. Even some of our own verse. And in the enchantment of the moment we'd let poetry work its magic.

KNOX
You mean it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?

KEATING
No Mr. Overstreet, it wasn't just "guys", we weren't a Greek organization, we were romantics. We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned, and gods were created, gentlemen, not a bad way to spend an evening eh? Thank you Mr. Perry for this trip down amnesia lane. Burn that, especially my picture.

Keating hands the annual back and walks away, whistling once again. Neil remains crouched.

NEIL
Dead Poets Society.

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