Becky Portman: A film class, as described by my Republican uncle
The teenagers wasting their parents’ hard-earned money shuffle into the classroom. It’s an afternoon class; none of these liberals could get out of bed before 10 a.m. anyway. The professor arrives late because he has no understanding of consequences and is an atheist. The professor wears a scarf or has a ponytail — or worse, both. The students stare at their laptops like zombies, scrolling incessantly on their socialized media. Their reddened eyes are hypnotized by the fake news influencers that infiltrate their brains which have been rotted by that icky sticky, illegal marijuana. Their tuition dollars swirl down the drain like their dreams of becoming the next Quentin Scorsese.
The professor starts “class” by talking about a movie which has lots of sex and was probably written by a woman. A boy in all black raises his hand to talk about how the movie transcends time or subverts expectations or challenges toxic masculinity. He is wrong. A girl with pink hair speaks out of turn and explains that the movie is an allegory about abortion. The teacher agrees with her, the movie is about abortion. The class cheers in unison for abortion. They watch a clip from a movie that made no money at the box office and was probably not half as good as the nine-part documentary on the Civil War from legendary filmmaker Ken Burns. The movie is bad but the professor says it’s good because it’s always opposite day in liberal land and all art made after World War II is objectively wrong. A student raises her hand to ask a question about the syllabus. The professor reminds her that there is no syllabus because he is an anarchist and hates his father.
About halfway through the class, the students gather around the professor to perform a seance to revive the spirit of Orson Welles. Using a 35 mm print of “Citizen Kane,” a bottle of Paul Masson wine and a lit cigar, the students bring the director back to life. They throw tomatoes at him and tell him to check his privilege. Afterwards, the students dance around the reanimated Welles until he explodes. They use his remains in their compost kombucha.
The professor yells out that it is 4:20 p.m. so the students each whip out one of their own marijuana cigarettes and proceed to smoke until the fire alarm goes off. They don’t care. They smoke anyway. When they are done with their marijuana cigarettes, they use their Juul Tide pods to get high on nicotine and disappoint their parents. One student brags about his unpaid internship while another wishes she could get a job that pays nothing. A girl who is most definitley a feminist displays her new tattoo to her classmates. The tattoo sits on her lower back and reads “I hate my mother.” Her fellow students applaud her bravery, originality and creativity. She reveals a lower portion of the tattoo which reads “Bernie 2020.”
The students are dismissed early because the professor has tenure.