Review by Sean A. Crespo

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I have to admit that they've earned the many Oscar nods they'll no doubt receive. It takes a lot of hard work, after all, to steal an entire script completely intact. Some poor soul had to sit down and transcribe, word for word, every line from Dead Poet's Society onto a completely brand new ream of paper, then painstakingly change the title just enough to avoid a lawsuit. Believe me, this isn't as easy as it seems. I tried to come up with my own alternate titles, and the only ones I could drum up were Prophet's Union, Warrior Poets, Inc., and The Divine Lodge of Associated Philosopher Kings. Not nearly as stirring, I think you'll agree.

Kevin Kline (Robin Williams) plays a poetry-loving, bow-tie wearing teacher at an all-boys private school that, I've been advised to state by Emperor's crack team of attorneys, looks nothing at all like the private school from Dead Poets Society. Our trailer opens with Kline invoking the names of Aristotle, Caesar, and Socrates. Even constrained to subject matter involving two chatty pederasts and one maniacal, war hungry tyrant, Kline manages to vomit out enough inspirational frou-frou spiritual garbage to make your eyes cross. The Kline-Williams Amalga-Actor also pushes his students to excel by alternately frowning, then smiling, signifying feelings of disappointed betrayal and knowing reassurance, or possibly just gas.

I'm sure you'll be able to guess just from the opening scene that Mr. Frou Frou eventually becomes the kids' favorite teacher, a trusted friend, and someone who could co-sign loans for future houseboats. So it is shocking when in the very next scene, Kline drops his pants, runs around the soccer field, and is shot dead by policemen. I kid, of course. Kline eventually becomes the kids' favorite teacher and a trusted friend; still, sounded interesting for a second, didn't it?

We cut to a series of brief scenes showing students involved in the lamest shenanigans I've ever seen, like milk-filled balloons (oh no!) and coordinated slammings of books to startle teachers (also oh no!). Luckily, according to the inspirational voiceover, Kevin Kline opts to "not give up" on these zany young milk balloon-tossing rakehells, and instead looks for "a way to reach the students." We then cut to the next scene, where Kline reveals his cunning strategy for winning over the student body: hitting a baseball through a car window. I can only presume the window was that of the crusty dean.

The antics continue with a snowball fight, some rowing (rich white people seem to enjoy their rowing), and several other scenes of Kline frolicking with minors. When it becomes starkly obvious that what slim plot there was has petered out to nothing, the preview switches tracks, treating itself to a series of self-congratulatory reviews. This equals about fifteen quotes from only one person (Larry King) who, in light of his excessively anus-licking flattery, must suffer from a tragic case of lobe scoliosis. Larry King, on Emperor: "Wonderful and extraordinary." Given that Larry King is neither wonderful or extraordinary, I put forward that he's the last person to be called upon to seek out these qualities in the works of others. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is Larry King even a newspaper or film critic? He's a talk show host, right? Who the fuck cares what a talk show host thinks about movies? Are we supposed to believe people will see a movie based solely on the psoriasis-splotched diagnosis of Larry King? Why not ask the old guy on my street who sells churros at 3 am? He's old, and judging by the sores on his face, he's been around the block once or twice too.

The only thing keeping this trailer from collapsing in on its own plotless vacuum is its desperate, desperate need to be inspirational. It made me feel guilty enough watching it that I promised myself then and there I would both carpe and diem, and sound my triumphant yawp o'er the rooftops for at least forty minutes a day, to get into better shape for the yawp-sounding season this spring. I would master fencing; memorize Lear; teach underprivileged kids, underwater; I'd ram an oil tanker, on foot; I'd run with the Grunion; experience Italia; rescue a whale; try exotic foods, like Beluga. Good Lord, I was inspired! Thank god I fell asleep. I might have actually gone out and done some of that retarded shit. Memorize Lear? Jesus. That'll come in handy.

I'm torn how to vote here; it's very clear that Emperor's Club will look pretty appealing to the very same middle-class white liberal 25-40 demographic to which the trailer is trying to appeal. And, since the declining average U.S. SAT score is a fair indication of America's plummeting I.Q., this film might even appeal to the same young girls and boys and Larry Kings who found Fast and the Furious "challenging and gripping."

For my money, though, the only plus about reviewing this trailer was that it wasn't the Gangs of New York trailer. God, I feel bad for the poor loser who had to watch and then consciously deconstruct that flotsam. Needless to say, I would never go see Emperor's Club. I'm tired of being inspired. I'd rather see a film where everyone quits trying to fulfill humanity's potential for greatness and goodness and just winds up working nights at a deli mopping dill juice off the fridge bottom. Why not? Let's lower the bar a little here, people. Can't we sound our collective yawps while pipe-fitting or driving cabs?

I can, however, think of one scenario where I would see this film: if it turned out Kevin Kline's character was an Interdimensional Soul-Beast who's been feeding off the earth's greatest men for aeons, and when the Williams/Kline/Soul-Beast was finished eating the spirits of all the students, we'd see Aristotle, Caesar, and Socrates pressed up against its distended belly, stretching out their faces and hands in silent horror, groping and screaming for a way out but doomed to spend all eternity in unknowable torture simply for the crime of shining too brightly against the dull tapestry of Man. And then the bagpipes would kick in with the credits. Then I would be inspired.

Maybe.

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