The Empathy Machine: Why Film is a Great Teacher
- breakfastatcinema
- Sep 4
- 4 min read
Every September 5th, India celebrates Teachers’ Day, honoring the people who shape minds and guide us through life’s lessons. But not all teachers stand at blackboards or grade exams. Some speak through the glow of a projector. In a way, cinema has been one of modern humanity’s most profound, accessible teachers, reaching millions without generally stepping into a classroom.
If life had a classroom, cinema would be its coolest, sharpest, and most disarmingly compassionate teacher. No chalkboard, no lectures. Just flickering images, swelling soundtracks, and stories that stay with you long after the credits roll. As Alejandro González Iñárritu once said, “Cinema is a mirror by which we often see ourselves.” And what better way to learn than by staring straight into that mirror?
We’ve always known that a good film can make us cry, laugh, or cheer, but research shows it does more than tug at heartstrings. In a study covered by Wired, neuroscientist Talma Hendler used Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan to track viewers’ brain activity, revealing that films don’t just entertain; they immerse. We don’t just watch characters. We inhabit their joy, terror, and triumphs. In doing so, cinema becomes a kind of empathy simulator, rewiring our emotional intelligence in real time.
Filmmakers have long embraced this power. Ingmar Bergman called cinema “a form of art that goes directly to our feelings, deep into the twilight room of the soul,” while Andrei Tarkovsky described it as “the sculpting of time.” Robert Bresson treated film as meditation, crafting stories that, as Susan Sontag observed, “discipline the emotions at the same time that they arouse them.” Movies don’t simply tell stories; they invite reflection.
They’re also history lessons, cultural guides, and moral playgrounds. Walt Disney admitted that “movies can and do have tremendous influence in shaping young lives,” and he was right. A film like Cinema Paradiso doesn’t just celebrate nostalgia. It teaches us about longing, memory, and community. Scorsese’s gangster sagas double as social studies. Kiarostami’s poetic films, often stripped of clear resolution, leave viewers wrestling with meaning, turning spectators into students of ambiguity.
Critics and curators like David Stratton have made careers proving this point, using cinema as a gateway to understanding global culture. Roger Ebert, often called “the most powerful film critic in America,” championed movies not just as entertainment but as “a machine that generates empathy,” a sentiment that perfectly captures cinema’s ability to teach us about lives far removed from our own. Researchers have echoed their mission: a University of Toronto study found that reading literary fiction increases empathy; films, with their fusion of words, images, and sound, arguably take that lesson a step further.
Even popular films carry profound lessons. Inside Out teaches children emotional literacy; WALL-E is an environmental cautionary tale wrapped in charm; Spirited Away is a meditation on identity and cultural transformation. That’s cinema’s beauty. It can teach philosophy or politics just as easily as it can teach kindness, often without viewers even realising it.
Martin Scorsese, who has devoted his life to film preservation and education, once said filmmaking was part of his quest “to find out who the hell I am.” That restless curiosity is cinema’s greatest lesson. Every cut, every shot composition, every deliberate silence teaches us to notice details we’d otherwise overlook. “Cinema is a matter of what’s in the frame and what’s out,” Scorsese reminds us, a wisdom that applies to life as much as art.
To watch movies this way is to reclaim them from the realm of disposable entertainment. Great films meet us where we are, but they never leave us there. They whisper lessons about resilience, morality, and the fragile beauty of existence. They give us a time machine to witness history, a telescope to view cultures, and a mirror to confront ourselves. Satyajit Ray captured this paradox perfectly: “A film is difficult to explain because it is easy to understand.” Movies bypass analysis, hitting us in places we didn’t know needed teaching.
This is why, in an age of shrinking attention spans, cinema endures. It doesn’t just pass the time; it stretches it, reshaping how we see the world and ourselves. Even as algorithms push quick content, films remain a slow, deliberate art form that invites us to sit still, pay attention, and learn.
Maybe that’s why so many filmmakers talk about their craft like students rather than masters. Tarkovsky sculpted time. Scorsese sought identity. Kiarostami offered evidence of life’s contradictions rather than conclusions. The best directors don’t lecture; they invite. And the best movies don’t preach; they provoke, stir, and linger.
The next time the lights dim, remember: you’re not just watching a story unfold. You’re learning empathy from Bergman, patience from Ozu, courage from Kurosawa, and humor from Wilder. You’re receiving lessons in politics, relationships, culture, and self-awareness, all in two hours.
Cinema is, and has always been, a teacher. A sly, emotional, endlessly creative one. And like the best teachers, it doesn’t stop at the bell. The lessons echo in our hearts, shape our choices, and remind us of our shared humanity. Movies teach us to pay attention. And once you’ve learned that, you can’t stop learning.
Note: This article in no way diminishes the essential contributions of professional educators. Rather, it highlights cinema’s potential as a complementary educational tool, capable of deepening empathy, critical thinking, and cultural understanding. This philosophy underpins the work of Breakfast@Cinema, an initiative dedicated to integrating film into meaningful educational experiences.
Comments