One of the best teaching experiences Ed Schein and I had when we

Host: The evening descended like a curtain across the city, painting the sky in tones of violet and amber. A small theater room on the MIT campus lay dimly lit, its walls lined with black-and-white portraits of old directors and flickering projectors. The air carried the faint scent of film reels, coffee, and dusty ambition.

On the screen, a scene from 12 Angry Men played — Henry Fonda’s eyes, lit by a single beam, pleading for reason among anger.
Jack leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, his grey eyes glinting with skepticism. Jeeny sat beside him, leaning forward, her chin resting on her hands, her eyes shining in the flickering glow.

The film ended, the light faded, and the silence that followed felt thick — like the pause between a question and an answer.

Jeeny: quietly “Warren Bennis once said, ‘One of the best teaching experiences Ed Schein and I had when we were teaching at MIT in the 1960s was inventing a course on leadership through film.’”
Her voice was soft, but the words lingered in the darkness like the afterimage of the screen. “Leadership through film... what a beautiful idea, don’t you think? To teach people about the soul of command through stories, through human eyes, not lectures.”

Jack: smirks, his tone low and cutting “Beautiful, maybe. But useful? That’s another story. You don’t learn leadership by watching actors. You learn it by bleeding, by failing, by losing trust and earning it back. Movies make it pretty, but real leadership is ugly.”

Jeeny: turns toward him, her eyes alive “You’re wrong, Jack. Film doesn’t just make it pretty — it reveals it. It strips away the armor and shows us the truth. When we watch, we learn to see — to feel the weight of choice, the loneliness of responsibility. Isn’t that what leadership really is?”

Jack: “No, Jeeny. Leadership is not feeling — it’s deciding. It’s action, not emotion. The screen gives you illusion, controlled chaos, perfect arcs. But in life, there’s no director, no music, no second take. You make the wrong call, people suffer. No camera can teach that.”

Host: The projector’s hum slowed, fading into a mechanical sigh. Light dust drifted through the beam, twisting like tiny ghosts of forgotten lessons. Jeeny rose, walking toward the screen, her hand outstretched as if to touch the face of a leader long gone.

Jeeny: “You underestimate the power of story, Jack. Film may not teach you to decide, but it teaches you to see. To see people — their fears, their conflicts, their courage. Leadership isn’t about decisions, it’s about understanding what your decisions do to souls.”

Jack: rises slowly, his shadow stretching across the wall “And what do souls matter when systems collapse? When the leader’s failure costs lives? The world doesn’t need poetic captains, Jeeny — it needs strategists. Film may move hearts, but hearts don’t run nations.”

Jeeny: turns sharply “And nations without hearts become machines, Jack. That’s why Bennis and Schein were brilliant. They understood that leadership isn’t just a discipline — it’s a drama. Every leader is a character, and every choice is a scene. The camera doesn’t lie — it shows the truth we hide behind our titles.”

Host: A pause. The room echoed with the soft creak of chairs, the faint crackle of the film reel cooling. Outside, autumn wind swept the leaves across the courtyard, their rustle a whisper of time.

Jack walked to the window, gazing out at the students passing below — their laughter, their backpacks, their dreams of becoming someone. He spoke without turning.

Jack: “You think a screen can make someone a leader? Look around. The world is full of people who watched Braveheart and now believe they’re visionaries. Cinema creates heroes too easily. It feeds the ego, not the ethic.”

Jeeny: “But it also asks the question no textbook dares to: What does it mean to be human when you have power? That’s not ego, Jack — that’s empathy. When you watch Atticus Finch stand alone, or Oskar Schindler break down, you don’t just admire — you learn. You feel the cost of conscience.”

Jack: sighs, turning toward her “You think people actually learn from that? They cry, they clap, they walk out, and then they forget. Empathy fades when the credits roll. The world is run by those who act, not those who weep.”

Jeeny: steps closer, her voice trembling “Maybe. But even if one person doesn’t forget, even if one student remembers that courage doesn’t mean winning, that leadership means listening — isn’t that enough?”

Host: The air between them was electric, charged with belief and doubt, like two opposite poles of the same truth. The projector light flickered back on, a ghost reel still spinning, casting shadows across their faces — Jack, the skeptic, bathed in half-darkness; Jeeny, the believer, lit like a prophet of purpose.

Jack: after a long silence “Maybe you’re right. Maybe film can teach something. But not leadership — maybe just longing. The longing to be better, to understand. But longing doesn’t lead — it hurts.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “And yet it’s the hurt that teaches. The leaders who feel nothing become monsters. The ones who hurt — who doubt, who reflect — they become human. Maybe that’s what Bennis and Schein knew all along: that leadership begins with seeing humanity, not commanding it.”

Jack: “So… a leader as a storyteller?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And the best stories don’t preach, they mirror. They show us who we are, and who we might become.”

Host: The projector whirred again, casting light across the room, filling it with the motion of flickering faces — leaders, dreamers, failures, heroes — all speaking across time through cinema’s glow.

Jeeny stood, her silhouette framed by the light, and whispered, almost to herself:
“Maybe that’s the true lesson, Jack — that every leader is just a character in the film of history, and what matters most is how we’re written when the scene fades.”

Jack watched her, then smiled, a rare softness in his eyes.
“Then maybe it’s time,” he said quietly, “to stop criticizing the script... and start living it.”

Host: The light dimmed, the film reel stopped, and silence settled once more.
Outside, the wind carried the rustle of leaves, like applause from ghostly students who once learned through films, who once believed that leadership could be felt, not just taught.

The screen faded to black, but in that darkness, something remained —
a shared belief,
a quiet understanding,
that cinema doesn’t just show us leaders.

It invites us to become them.