A sociologist specialising in how to modernise the Third World has acquired official gadfly status, expected to speak against the motion, whatever the debate. One day, his arguments look like actually overturning the motion, and he hurriedly changes his viewpoint and starts to speak in favour.
To declare a disinterest, I'm the lifelong enemy of universities, and this kind of anecdote leaves me mighty glad I was never a student. As other critics have pointed out, this film looks more like an advertisement for Princeton than the Oscar-winning documentary it is. As an advertisement, it is quite good of its kind, evoking the glory of higher education as such, though not singling-out the Princeton factor with any great precision. Apparently it's to do with the single-faculty arrangement - graduates, undergraduates and research combined - which does not convey much to this particular outsider.
A strikingly glamorous girl-student starts to talk about her virginity in ringing tones, before we realize that she is quoting Shakespeare in drama class. An Irish physics student shares with us his excitement that he might be able to make a difference to the world - a common enough sensation at student age (or warrior-class on my timesheet), though the Irish debating style does carry its peculiar charm.
Mostly, though, it's an impressionist job. Choral works echoing around Gothic spires, then suddenly Scott Joplin. A major observatory trying to probe outer space, then an Afro-haired student enjoying a beer in the common room, speaking some rather predictable lines about diversity. (Some nice aerial shots of old Princeton, though.)
To me, there's nothing much being taught at Princeton that you couldn't Google for yourself today. But almost fifty years in, that's called the benefit of hindsight.
