'The Breakfast Club' Was More Than Just a Comedy

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Brian (Anthony Michael Hall): Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us — in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain ...

Andrew (Emilio Estevez): ... and an athlete ...

Allison (Ally Sheedy): ... and a basket case ...

Claire (Molly Ringwald): ... a princess ...

John (Judd Nelson): ... and a criminal ...

Brian: Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

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"The Breakfast Club," which began playing on America's movie screens 30 years ago today, was better than most of the coming–of–age flicks I have seen — and more than just a comedy.

So often, "coming of age" seems to be code for "losing one's virginity" — or trying to lose one's virginity and failing miserably. Excuses for exploiting the young and the beautiful. (That seemed to be especially true of movies of the mid–1980s.)

That really does seem unfortunate to me because there are so many other aspects of the maturation process that do not involve sex — but do involve a voyage of self–discovery. And, to be fair, there have been some movies that have tried to tackle the topic of coming of age from a more cerebral perspective. Some succeeded. Some did not.

"The Breakfast Club" was one of the better ones.

The premise was that five students, each occupying a different rung on the ladder of high school popularity, were brought together to serve a day of detention on a Saturday. They didn't know each other when the day began, but they knew each other pretty well when the day was over.

This was an old tactic, critic Roger Ebert observed, given a new spin. "William Saroyan and Eugene O'Neill have been here before, but they used saloons and drunks. 'The Breakfast Club' uses a high school library and five teenage kids."

OK, it wasn't an original tactic. But the folks who put the movie together managed to attract an audience by casting five of the hottest young stars around at that time — Emilio Estevez, Anthony Michael Hall, Judd Nelson, Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy.

Once they had 'em in the theater, they could tell their story.

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With nearly all of the action taking place in that high school library, the dialogue became the most important part of the movie. "The Breakfast Club" was like a high school version of the United Nations, with each campus clique represented. Thirty years later, the labels are probably different — language, after all, defines each generation — but the types are universal.

Anyone who ever spent any time in high school is familiar with them. The athlete, the brain, the criminal, the prom queen, the misfit. The cast of "The Breakfast Club" seemed to accept the spots in the high school pecking order to which they had been assigned by life; when the movie began, the characters knew little about each other — and really did not want to know much about each other.

An hour and a half later (by moviegoer's time) they knew all about each other. They had bonded, each in his or her own way but learning in the process the things that they had in common.

The two girls bonded in ways their peers never would have been able to comprehend. The prom queen (Molly Ringwald) was applying makeup to the face of the misfit (Ally Sheedy).

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked with the wary suspicion of one who has been humiliated before.

"Because you're letting me," the prom queen replied, and one suspected that, in her experience, things like trust frequently came with strings attached. At the same time, the audience knew that Sheedy didn't trust people easily, that it was a pretty big deal for her to allow Ringwald to be that close.

But girls' agendas are always more complicated than boys'. For the boys in "The Breakfast Club," it was about making the grade. One was driven to get grades that were good enough to merit a full academic scholarship. Another was driven to get grades that were good enough that, combined with athletic skill, would merit an athletic scholarship. The third was driven, simply, to get grades that were good enough to get by.

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And, while there has always been and always will be a certain amount of macho posturing in male relationships, the boys managed to get past that on several occasions.

I don't think I ever expected that any of them would win acting awards, but I hoped that the movie might receive some recognition from Oscar. But it did not. That was in keeping, I suppose, with the Academy Awards' general — and long–standing — bias against comedies.

But there were many dramatic moments and dramatic lines in "The Breakfast Club." To dismiss it as a comedy is to do it a disservice.

Uncle Buck's in the House

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I really miss John Candy.

He's been gone 20 years now, and, while I didn't care for most of the movies he made in his last years, he did make some movies that I enjoyed, movies that made me laugh.

One of them was John Hughes' "Uncle Buck," which premiered 25 years ago today.

Buck was the black sheep of the family, I guess. He was jobless, living in an apartment and making a living by wagering on fixed horse races. But, when his sister–in–law's father had a heart attack, he was the only one to whom they could turn since they were in a new city. They had three children who needed someone to look after them while their parents were with their grandfather in another state.

"He's crude. He's crass. He's family," the movie posters declared. What the heck? It was an emergency.

Jean Louisa Kelly played the oldest daughter, Tia, a teen who did not like having to answer to her uncle — mostly, I suppose, because he didn't get along with her boyfriend, Bug.

"First or last?" Buck asked when he heard the boy's name.

"First," Tia replied.

"What's his last name?" Buck asked. "Spray?"

If you think you've seen Kelly before, you probably have. She played Rowena, the gifted high school singer, in "Mr. Holland's Opus," and she has made quite a few TV appearances.

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You're more likely, though, to be familiar with the work of Macaulay Culkin, the actor who played her younger brother. Culkin became famous when "Home Alone" hit the theaters the next year.

Their younger sister was played by Gaby Hoffmann. She probably wasn't familiar yet to audiences in 1989. "Uncle Buck" was her second movie. She made her movie debut four months earlier as Kevin Costner's daughter in "Field of Dreams." She had a part in "Sleepless in Seattle," and she's been involved in more projects as she's gotten older.

Uncle Buck wasn't perfect. He made his share of mistakes, but he had a heart of gold.

I wish I had had an Uncle Buck when I was little. Uncle Buck was the kind of guy who made a kid feel special on his birthday. He made a huge stack of pancakes — and punched out a clown for showing up drunk.

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He cared. He might have had an unorthodox way of showing it, but he did care.

Buck's brother and sister–in–law really weren't important characters in the story. They were necessary as props for the story, but, once the audience had seen them and knew they existed, it really wasn't important for them to be around much anymore — and they weren't. Buck's girlfriend (Amy Madigan) and his brother's neighbor (Laurie Metcalf), on the other hand, were important to the story.

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"Marcie Dahlgren–Frost. Dahlgren is my maiden name, Frost is my married name. I'm single again, but I never bothered to remove the Frost. And I get compliments on the hyphen."

Marcie (Laurie Metcalf)

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Kelly's character, who already resented her parents for uprooting the family, tried to cause problems for her uncle by making Madigan believe he was having an affair with Metcalf.

But everything was resolved in the end. The younger kids loved their Uncle Buck almost from the start, and the teen gave him her grudging respect.

The audience did, too, and I have to think Hughes had a lot to do with that. He worked with Candy maybe half a dozen times and always seemed to bring out a sympathetic side to his characters. Through the course of his career, Candy always seemed to be better suited for supporting roles where he could be lovable. When cast in leading roles, inevitably he seemed to be the joker.

Except when Hughes was directing.

Other than "JFK," which gave Candy a chance to showcase his versatility as an actor within an ensemble cast, I don't think I was especially fond of any of the movies he made in the last five years of his life.

With the exception of "Uncle Buck."

Holiday Road Trip

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Cousin Vicki (Jane Krakowski): I'm going steady, and I French kiss.

Audrey (Dana Barron): So? Everybody does that.

Cousin Vicki: Yeah, but Daddy says I'm the best at it.

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National Lampoon's "Vacation" series of movies got its start 30 years ago today when the original "Vacation" movie premiered.

In their first screen appearance, the Griswold family tried to visit the fictional Wally World theme park (seemingly modeled after Disneyland) in California in a good–natured parody of family vacations. Over the years, the Griswolds made trips to Europe and Las Vegas. My personal favorite in the series was the one about their Christmas vacation in which they didn't go anywhere.

The Vegas and European vacations weren't all that entertaining, as far as I was concerned, but the one that made its debut 30 years ago today had a lot going for it. Anthony Michael Hall and Dana Barron played the original Griswold children (roles that went to different actors and actresses in each movie), and they were always my favorites.

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That probably had a lot to do with how I felt about the movies.

Chevy Chase and Beverly D'Angelo always played the Griswold parents. They provided the continuity.

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Ellen (Beverly D'Angelo): Clark, let's just skip the house of mud. I think Dodge City was enough for one day. Besides, Catherine and Eddie are expecting us.

Clark (Chevy Chase): It's living history, Ellen. But if you'd rather see your cousins, it's OK by me. Personally I'd rather see a pile of mud than Eddie.

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But I always felt like I had to re–introduce myself to the kids. Their names were always the same, but the actors were always different. (I must admit, though, I experience the same thing when I see old friends — and their children, who are always several years older than the last time I saw them.)

If I could have, I would have stuck with the two who were in the movie that was released in 1983.

After a harrowing trip from Chicago to the West Coast, the Griswolds discovered that Wally World was closed for some maintenance work — and Clark (Chevy Chase) went, well, a little nuts — to the considerable discomfort of a park security guard (John Candy).

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All of the "Vacation" movies seem to have delivered what audiences wanted — easy laughs at the expense of the generally challenged Griswold family.

And the Griswolds were particularly challenged in this movie — starting with Clark being victimized by a bait–and–switch at the car dealer.

Some of the challenges were like that — thrust upon the Griswolds. Others, they brought on themselves.

That's the way it is on Holiday Road.

Mr. Mom's Missed Opportunity

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Thirty years ago, when "Mr. Mom" made its first appearance on America's movie screens, it may have been an accurate depiction of gender roles in society — but I have my doubts.

The family in the movie had a husband (Michael Keaton) and a wife (Teri Garr) and their three children. That's pretty close to the demographic average in America at that time, I suppose.

When the movie began, the obvious daily routine was that the husband went to work and the wife stayed home with the kids.

That rang true for me because that is the way my home was, at least through the first half of my childhood, but then the economy forced my mother to re–enter the work force. As I remember, it was like that for most of my friends — well, the ones whose families still had two parents in the household (and that number dwindled as I got older).

When I was small, it was normal for mothers to stay home. Most did. A few worked outside the home, and that too may have been of economic necessity, but my recollection is that the perception was that a woman was working because it fulfilled her in some way, not because a second income was needed.

But, at some point in my childhood, it became more difficult, if not impossible, for a family to survive on the father's salary alone. Then it became more common for children to come home from school to an empty house, as my brother and I did, and we were expected to do certain things to help with the general maintenance of that house since Mom was no longer at home during the days.

In "Mr. Mom," Keaton's character was fired, and Garr's character went out into the world to be the breadwinner. Keaton's character stayed at home and looked after the children.

I don't really recall a family in my own life that was like the one in "Mr. Mom." That doesn't mean there weren't any families like that. It only means that none of the children in my circle of friends came from such a household.

But that wouldn't really have been relevant, as I say, after a certain point. My friends and I grew accustomed to the idea that no one's parents were at home when school ended for the day.

And that, I think, made "Mr. Mom" a quaint relic of a family unit that didn't really exist in 1983 — if it ever existed to begin with. When the movie began, the family resembled TV families of the '50s and '60s more than it did real families of the '70s and '80s.

I happened to catch a broadcast of "Mr. Mom" on cable about a month ago, and I remembered that it did rather well at the box office. I think I saw it for the first time when it was at the theaters, but that has been a long time so I decided to watch it again to refresh my memory. It was interesting to watch it through 21st–century eyes.

The script by John Hughes was turned into a movie a year before Hughes' directorial debut. Its success — along with the success of another Hughes–penned movie, "National Lampoon's Vacation," that premiered a week later — propelled him into the directorial career that was his for the rest of his life.

If this movie was remade in 2013, my feeling is that it would be more balanced to show the challenges faced by each spouse. Surely there would be many for a formerly domestic woman in the cutthroat business world trying to support her husband and children, and, to be fair, some of those challenges (like what is called sexual harassment today) were explored — but not all.

Actually, comparatively little attention was paid to what Garr's character was facing. Most of the movie — as the title suggests — was about Keaton's transition and the obstacles he encountered — like trips to the grocery store and visits to public restrooms.

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Well, that is acceptable, I suppose. I mean, the movie was billed as a comedy, and those scenes were played mostly for laughs. Slapstick, actually.

And the humor derived from the reversal of traditional roles. But, even though the women's liberation movement had been active for about 15 years and it had clearly influenced parts of the culture, the emphasis was still on the father's difficulties in adjusting to domestic life. I remember finding that interesting at the time.

I suppose the really interesting thing — well, let's say the most telling thing — is that Mr. Mom rather quickly became a cultural cliche, much like Groundhog Day did after the movie of that name was in the theaters. I heard several stay–at–home dads called Mr. Mom. Perhaps one or two were, like Keaton, fired from their jobs; the rest were graduate students.

I have never heard the female equivalent in such a relationship (whatever the reason for it) called a Ms. or Mrs. Dad.

An interesting footnote here. When the movie ended and the credits rolled, viewers saw a broadcast of the TV commercial that Garr's character had helped to produce. Moviegoers saw little of what Garr's character went through to get her commercial made. Mostly what they saw was Garr's initial pitch in the conference room, and the mostly negative response she received.

There were all sorts of plot opportunities — along with the opportunity to learn something of substance about Garr's character — that were missed. But, as I say, the movie was about Mr. Mom.

In 1983, "Mr. Mom" was greeted as an entertaining story, not a bad way to spend 1½ hours on a hot summer day.

Today, though, I think it might be criticized for social insensitivity.

On Being Truly Thankful

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Today is the last day of the four–day Thanksgiving weekend. While I did not have to travel far, I know many people did, and, for some, the act of just getting from one place to another could be harrowing.

I was thankful that I did not have to deal with anything like that.

It was, therefore, something of a bittersweet revelation for me when I realized that today is also the 25th anniversary of the theatrical release of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles."

It was an exception to the rule for a John Hughes film, I guess. Hughes was known for coming–of–age flicks like "The Breakfast Club," "Pretty in Pink," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and the "Home Alone" series.

But he didn't have to have children or teenagers as the stars to make entertaining movies, and "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is a perfect example.

The fact that it was set against a holiday backdrop may have been something of a sign of things to come, but the children in "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" almost qualified as extras. They certainly weren't stars. They weren't even co–stars.

Actually, they were little more than props. Given that the movie was a story about a traveling advertising executive (Steve Martin) who was desperate to be home with his family for Thanksgiving, they were necessary props. But they weren't essential to most of the story.

When I think of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," it reminds me of how often John Candy appeared in John Hughes' films. Hughes must have been one of Candy's favorite directors — he made eight appearances in all in Hughes' movies.

And Candy had some of his best lines as Del Griffith.

For example ...

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When the two woke up in a motel room, Martin was in Candy's embrace.

"Del," he said, "why did you kiss my ear?"

"Why are you holding my hand?" Candy asked.

Frowning, Martin said, "Where's your other hand?"

"Between two pillows," Candy answered.

"Those aren't pillows!" Martin responded.

And the two leaped out of bed and engaged in some macho talk about football.

OK, nearly everyone remembers that scene ...

But when I think of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," I think of the character Candy played — Del Griffith, the gregarious traveling shower ring salesman, always ready with a joke — and hiding the fact that he was a lonely man in a world where couples are the norm.

I remember a scene in which Candy and Martin were talking, and Candy observed, "When I'm dead and buried, all I'll leave behind are some shower curtain rings that didn't fall down."

Martin replied, "At the very least, the absolute minimum, you'll have a woman you love to grow old with. You love her, don't you?"

Wistfully, Candy answered, "Love is not a big enough word for how I feel about my wife."

And the two toasted their spouses — "To the wives!" — even though Martin's character did not know Candy's wife had been dead for several years.

Neither did the audience. But the secret was revealed near the end of the movie.

And it taught everyone an unexpected Thanksgiving lesson on being truly thankful.

Taking a Day Off

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Many people were shocked — and rightfully so — when John Hughes died last summer.

Although this has been a year that has been filled with the deaths of prominent persons, any recap of the deceased of 2009 would be incomplete without a mention of his name. Hughes wrote, directed and/or produced some of the most popular movies of the 1980s and 1990s.

Every December, as the new year approaches, Turner Classic Movies always runs a three– or four–minute tribute to those in the film industry who have died in the year coming to a close. While I haven't seen it yet, I'm sure Hughes' name will be included in TCM's roll of honor. But TCM has more than that in mind.

Tomorrow night, TCM will show four movies that feature the work of someone who has died in 2009. They're all worth watching if you can spare the time — "On the Waterfront" at 7 p.m. (Central), "Battleground" at 11 p.m. (Central) and "Ice Station Zebra" at 1:15 a.m. (Central).

But if you can only watch one, I suggest that you tune in at 9 p.m. (Central) for "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."

You could get into a lot of arguments over which movie was Hughes' best, and you could make a good case for your choice, whether it was "National Lampoon's Animal House," "The Breakfast Club," "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty in Pink" or "Home Alone."

And I'm not saying that "Ferris Bueller" is Hughes' best. To cover that objective, you'd need to devote an entire broadcasting day, not just a couple of hours, to his work.

But "Ferris Bueller" is what is being shown — and it isn't a bad way to remember Hughes' contribution to film before the year is over.

It's the kind of adventure just about every teen–ager dreams of at one time or another. Ferris calls in sick, then borrows a Ferrari and hits the streets. Technically, it is a comedy, but Hughes managed to pull off a rare trifecta in filmmaking — a movie that had a generous helping of slapstick but was disarmingly lovable and sagacious at the same time.

I guess every generation has its storyteller, and Hughes told the stories of the generation that came of age in the late 20th century.

But, though the stories were crafted to fit a certain time, they were universal in their appeal — as any truly good film about teen angst is apt to be.

Ringwald's Reflections on John Hughes

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It has been a week since director John Hughes died of a heart attack in New York.

I wrote about this last Thursday, but I didn't really feel the same sense of loss that others did. Many of his movies represented something of a transitional period for a different age group. I mean, I enjoyed his films, like "The Breakfast Club," "Sixteen Candles" and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," but they weren't my personal statements of adolescence. I had already been through that phase of my life.

Last week, I don't think I fully realized what Hughes' passing meant to many people. To me, he was a gifted director. To others, his death was another nail in the coffins of their childhoods.

Actress Molly Ringwald, who appeared in several of Hughes' films, summed things up rather well in a guest column she wrote this week for the New York Times.

If you haven't read it already, please click on the link and read it when you have a few minutes. I'm not going to quote from it or analyze it or add to it in any way. I would prefer to let her words speak for themselves. Hughes' death was more personal for her than it was for most because she knew and worked with the man, but she shared the same affiliation with his movies that others of her generation did.

And that is all I am going to say — except that I encourage you to read Ringwald's column — especially if you belong to what is known as "Generation X."

Director John Hughes Dies

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Director John Hughes died of a heart attack today in New York City. He was 59.

You may not recognize the name. But you're bound to recognize the titles of many of the films he directed, wrote and/or produced — "National Lampoon's Vacation," "The Breakfast Club," "Pretty in Pink," "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," "Uncle Buck," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," "Home Alone" and "Home Alone 2: Lost in New York."

Hughes was known for stories about teen angst and coming of age. And he had a tendency to use the same actors in films frequently. Anthony Michael Hall, for example, appeared in four of Hughes' films in the early 1980s. One of Hughes' clear favorites was the late John Candy, who was featured in eight Hughes films.

Hughes was something of a recluse in the last 15 years of his life. And he was something of an enigma even before he disappeared from the movie scene. His own youth never really mirrored the lives of the young people in his movies. By his own admission, he lived a middle–class existence and never really felt inclined to rebel against his parents the way many of the characters in his movies did.

But he did use the town where he went to high school, Northbrook, Ill., as the setting, even if he didn't identify it by name. Often, the town went unidentified or was called "Shermer, Ill." It is my understanding that Shermerville was the original name that was given to Northbrook.