Fond Memories of John Hughes

John Hughes, the quintessential 80s film director and writer departed from this world courtesy of a heart attack. He wasn't too old (59), but he left behind a legacy of great films that were just good. They didn't need to be artsy, or have some deep existential meaning or full of ridiculous special effects. He could just conjure up plots of average Americans, families, teenagers, going through everyday dysfunctional bullshit, but he created his own vision on suburban America, and it worked repeatedly.

My earliest memories of John Hughes started when I was 4 or 5. My family loved Uncle Buck, starring the late John Candy (another actor who died way too soon of a heart attack) and a pre-Home Alone Maculay Culkin. Me being a young lad, I didn't get much of the subplot and the conflicts (family tragedy, teenage rebel vs parent, slacker uncle, relationships, etc.) but the movie was hilarious, and I still get a hoot out of it.



The year after that, Home Alone came out and the American moviegoing public lost its collective shit. You think the premiere of those recent Star Wars/Lord of the Rings/Harry Potter movies were mobscenes? My grandma attempted to take my sister and I to see Home Alone a week or so after it came out and tickets were sold out. I think this happened to us twice, if I remember correctly. It's the first movie I remember seeing more than once in theaters. My friend saw it 5 times in theaters.

When I was a teenager, I got more into John Hughes' angsty teenager-in-distress movies (what teeanger didn't?). I thought Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink were a bit too girly for my tastes. Weird Science was pretty cool (I still wish Kelly LeBrock would show up in my shower!). I didn't like Ferris Bueller's Day Off, but that's because I have a deep-rooted hatred for Matthew Broderick, and I thought th plot was kind of silly. The Breakfast Club, on the other hand, is one of those movies I still watch when it comes on network TV regardless of how many times I see it and regardless of how silly the swears sound when they're dubbed over (i.e.: Judd Nelson's impersonation of life at home with his father). The plot is far-fetched, at least from my experiences. Saturday detentions at my school didn't allow talking, and whoever supervised them were on your ass like a tight pair of briefs (so I've heard; I never got one myself). That and I never saw a gothic misfit get transformed and made over by a cheerleader and walk off in the arms of the star of the wrestling team. Nonetheless, Hughes' vision of the film was certainly idealistic, and if teenagers of different backgrounds and social cliques were locked in a room and forced to interact with each other, who knows? Maybe high school wouldn't be such a hellish nightmare.

As a writer and director, John Hughes was not exactly Scorcese. But he didn't need to be. Many of his movies have aged well, even if some of them are dated as hell as far as imagery goes. Along with the demise of Michael Jackson, I feel like my youth has died yet again in some ways.