By Matt Zoller Seitz
I know: I can hardly believe the headline, either. John Hughes, whose slick, crowd-pleasing features made a fortune at the box office—and whose winsome but prickly teen comedy-romances raised the bar for youth-oriented movies in the '80s, and helped make life marginally more bearable for moviegoers who came of age during that crap-tastic decade—died yesterday in New York City of a heart attack during one of his regular morning walks. Details here.
There's too much to say on short notice, and bummed as I am by the news, I don't want to oversell Hughes' particular brand of inspiration. He directed classics or near-classics, but he also directed 1989's bludgeoning Uncle Buck and 1991's saccharine Curly Sue (and never directed again, sorry to say). Most of the time, Hughes wasn't deep and wasn't trying to be—and there was a conservative, even reactionary impulse lurking somewhere in his sensibility that sometimes rubbed me the wrong way; I never forgave him for that moment at the end of The Breakfast Club when preppy princess Molly Ringwald helps "clean up" Ally Sheedy's introverted freak chick, and everyone (the movie included—or so it seems) concurs that she looks much better now. But at his best, Hughes balanced a consummate entertainer's relentless pursuit of applause with an artist's appreciation for the diversity of the human carnival unfolding before our eyes—on screens and in life.
Most of all, the man was a born filmmaker. His movies moved. His comedic gifts were visual as well as verbal. Think of his riff on the opening shot of Star Wars in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, with the parking attendants soaring over the camera in Cameron's precious automobile; it's my pick for the greatest Star Wars joke ever because it doesn't just spoof Lucas' pop culture re-aligning blockbuster, it demonstrates an un-ironic appreciation of the movie's appeal—the physical rush that its pictures and sounds evoked. And whether intimate or overscaled, Hughes' films were impeccably put together, with a uncanny ability to shift gears from one very different scene or sequence to another, without losing the audience. Even Hughes' supposedly lightweight teen flicks often seesawed between goofy slapstick that put a grin on your face and foursquare melodrama that wiped it off.
Speaking of Ferris Bueller's Day Off, the first time I saw the movie, I was immediately struck by how Hughes dared to build its emotional climax around tightly-wound best buddy Cameron (John Ruck) confessing his idolization and resentment of his rich daddy, then lashing out against him by destroying the old man's car. The scene went on and on, like an outtake from Rebel Without a Cause dropped into the middle of a Bugs Bunny cartoon. But it wasn't so much excessive as uncomfortably genuine; the young man's pain was real, and by showing it, Hughes subtly acknowledged that the rest of what he'd shown us was pure escapism—and that by seeking out such entertainment, we were trying to avoid thinking about our own miseries, which might not be identical to Cameron's in all the details, but were every bit as intense and alienating. Ditto the ending of 1988's Planes, Trains and Automobiles, when John Candy's irrepressibly needy traveling salesman is revealed to be homeless; that one bold stroke humanizes a character who's previously been depicted as just another fat, funny oaf—and indicts Steve Martin's character, the viewer's surrogate up to then, as a self-obsessed jerk who could only see his own unhappiness, not anyone else's.
When I think of Hughes, I also think of his musical sensibility. He had a gung-ho session player's knack for segueing between modes so deftly that you didn't realize until a particular scene was over that it had almost nothing in common, tonally, with the scene that preceded it (Cameron's monologue being the most obvious example). Yet somehow all the pieces just seemed to fit. I don't think it's incidental that some of the most memorable moments from Hughes' filmography are built around singing and dancing. Pauline Kael likened Martin Scorsese's direction of Goodfellas to a musician's performance. The comparison applies to Hughes more often than not. There was joy in his filmmaking—a rock star's delight in his ability to control, channel and direct the audience's emotions. He had a sung-through musical in him. Too bad we'll never see it.
Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Sixteen Candles (1984)
The Breakfast Club (1985)
Pretty in Pink (1987)
A Brooklyn-based film editor and a former critic for The New York Times, The Star-Ledger and New York Press, Matt Zoller Seitz is the editor emeritus of The House Next Door.
Friday, August 07, 2009
John Hughes, 1950-2009
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22 comments:
I'm glad that someone is not doing the typical tact of pretending that an artist who has just passed had no flaws because Hughes surely did. It's not that I take joy that a fellow human being has died: It's not as if he was a war criminal. However, especially once you got to Home Alone and beyond when he was merely a writer, he was one of the worst self-plaigirists Hollywood ever saw. I'd be a hypocrite if I acted like I didn't feel that way now that he's dead when that's the way I felt when he was alive.
I don't want to oversell Hughes' particular brand of inspiration. He directed classics or near-classics
I guess it's understandable that many commentators are assigning "masterpiece" to various examples of Hughes' work. Alas, I really couldn’t categorize any of his films with that term.
While I'm still not clear on the exact timeline of his biography, I know that Hughes spent a good part of his young life in same Detroit suburb as me (Grosse Pointe). In the 70's and 80's, it seemed that most movies had a distinct New York or California flavor (not complaining, just saying). So, I always took a personal interest in Hughes' films. I think Breakfast Club did a good job at showing how a level of diversity could still exist within a narrowly defined segment. Then again, I'm sure the affluent suburb of most any Mid-Western city has its own version of the "right" and "wrong" side of the tracks (or "right" and "wrong" side of 8 Mile, if you will).
My blue-collar dad wasn't abusive like Bender's. I was a half-ass, rather than complete jock like Andy and often displayed Brian's geeky side. Yet, I would never have given up my seat or lunch to Bender. Thus, I suppose there was a certain level of banal profundity to the "Club's" combined paper at the end.
I never forgave him for that moment at the end of The Breakfast Club when preppy princess Molly Ringwald helps "clean up" Ally Sheedy's introverted freak chick, and everyone (the movie included -- or so it seems) concurs that she looks much better now
LOL -- I totally agree. I've always argued in vain that Allison was more attractive before the makeover. Then again, I dig my women with jet-black hair and thick eye-liner ;) But, I see the higher point you're making (which never occurred to me at the time).
Breakfast Club aside, most of Hughes' attempts at depictions of serious teen angst (a la Cameron) rang a bit hollow for me. I could never quite shift gears enough to take in the drama. The seemingly tacked on revelation at the end of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles struck me in much the same way.
Hughes jumped the shark for me half-way into Weird Science. I think the exact moment was that over-indulgently LONG scene showing Michael Anthony Hall's pot induced riff as a black jazz musician. It just wasn't that funny.
However, I will say that one of the most moving endings of ANY film is the scene in Sixteen Candles where Samantha's dad watches her get in the car with her crush. It worked on me when I first saw it and, now that I have daughters, still never fails to deliver. The really interesting aspect is that even though Sixteen Candles is about teenagers, this is clearly the father's moment.
And, of course, one of the top ten all-time greatest punch lines still is: "GIRL'S PANTIES"
"I never forgave him for that moment at the end of The Breakfast Club when preppy princess Molly Ringwald helps "clean up" Ally Sheedy's introverted freak chick, and everyone (the movie included—or so it seems) concurs that she looks much better now."
Interesting to note that Hughes seemed to be apologizing for this obviously patronizing character turn (and most of Farmer Ted's depiction in Sixteen Candles) with Some Kind of Wonderful and Pretty in Pink, where the outcasts are the protagonists and the "beautiful people" are depicted as inwardly-ugly monsters. In both films, the outcasts win in the end, by converting one of the chosen few to their side.
Ed is right that Hughes was far from perfect, and sometimes his politics were woefully apparent (as was his penchant for melodrama and later self-plagarism). Does anyone think any filmmaker could get away with Long Duc Dong today? As beloved as that character is, everything about him is a painful caricature. The only thing that saves him is Gedde Watanabe's wonderfully irreverent and dedicated performance. Long Duc Dong is the most with it, astute character in the entire film, even when he's just a rowdy, partying caricature. But it's still a caricature.
Nice remembrance. Thank you.
RIP John Hughs - thank you for raising the bar on the hooky day, turning the horror of being 16 into something more endurable, giving us a laugh at headgear (which historically was not funny), the endearingly awkward Duckman, and making it okay to be an oddball. Gotta go, Barry Manillow wants his wardrobe back...
A movie doesn't have to be a masterpiece to be a classic. Just saying. I'd say "The Jerk" is a classic, but certainly no masterpiece. "Sixteen Candles," "Ferris Bueller," even "Breakfast Club" and much of "Planes, Trains" I'd call classic -- durable, still watchable, terrifically well put-together, with iconic scenes and moments aplenty. Even "Breakfast Club" -- it's formulaic, confused, stagey and predictable, but then, so is "The Women."
Don't get me wrong Matt. I didn't mean to suggest that YOU are one of the voices bandying the word "masterpiece" around (my bad if it came across that way). I basically agree with Ed's point lauding you for calling a spade a spade.
Sixteen Candles is the one I think still holds up. I haven't seen Planes, Trains and Automobiles in a long time, but I suspect it might as well. I had problems with Breakfast Club from its initial release because I always wanted an additional scene Monday at school where they were all ignoring each other again. Even worse, watching Breakfast Club even 10 or more years later, I couldn't help being more on Paul Gleason's side, just because Judd Nelson is so obnoxious.
When it comes to "Sixteen Candles" it's impossible for me to get past the "Long Duck Dong" character. I just can't. It's part of the "it's O.K., we're just having a laugh" aspect of the 80's that bothered me then and now. Sure, it's a "classic" I guess because everyone else says it is(I've heard "Top Gun" is a classic also)but it's a film that's always made me ill. Aside from the "let's show Mickey Rooney how stereotypes are done" aspect the film also has a good hearty laugh at date rape. Anthony Michael Hall has sex with the hot chick after she passes out drunk? Hilarious! Lots of problems with all of his teen comedies but I'll spare everyone having to tell me I'm just a stick in the mud. There is more than just the teen comedies but that is what defines his legacy. I prefer "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" for it's losers and assholes despite it being less glossy and romantic.
Oscar Wilde said: "It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances."
I have to disagree with your take on the Ally Sheedy transformation at the end. (See the quote above.) That character was sending a clear "leave me alone; I'm a freak" message that most normal humans find repulsive as we should. She changes her philosophy and therefore changes how she confronts the world. It makes perfect, beautiful sense.
Anon: That's true, but Judd Nelson's character is sending the same message through his appearance and demeanor, and the movie not only doesn't require him to change his exterior qualities, it gives him a final triumphant freeze-frame with his fist raised defiantly in the air. It's the sexual double-standard at work that bugged me. Everybody learns something about themselves in that movie, and about each other, but the only person who has an onscreen transformation immediately is Sheedy.
That's a minor thing, though. As a teen melodrama working through its issues in the broadest possible terms, the movie works, and the direction and editing hold up.
David: Agreed about the stereotypes in "Sixteen Candles" and the date rape business. There's a lot of unsavory stuff in Hughes' films throughout his filmography and it's unfortunate. I wish I could love "Breakfast at Tiffany's" unreservedly as well, but as you allude, the Mickey Rooney character is impossible to excuse.
And yes, "Fast Times" is a richer, more complicated movie than anything Hughes did, though certainly not lacking in cringe-worthy (for the right and wrong reasons) moments.
Thank you Matt for reminding me what an interesting and unusual artist Hughes was. I loved the fact that his movies didn't try too hard to make you love them. They were what they were and that's that.
Nice piece, Matt.
On the Sheedy transformation: I like the moment because it doesn't just reveal change in Sheedy's character but in Ringwald's, who -- this will seem a contradiction -- looks past Sheedy's exterior to see something beautiful underneath, though, yes, that "underneath" beauty is exemplified by a hidden exterior beauty. But, then, that's the way Ringwald's character thinks. She's welcoming Sheedy into her world, which, shallow as it is, is established in the film as the upper tier of the high school hierarchy.
Anyway, in that respect the scene is certainly on-the-nose ("look at how much she's changed!"), which reveals a thinness to Sheedy's character that's worthy of criticism. (Sheedy's character is set up to have the ugly duckling makeover. That's the extent of her character's awakening.)
Whether that's a sexual double-standard exactly, or a noteworthy one, I'm not sure. But as usual, you've got me thinking...
Jason: "She's welcoming Sheedy into her world, which, shallow as it is, is established in the film as the upper tier of the high school hierarchy."
I think you might have put your finger on the essence of my problem with that moment. The film decries conformity -- especially conformity to the standards of the dominant groups, represented by the jock and the preppy princess -- but we're supposed to celebrate Ringwald welcoming Sheedy into her orbit and helping her look the part.
I had a problem with the ending of "Dead Poets Society" as well -- the big scene where all the kids honor their teacher in exactly the same way, by standing on their desks and reciting "O Captain, my Captain" in unison. Even though it was just a Movie Moment and was supposed to make everybody feel good and applaud, not think about the implications, it still bothered me. My eyes were drawn to that one kid over in the corner that didn't stand up, for reasons he didn't articulate. I think he was the one who really absorbed the teacher's lesson.
But this is all a sidelight: I liked Hughes a lot, even when he was crass, dumb or offensive, his movies had heart and soul. Detractors called him mechanical or formulaic, but if what was onscreen during the best parts of his best movies satisfied those adjectives, then they must be synonyms for joy.
I mean, seriously. Look at the clips. They just explode out of that little viewer window. They're like pop songs with hooks that lodge in your head and stay there.
I never connected with the Hughes' teen films as well as others did and I refuse to believe it's a generational thing (that makes no sense to me) but I do adore PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES. I've seen it on TV way too many times.
Honestly, I couldn't care less about John Hughes' politics or whether one can call his movies classics or not. Nor am I interested in a philosophical debate on the metaphors of some of the scenes he had filmed during his career. I do know that I have enjoyed a good number of his movies, including "FERRIS BUELLER", "PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES", and "HOME ALONE".
Mr. Hughes, you made some entertaining movies . . . at least for me. Have a happy afterlife.
During the film's opening sequence, we get a look at the Ally Sheedy character's art class portfolio: sketches of colorful frocks, the kind of thing a girl might see in Vogue or Elle.
But Allison's makeover, complete with bare arms in wintertime and a lace doily on her head…it's the fugliest style overhaul since young Esther Blodgett's screen test in A Star Is Born.
Ally Sheedy's transformation is not about Judd Nelson. It's about Ally Sheedy. I see your desire to create a reductionist egalitarian paradigm (or some other Women's Studies crap) and raise you the profoundly different messages that men and women send out with their "look". A film is not a set of instructions for living nor is it a statement of how men and women should be. It's an example of how people are. Therefore, they don't fit (and need never fit) an ideology.
Anon: "A film is not a set of instructions for living nor is it a statement of how men and women should be. It's an example of how people are. Therefore, they don't fit (and need never fit) an ideology."
I did not say films should provide instructions for living -- not in the piece, not in my comments. And I have never said such a thing anywhere in my writing over the years. I don't expect films to fit my ideology, and love a good many movies that either challenge or offend my ideology.
But personal response is important, and this aspect of a film I mostly love did not sit well with me.
Yes, both men and women send out certain messages through their appearances. But just because things are particular way doesn't mean they're acceptable, and it certainly doesn't mean that if one has a problem with them, any sort of problem, that it's based on a "reductionist egalitarian paradigm" or "women's studies crap." There is a double-standard in how women's and men's appearances are judged and in the decisions behind their presentation. I'm not the slightest bit interested in spending a lot of energy protesting them and demanding they be changed, but it's not out-of-bounds to point out manifestations of this phenomenon when they appear in major motion pictures, particularly ones that spend a great deal of effort calling such matters to the viewer's attention and suggesting why they can be debilitating.
I'm not talking about appearance double-standards in society at large, which is too complex a subject to be reduced to a blog comment. I'm talking about the double-standard as expressed in that one moment of "The Breakfast Club," and how it bears directly on the message expressed throughout the movie, pointing out that it doesn't jibe, and alluding to the possibility that it might be there due to some (admittedly rather mild) sexism on the part of the filmmaker. Within the context of "The Breakfast Club," the moment is a betrayal. Either a film means what it's telling you or it's disingenuous, dishonest or simply guilty of sloppiness and/or inconsistency. I suspect that moment in "The Breakfast Club" falls into the latter category. But in any event, those moments where a film doesn't seem to mean what it's telling you should not be glossed over.
If you don't see any inconsistency between this scene and other scenes in the film -- and if you don't see any problem generally with the mindset behind such a scene -- I suspect there's not much point in discussing the matter further.
But I do think that if "The Breakfast Club" had ended with Emilio Estevez helping Nelson dress in a way that showed how handsome he was and that was more in line with how Estevez' peer group dressed, the movie would have been laughed off the screen, and the betrayal of the movie's message (about the evils of stereotypes and conformist pressures, and the individual's obligation to resist both) would practically leap off the screen. We'd see it as Nelson's character capitulating at the last second, giving up outward evidence of his difference to curry favor with a group that despises guys like him.
I submit that the mere fact that such a scene is inconceivable -- and that we would accept such a scene when played by two women, but not by two men -- says all that needs to be said on the subject of double standards.
Anon: see Justine's comment above. The way Sheedy presents herself in the bulk of the movie might not reflect her idealized self. But the way she looks after the Ringwald makeover certainly doesn't. It doesn't jibe with the aesthetic expressed in Sheedy's sketches. It's Sheedy letting Ringwald make her look more like Ringwald.
What's happening in the scene has nothing to do with sexism or received wisdom about how men and women present themselves.
But Hughes' presentation -- which treats the makeover as a wonderful moment of bonding, something we should feel great about -- has plenty to do with it. The movie isn't presenting it simply as an individual choice that isn't emblematic of anything. It's presenting it as a marvelous event, one we should feel good about. Why?
I am not sure "self plaigirist" is legitimate term. It sounds like an oxymoron to me, although it is used often.
But Hughes' presentation -- which treats the makeover as a wonderful moment of bonding, something we should feel great about -- has plenty to do with it. The movie isn't presenting it simply as an individual choice that isn't emblematic of anything. It's presenting it as a marvelous event, one we should feel good about. Why?
I'll add to that (and perhaps muddy the waters even more) by pointing out where The Breakfast Club leaves Bender and Claire. Basically, they both agree that the spectre of them "dating" will have a deliciously cutting effect on Claires's father. The motivation seems to be more payback than actual affection. I suppose there is some sort of an emotional attachment between the two, but I can't shake the feeling that Claire's "Plan B" to irk her dad would be fucking the poolboy. We then close on Bender proudly wearing the the trophy of Claire's earring while raising his fist triumphantly. While a victory of sorts, this is still at odds with the movie's suggestion that "the club" has attained some level of functionality.
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