There's a really good chance that you'd walk into a John Hughes film and come out smiling, aware of the fact that you might have just seen a movie that you know at the moment would not be the last time you'll see it. And when I really think of this stuff, I find that nobody has invented a situation wherein you won't enjoy a movie by Hughes. You can watch it when you're angry, sad, hopeful, despondent, it'll go all too well with your lunch and your dinner, you can make your Sunday by lazing out on a couch, curling up against a bowl of popcorn and watching the goofiness unfold.
It's never easy to make a movie on teenage angst. Never. And when you check out the profile of Hughes, you'll find out that the guy had PhD'ed in the genre. A rather quiet loner when he was young, all his movies were a result of his acute powers of observation and unabated creativity. Hughes made movie after movie on young people and their ambitions, often incorporating characters who are conflicted and frustrated, and he did it better than any filmmaker ever could.
I remember watching Hughes' Ferris Bueller's Day Off, my first Hughes movie, and surprising myself by how much I enjoyed it. You walk into a theater for one of the two reasons : either you're looking for an escapist diversion from your poky little life or you're looking for a spiritual and meaningful experience that only cinema can provide. The second case is rare, which makes you a definite sucker for the first one. Hughes understood that. He knew his audience, he knew their expectations when they lay down a few bucks for a ticket and he made movies suitably conforming to them. His films were just as they were - uproariously funny, frequently moving, gleefully goofy and always, always optimistic. At the end of the day, every single character went home a little wiser, a little happier, like you.
I haven't seen his debut, Sixteen Candles, though. But my first viewing of The Breakfast Club left me speechless. A coming-of-age comedy drama set in an authoritarian school, it's how six starchy students spend their time in detention on a Saturday. And the whole movie's shot in a single location with only seven characters giving it its soul. There's the Brat Pack, as they were known at the time, their conversations, their secrets and worries, their ambitions and their contrition. If you're looking for a visual feast, there isn't any. There's not even an attempt to allure you by utilizing tawdry gimmicks, which seem to have found a sure footing now, or by getting a big-shot star cast with hearty smiles. No, here's a movie that's aware of its audience, aware of its content and here's a virtuoso that illuminates his observations through his characters. There's a really slim chance that you weren't an ear at some point of time to what these characters talk about. It isn't new, you know, it's just too real. There isn't any fucking around, the characters are really honest in their answers and there's a whole lot of truth to sit through. A hell of a movie, I found.
Hughes' movies are often accused of being formulaic, which they most certainly are. Break down two of his movies, any two of 'em, and you'll find that they do resemble each other in terms of structure and writing. I mean, look at John Bender from The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Are they similar? Like two peas, aren't they? Yet the situations we've seen them in aren't similar. It's the same old story, the one we know too well, but it's treated differently. It's the cue of a great filmmaker when you watch a concept that's you identify with and then you find out that it has taken you by surprise by its newfangled scrubbing.
Unfortunately, we saw far too little of Hughes. His last directorial outing, Curly Sue, was way back in 1991. And after it being a bomb at the box-office, he sustained himself by writing and producing movies till his death in 2009. I was sad to hear about his demise, for he was the one filmmaker who took me back to my adolescence with his movies and his survey of the trepidation of the young.
There have been attempts to clone his movies, his formulas, his ideas but they haven't been acceded to, at least by me. Because I don't believe anyone's got that zing that Hughes galvanized his movies with. Thank you, sir, for reminding me of my salad days, for making me believe that cinema can be so enjoyable that nothing else would even remotely matter. And may I add that your movies still make my Sundays rapturous.
It's never easy to make a movie on teenage angst. Never. And when you check out the profile of Hughes, you'll find out that the guy had PhD'ed in the genre. A rather quiet loner when he was young, all his movies were a result of his acute powers of observation and unabated creativity. Hughes made movie after movie on young people and their ambitions, often incorporating characters who are conflicted and frustrated, and he did it better than any filmmaker ever could.
I remember watching Hughes' Ferris Bueller's Day Off, my first Hughes movie, and surprising myself by how much I enjoyed it. You walk into a theater for one of the two reasons : either you're looking for an escapist diversion from your poky little life or you're looking for a spiritual and meaningful experience that only cinema can provide. The second case is rare, which makes you a definite sucker for the first one. Hughes understood that. He knew his audience, he knew their expectations when they lay down a few bucks for a ticket and he made movies suitably conforming to them. His films were just as they were - uproariously funny, frequently moving, gleefully goofy and always, always optimistic. At the end of the day, every single character went home a little wiser, a little happier, like you.
I haven't seen his debut, Sixteen Candles, though. But my first viewing of The Breakfast Club left me speechless. A coming-of-age comedy drama set in an authoritarian school, it's how six starchy students spend their time in detention on a Saturday. And the whole movie's shot in a single location with only seven characters giving it its soul. There's the Brat Pack, as they were known at the time, their conversations, their secrets and worries, their ambitions and their contrition. If you're looking for a visual feast, there isn't any. There's not even an attempt to allure you by utilizing tawdry gimmicks, which seem to have found a sure footing now, or by getting a big-shot star cast with hearty smiles. No, here's a movie that's aware of its audience, aware of its content and here's a virtuoso that illuminates his observations through his characters. There's a really slim chance that you weren't an ear at some point of time to what these characters talk about. It isn't new, you know, it's just too real. There isn't any fucking around, the characters are really honest in their answers and there's a whole lot of truth to sit through. A hell of a movie, I found.
Hughes' movies are often accused of being formulaic, which they most certainly are. Break down two of his movies, any two of 'em, and you'll find that they do resemble each other in terms of structure and writing. I mean, look at John Bender from The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Are they similar? Like two peas, aren't they? Yet the situations we've seen them in aren't similar. It's the same old story, the one we know too well, but it's treated differently. It's the cue of a great filmmaker when you watch a concept that's you identify with and then you find out that it has taken you by surprise by its newfangled scrubbing.
Unfortunately, we saw far too little of Hughes. His last directorial outing, Curly Sue, was way back in 1991. And after it being a bomb at the box-office, he sustained himself by writing and producing movies till his death in 2009. I was sad to hear about his demise, for he was the one filmmaker who took me back to my adolescence with his movies and his survey of the trepidation of the young.
There have been attempts to clone his movies, his formulas, his ideas but they haven't been acceded to, at least by me. Because I don't believe anyone's got that zing that Hughes galvanized his movies with. Thank you, sir, for reminding me of my salad days, for making me believe that cinema can be so enjoyable that nothing else would even remotely matter. And may I add that your movies still make my Sundays rapturous.
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