The Breakfast Club (1985)

2 years ago

The Breakfast Club (1985)

DON’T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME

by Chris Cantoni

So I got to the John Hughes party late and was surprised to discover that no one had yet chosen to review The Breakfast Club. Naturally, I assumed that no one felt up to the challenge of tackling this most revered of all Hughes films and it was my duty to step up to the plate. I was wrong on both counts. First, I have no hope whatsoever of capturing how important The Breakfast Club is to you. Second, it’s likely that everyone has their own intimate connection to other Hughes films. That’s the truly amazing thing about him. Maybe it’s just “our” generation, but every one of his films could find a way into our hearts growing up, so we all have individual memories of how he moved us. He knew how to cover all the bases.

If you’ve never seen The Breakfast Club, just go watch it. I can’t really talk to you. There aren’t any spoilers here anyway and the film is pretty much spoiler-proof. I myself have only seen the full, unedited film twice. Once was today and the first time was somewhere in 8th or 9th grade at Tina Maier’s birthday party. And that is the only way to see it (unedited, I mean - not at Tina’s party). Most of my other viewings have been on TV, generally TBS, where all the swearing and pot smoking and the general vibe of the movie evaporates. Or as Principal Richard Vernon might say, it’s like a bull without the horns.

Just so you know who I’m talking about, here’s a rundown: Andrew Clarke (Emilio Estevez) is the athlete; Claire Standish (Molly Ringwald) the princess; John Bender (Judd Nelson) the criminal; Brian Ralph (“as in vomit”) Johnson (Anthony Michael Hall) the brain; and Allison Reynolds (Ally Sheedy) the basketcase. Principal Richard (“Show Dick some respect!”) Vernon (Paul Gleason) and janitor Carl Reed (John Kapelos) also make appearances. And we’re off.

Does The Breakfast Club still hold up, 25 years after its release? Well, yes and no. If we’re being objective: some of the character transitions are too abrupt, the fresh feel has been lost to countless teen movies that have ripped off but never measured up, and I could create a pretty compelling list of obsolete slang (“Yo wastoid, you’re not gonna blaze up in here”). So there. Strikes against.

On the other hand, everything the film covers is applicable today. From the beginning of time ‘til the end we’ll go through our teenage years wrestling with who we are to ourselves, who we are to others, and how we’ll ever embrace or escape the lives of our parents. And even though I was never one of those five characters, I was still one of those five characters, you know what I mean? Like the only way to not relate to this film is if you didn’t go to school ever or if you’re some incredibly well-adjusted person who never felt self-conscious or ugly or ignored or any pressure in any capacity, in which case you should probably be off curing diseases and performing miracles.

There’s a paralysis here trying to write about The Breakfast Club. I could analyze how each car dropping off a kid perfectly captures them, or how each pair of shoes does the same thing. I could profile the film from the principal’s point of view, or write a thousand words on the subject of Bender as God, or even the janitor as God. There could be a lively and vigorous discussion on the different philosophical perspectives represented by each character. Or a thesis on female social structures between Claire and Allison, or how the montaged running scene is really just a metaphor for life.

I could talk about how Molly Ringwald has irresistibly pouty lips and quite a bit of sex appeal for not actually being “all that hot.” Or how Emilio Estevez gives the best performance of his career when he talks about taping Larry Lester’s buns together. Or the weekend I spent thinking Judd Hirsch was Judd Nelson. Or how I kind of prefer the messy Ally Sheedy despite her pretty makeover at the end and if I had to choose I’d totally go with Allison over Claire because even though I like sushi I’d never date someone who brought such an intricate setup to detention.

I could even just put up a bunch of the innumerable quotes from the film, from the hilarious (“Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?”) to the heartfelt (“When you grow up your heart dies”). My point is, I can’t do the film justice. It’s like being asked to explain why you love someone. Sure there are reasons, but our attachment to the film is more than the sum of its parts.

Probably, my high school experience most closely resembled nerdy Brian, which is to say “demented and sad, but social,” although instead of physics club, I was a theater and choir geek. Hopelessly pining after girls who were out of my league who would only end up further out of my league once they got to know me. Bender gets Claire, Andrew gets Allison, and Brian gets to write an essay. True. to. life. And while Mr. Hughes couldn’t magically change my social standing, he at least helped me accept it.

The most lasting effect of The Breakfast Club to all who are moved by it is a unified feeling that we’re all walking across the football field, fists pumping skyward as high school fades to black and that all-too-familiar song from the unknown band begins to play: Don’t you forget about me.

We won’t, Mr. Hughes, we won’t.