John Hughes’ death earlier this month made many of us stop to reflect for a moment just what in his simple movies hits teenagers directly where they live.
Of course, in a John Hughes movie, any teenager pausing to reflect on anything would immediately have been hit with a spitwad or smacked with a locker door. That was one key point — on the surface, at least, Hughes always caught on film the visceral mixture of slapstick, double-take and gross-out humor so central to high school.
What elevated “The Breakfast Club,” “Sixteen Candles” and even “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” was the depth Hughes added through the simple messages of universality and survival.
Yes, nearly everyone hates high school at some point and feels like local cliques are jamming their emotions through a wood chipper. But the high school experience itself, Hughes tried to say, never really killed anyone.
And what doesn’t kill you in 10th grade makes you stronger. Plus Ally Sheedy might smile at you. So there’s hope.
Parents constantly tell their moping children, “It’s not the end of the world.” Hughes did it with an instinct for clothing, music, language and texture, down to the drab comforts of a suburban school library. His perfect pitch gave him credibility with his target audience. He dived into 1980s suburbia like an anthropologist, using Molly Ringwald, Anthony Michael Hall and Matthew Broderick as his Lost Tribe of Northbrook, Ill.
As for Hughes’ “lesser” works? True, “Home Alone” may not be rocket science. But when my daughters were about 7 and 4, we laughed hysterically together at a scene where a criminal grabs an electrified doorknob and slowly, memorably X-rays himself into a crisp. We rewound it, played it again, rewound, again, until we were rolling on the floor. Having kids around means doing anything for a laugh, and Hughes knew it well.
Rest in peace, Mr. Hughes, for making teens everywhere feel a bit less alone and a bit more at home.
