R.I.P John Hughes.
I was 14 years old when “The Breakfast Club” came out. I was an outsider, from the other side of the tracks, on the way to becoming a genuine “new wave” poster-child. I spent much of my time getting chased by skinheads and chasing after (and sometimes catching) alterna-girls whenever possible. In short, I was the fucking DEMOGRAPHIC for John Hughes movies. In a sense, the great John Hughes movies (16 Candles, The Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, Ferris Bueller) defined my childhood in much the same way that Atari games and the music of the band The Alarm, helped defined my childhood.
To a kid growing up in the 80’s, John Hughes’ movies became a kind of “father figure” to me. My parents had no idea what to say to me when I was a teenager, but John Hughes sure did. Even though the characters in his movies hardly ever “won the big prize”, they usually made the best of what they had. In a decade that treated wealth and power as the most important things a person could attain, John Hughes made movies that said to me “you can be a hero by simply surviving this hell with your soul intact”.
John Hughes was almost a total recluse. He never really talked about his movies, and he hardly gave interviews. He was a man of few words that let his movies do the talking. I’m sure there was a little bit of John Hughes himself in all those characters, and his silence about them spoke legions. So, for all the good you brought me when I was a kid, for all the times I looked towards your work to help me get through tough times, and for the worlds you created that helped me understand and live through my own, I salute, John Hughes. Rest in peace. I don’t think there will ever be another one like you.