John Hughes: 1950 – 2009
John Hughes died yesterday.
It’s weird to write that. Heck, it’s weird to just read it back to myself. The John Hughes? The man behind countless 80s teen classics? The guy who helmed Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Breakfast Club, and Sixteen Candles? The writer of Home Alone and Vacation? Nah…unh…uh. It just doesn’t seem possible…
This past summer has been cast under an unmistakably morbid shadow. From the quiet passing of the great Ed McMahon to the tacky, ongoing tabloid circus that was/is Michael Jackson’s legacy, celebrity death has been an unavoidable headline these last few months. I’ll be honest, usually this type of news—while very sad—doesn’t truly effect me. Sure, I feel bad and all, but when it comes down to it, it’s hard to feel any type of connection to such a public sense of loss. You read about it, you feel bad for a second or two, and then you go about your day. Well, the passing of John Hughes quite simply hit me. There’s really no other way to describe it. It just hit me. John Hughes? I blinked. I paused. I didn’t move. Like I said, it just doesn’t seem possible.
When we talk about game changers—the filmmakers and creatives who influenced the world of cinema, we often hear a slew of familiar names. There’s your Kubrick. Your Spielberg. Your Bergman. Your Fellini. Your Hitchcock. Scorsese. Malick. Wells. Kurosawa…and all the other people that film schools across the country say you should like in order to have good taste. Well, to me, Hughes belongs right up in that coveted pantheon. He was a popular artist, to be sure. But, too often do we as jaded filmgoers pinpoint popularity as a sign of something that is lesser than or inartistic.
Hughes gave us memorable comedies and family films. I’ll start there because for some reason I think we often forget it. Vacation may be one of the all time great comedy screenplays. Home Alone is an equally perfect example of its genre. Then, of course, we come to his infamous high school movies—films that defined a generation for kids growing up in the 80s (and even after). I’ve seen Ferris Bueller a countless number of times, and spentway too many hours of my childhood just trying to be a fraction as cool as him.
Beyond the popularity of his “Brat Pack” movies—beyond the pop-culture adoration for things like The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles, Hughes was inspiration–a catalyst for all those filmmakers who would come later. Just think about the memorable teen films that followed in the 90s and beyond—10 Things I hate about you, Can’t Hardly Wait, Clueless, even Superbad. They wouldn’t have happened with out Hughes. It’s as simple as that.
His most important contribution, however, is probably the way he shaped his young protagonists. His main characters weren’t strictly vague stereotypes—bubbling piles of hormones who were defined by how often they oggled at girls in the school locker room. They were more than that. They were introspective and smart. Cool and brave. Nerdy, yet relatable. For the first time, Hollywood was introduced to on-screen teenagers who were actual people—people who I actually wanted to be friends with. Is that Pathetic? Maybe. Though, it does stress how Hughes was able to create things that were real, even if they only existed in a fictional place. And, that ladies and gentlemen, is a shining example of the power of movies.
As the next few days go by, I’m sure we are bound to hear from countless celebrities–those Hollywood elite who knew and worked with him. “He was a great man,” they’ll say. “My condolences to his family.”
Well, I didn’t know John Hughes—not personally anyway. I’m unable to offer witty anecdotes or humorous stories about the quiet writer and director who was behind so many venerable film classics. As a person, he’s a mystery to me. But, I did know his work, and when it comes to memorializing a man—especially one who was so firmly rooted in all that is wonderful about movies—sometimes that’s simply good enough. So, Thank You, Mr. Hughes. Thank you for the iconic scenes. Thank you for making detention seem cool. Thank you for letting the underdog have his day. Thank you for the the role models. The moments. The hijinks. For Abe Froman: The Sausage King of Chicago. For making 10 year-olds seem invincible. For capturing the pain and pleasure of the family vacation. For giving teenagers a brain. Thank you for the laughs. The tears (Curly Sue gets me choked up…sue me). The improbable science experiments. The hot red heads. The red vintage Ferrari 250 GT…in mint condition. Everything. Thank you for it all—thank you so very much.
You will be missed.
