Film Freak Central

The Breakfast Club (1985) [The Criterion Collection] - Blu-ray Disc

***/**** Image A+ Sound A Extras A
starring Emilio Estevez, Paul Gleason, Anthony Michael Hall, John Kapelos
written and directed by John Hughes

by Bill Chambers Necessity is the mother of invention, and The Breakfast Club's iconic plot--aped so often it's become a modern myth, like Rashomon--was designed to ease John Hughes into directing and keep the budget low. The script wasn't just a formality, though, proof of that being his refusal to cast Jimmie "J.J." Walker (then in his mid-30s and a frequent passenger on "The Love Boat") as Bender in exchange for financing from Canadian dentists; he was still able to draw a line between artistic compromise--which had given shape to the material--and selling out. Nor was it some cynical "calling-card," unlike those one-and-done horror movies career-minded filmmakers like making to get their foot in the door. Yes, The Breakfast Club wound up capitalizing on a bull market for teen fare, but Hughes had an honest interest in telling stories about youth. Proof of that being his screenplay for National Lampoon's Vacation, doctored by director Harold Ramis to shift the dominant P.O.V. from the kids in the backseat (as in the LAMPOON piece that inspired it, Hughes's "Vacation '58") to the paterfamilias. Through a mixture of savvy and kismet, Hughes had crafted the platonic ideal of a directorial debut for himself, and then something funny happened: the comparatively epic Sixteen Candles became his first feature instead.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987) - Blu-ray + DVD + Digital HD

Planes, Trains & Automobiles
****/**** Image C+ Sound A Extras B+
starring Steve Martin, John Candy, Laila Robins, Michael McKean
written and directed by John Hughes

by Bill Chambers It took thirty years and multiple viewings before I finally realized that John Hughes's Planes, Trains & Automobiles is about many things, but mostly it's about a trunk. A behemoth fit for a starlet taking a cruise to Skull Island, the trunk is the property of travelling salesman Del Griffith (John Candy), who peddles shower-curtain rings for American Light & Fixture.¹ Indeed, it's his avatar. Stuffy ad exec Neal Page (Steve Martin) trips over it while racing special-guest-star Kevin Bacon for a New York City cab at rush hour. It's fate. Del will obliviously steal the taxi Neal does manage to flag down, but it's not until they wind up sitting across from each other in LaGuardia that Neal puts a face to the trunk, reinforcing his bias against the moustachioed stranger--a sort of benign Ignatius J. Reilly who, between his girth and his luggage and, arguably, his indifference to Neal's boundaries, is the textbook definition of a man-spreader. The trunk disappears for long stretches, though it has a habit of bobbing back up into the frame the second you've forgotten about it completely. It's uncanny that way.

The Breakfast Club (1985) [Widescreen] - DVD

***/**** Image A- Sound A-
starring Emilio Estevez, Paul Gleason, Anthony Michael Hall, Judd Nelson
written and directed by John Hughes

by Vincent Suarez Oh, how I wish I could hate The Breakfast Club. Maybe it's because I was a geeky high-school senior in 1985, when the film was released, and I defiantly loathed anything that smacked of cool. Perhaps it's because writer/producer/director John Hughes has been responsible for some of the most inane (e.g., Dutch, Curly Sue, Baby's Day Out) and unnecessary (e.g., Flubber, Miracle on 34th Street, 101 Dalmations) films in recent memory.

Curly Sue (1991) - DVD

**/**** Image B Sound B+ Commentary B-
starring James Belushi, Kelly Lynch, Alisan Porter, John Getz
written and directed by John Hughes

by Bill Chambers John Hughes almost returned to directing with last year's Maid in Manhattan, and Curly Sue, the last film with Hughes at the helm, perhaps offers some explanation beyond his reported displeasure with having to cast Jennifer Lopez as to why the torch was ultimately passed to Wayne Wang. In Curly Sue's best bit, the housekeeper (Viveka Davis, a genuine comic find) of an upscale Manhattan apartment gambles away her paycheck playing poker against the two derelicts who've mostly conned their way into staying there. Davis has everything that Lopez doesn't in Maid in Manhattan: modesty, natural beauty, charisma, a wry sense of humour--you could watch a whole movie about this persona, which is probably what Hughes had in mind, and her one sequence ends with a joke that also happens to be a far more accurate representation of the subtle fear that aristocracy puts in the minimum-wager than any of the Cinderella markers you'll find in Maid in Manhattan. Or anything else you'll find in Curly Sue, for that matter.

Drillbit Taylor (2008) - Blu-ray Disc

**/**** Image A+ Sound A Extras B
starring Owen Wilson, Leslie Mann, Danny McBride, Josh Peck
screenplay by Kristofor Brown & Seth Rogen
directed by Steven Brill

by Bill Chambers For good and for ill, John Hughes's sticky fingerprints are all over Drillbit Taylor, his first screen credit (under his nom-de-plume "Edmond Dantès") in six years. The film has signs of something written post-Curly Sue, given its glib fascination with the homeless, penchant for quasi-Dickensian names (Drillbit, Filkins, Doppler, Fence), and reams of sadistic slapstick. Yet it also echoes an earlier period in which Hughes treated high-schoolers with sensitivity, confronted the sometimes-toxic influence of their parents (particularly the patriarch), and understood pop-culture as teenage shorthand. (If the score's pomo quotation of the Cape Fear theme wasn't indicated in Hughes's 70-page "scriptment," it's an uncanny homage. Ditto a non-sequitur of the nurse's office pulling down a "Closed" sign like a nervous bank teller in the Wild West during an altercation in the hall outside.) Too, Drillbit Taylor betrays Hughes's influence in scenes of class warfare, though a moment when the protagonists, running for their lives, stop to ogle a couple of sunbathers is so derivative of his Ferris Bueller's Day Off that only the rabid fandom of script doctors Kristofor Brown and Seth Rogen could account for it.

Uncle Buck (1989) - Blu-ray Disc

***½/**** | Image B Sound B-
starring John Candy, Amy Madigan, Jean Louisa Kelly, Macaulay Culkin
written and directed by John Hughes

by Bill Chambers It's not John Hughes's best film, but Uncle Buck could be his funniest, as well as his saddest. Saddest for many reasons, some of which are beyond the movie's control. John Hughes is gone, John Candy's gone, Macaulay Culkin's innocence is gone; because of its place on the precipice of Hughes's '90s decline, revisiting Uncle Buck has long been a bittersweet prospect, but now that it's definitively the last good John Hughes film, it's taken on the funereal feeling of old home movies starring dead relatives. Still, the sadness isn't entirely from without. There is in this movie a raging pathos that begins with the pariahdom of the title character and continues through a motif that finds some lost soul standing in long-shot beneath an archway (forming a makeshift picture frame), gazing uncomprehendingly at someone else, the very portrait of quiet suffering. Buck's on the receiving end of one of these pitiful stares at least once, when the movie's putative love interest, Chanice (Amy Madigan), walks in on him dancing with a neighbour lady (Laurie Metcalf). The song on the soundtrack is "Laugh Laugh," The Beau Brummels' spiteful "I told you so" to a woman who chose the wrong man, and as Chanice's heartbreak wafts through the air, lead singer Sal Valentino, sounding suddenly compassionate, croons, "Lonely... Oh, so lonely..."¹