I was to be born five and a half months after John Hughes' seminal The Breakfast Club premiered in early May of 1985, and yet I feel so very saddened by his death. I didn't experience Hughes' films as they happened, but instead discovered them, as I'm sure did many others, on later night commercial TV and VHS. I'd watch movies like Sixteen Candles (1984), Pretty in Pink (1986), Some Kind of Wonderful (1987) and, of course, The Breakfast Club at a time when other kids my age were more concerned with The Matrix, which just added an extra dimension to the themes that Hughes was working with.
The Breakfast Club is my favourite, and I find it apt that it was released in my birth year. It's like I was destined to have a connection to it. The film actually ranks in my top ten of all time (in the bare semblance of such a list that I have), but not just for soppy sentimental reasons. I actually think it is an incredible film. Sure, one can scoff at the silly make-over, but this is a movie after all. And, sure, you can say that kids don't really talk this way, but I find much more hope and wonder within myself imagining that teenagers do talk this way than the version put forth by every other teen-oriented movie, which is too horrific to go into. The floor discussion is one of the most raw explorations of teen life than I can recall.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to this man. He helped me get through tough years, while also proving that there are so many different films out there and that I could eventually find something that spoke to me personally if only I did a bit of searching. In the end "we're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it". RIP John Hughes.