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Kindle Edition
First published February 4, 2010
[W]ith its laid-back 1970s feel, Fast Times at Ridgemont High seems more like an important predecessor to the later eighties teen movies than a true part of that canon. 1985's Weird Science, though written and directed by John Hughes and starring Anthony Michael Hall, doesn't get much attention herein because, though it's still a late-night cable TV fixture, it has virtually no cultural resonance.
Because Hughes had his finger on the pulse of young America, it's only fitting that the cross-section of personalities inhabiting the library in The Breakfast Club represented what was happening in the lives of many real-life teenagers across the country in the 1980s. Claire was a child of impending divorce; 1980s teens' parents were getting divorced at an unprecedented rate. Allison was a lonely youth ignored by her parents; this was the era of latchkey kids, adolescents who came home to an empty house and often were their own primary caregivers. Brian was a teen considering suicide; 1980s teens killed themselves at a rate triple that of their 1950s counterparts. Because of national cultural shifts occurring throughout their adolescence, eighties teens were an often overlooked, undervalued, and misunderstood group -- something that Hughes was sensitive enough to appreciate.
Gen X teens often had it hard from the beginning of their lives. Americans born in the late 1960s and '70s were the younger siblings and offspring of the demographic colossus that was the Baby Boom. And the Boomers were, to put it mildly, a tough act to follow. As Geoffrey T. Holtz wrote in his book Welcome to the Jungle: The Why Behind Generation X, "Born just after the magnificent baby boom, we are forever cast in the shadow of that pig-in-the-python that has dominated our nation's attention, from its members' sheer numbers as infants in the fifties, their vociferous social and political exploits in the sixties, their epic quests for self-fulfillment in the seventies, and their drive toward materialistic gain in the eighties. In the wake of this group, we have often had to fight to be noticed at all, let alone be judged by fair standards or to be understood."
As many great advances as the Boomers made, they also kind of sucked all the air out of the room, leaving Gen Xers feeling like an irrelevant group in comparison. The 1960s and '70s teenagers changed the world -- and all the 1980s teens had to do was live in it.
The script of The Breakfast Club spoke so well to this forgotten generation because it featured characters, says cultural historian Neal Gabler, "whose problems aren't with the direction of the country. Their problems aren't poverty. Their problems aren't Vietnam. Their problems are the eternal adolescent struggle, of who am I?" Remembered Ned Tanen, "There were no more campus revolutions, it was not even a return to normalcy but rather to absolute lethargy. And here was this huge population of young people who had no place to put their energy."
Hughes seemed to relate much more to these 1980s teens than he did even to members of his own Boomer generation. "Hughes simply took our side, the side of the Boomers' children, against his own," wrote the Canadian newspaper the National Post. "He saw that we had been thrust into a world like none before, wherein the existence of the family had been suddenly declared held hostage to whim." (But creating smart entertainment for young people wasn't just the sensitive thing to do; it also made great business sense, because teenagers had indeed become an increasingly powerful demographic around this time. Spurred on by the rise of two-income families and the fact that many kids held after-school jobs, teen spending skyrocketed between 1975 and 1985, even though the teen population shrank in those years.)
"When those kids are being dropped off that day at detention in The Breakfast Club," said Ned Tanen, "you get right to what this movie was about, and what this generation was about: middle-class suburban kids trying to keep it together." Hughes knew from experience that there is a very real pain to be found in the hearts of the teenagers walking the high-school hallways across America. He knew it was there because he had felt it himself as a teen. "Hughes knew what he wanted to say to you," says Breakfast's first assistant director R. P. Cohen. "And in his own way, he was saying it to himself. Because there is an agony that the white kids of suburbia carry around with them that is very much their own."
Explains Cusack, "I grew up in Reagan-era America... Ronald Reagan and Nancy Reagan took over, and she was in that white dress, and he was talking about Armageddon and nuclear war, and it was a dark, nihilistic time. Everyone has made it this sort of revisionist kind of thing about 'morning in America,' but it was a nasty time. It was depressing, and there was doom in the air. So I didn't want to do some character that was completely unaware of that state." Lloyd's optimism, says Cusack, is something that "people understand to be a heroic choice. It's not someone who doesn't understand darkness or depression or the nihilism of America in the eighties. It's precisely because he sees all that and then chooses to do what he does anyway that I think makes him an interesting character. That was a collaboration between Cameron and me on the character."
Maybe the reason today's teens relate so deeply to these films is because the movies helped create the very notion of the teenage experience as we know it. Literary scholar Harold Bloom suggests in his book Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human that the Bard, through the self-aware characters he created, may have helped humans become the self-aware beings we are. Maybe these culturally absorbed eighties youth movies created a template for the modern American high-school experience; a blueprint for the emotional makeup of the brains, beauties, jocks, rebels, and recluses of any new era; a model for how they can interact with one another. Wrote the New York Observer, "Hughes essentially introduced the modern teenage hero: wise beyond his years, artistically inclined, hyper-articulate, romantic, and hopelessly misunderstood." If Shakespeare invented the human, John Hughes reinvented the American teenager.