Category: Anthony Michael Hall

SIXTEEN CANDLES

By Marc S. Sanders

John Hughes became a pop culture pioneer of the 1980s when he directed his first film, Sixteen Candles. The movie adopted a slapstick approach to teen anxiety related to love, cliques and high school popularity. Had Hughes waited much longer, it’s fair to say the picture may not have ever gotten produced. In a current age of political correctness and “Me Too” movements, Sixteen Candles is more shocking than originally intended.

There is no way this film would be made with a character like Long Duk Dung as a run-on gag Chinese foreign exchange student with a stereotypical Asian accent of mispronunciations, presumptions of mental retardation, and an accompanying “GONG” each time the film circles back to him. It is fair to say this is equivalent to when Buckwheat would wipe the sweat off his brow against a nearby wall and it would appear as ink stains in a random Our Gang/Little Rascals film. Actor Gedde Wantanabe who plays Dong has gone on record saying he was vilified for the role since the release of the film. Likely he was also quite embarrassed. I wouldn’t blame him.

Date rape is also a common element of the film. Dong is implied to be a victim by a butch high school girl. In another storyline the hot guy Jake Ryan (Michael Schoeffling), who drives a cherry red Porche, implies to the geek, Farmer Ted (Anthony Michael Hall), an offer to have his way with Jake’s intoxicated girlfriend. Freshman nerd Ted takes as much advantage of the opportunity as he can by taking photographs with the girl and then even forgetting what exactly occurred the next morning but making hopeful assumptions nevertheless, simply to bolster his reputation.

I don’t draw attention to these tropes to celebrate and guffaw though. The film continues to have a staying power with Hughes’ name labeled on the picture as well its recognition for making Molly Ringwald an ongoing cover photo for Teen Beat and Rolling Stone magazines during the MTV Generation.

Perhaps John Hughes had no idea at the time that his material would carry a shock element beyond plain silliness. I’m almost convinced of that. It’s fair to say Sixteen Candles is a byproduct of the raunchiness delivered by Animal House. I’m content with that because it is very, very funny in spite of the offending and inappropriate material.

Molly Ringwald is Samantha who is beside herself when everyone has forgotten her sixteenth birthday while gorgeous Jake seemingly doesn’t even know she exists. The family’s focus is drawn to her older sister’s upcoming nuptials the next day. It’s a lot to deal with for a high school sophomore. Ringwald embraces the frustration nicely as she doesn’t try for the comedy but often becomes the embarrassing victim of Hughes’ set ups: invasively touchy grandparents, Long Duk Dong, Farmer Ted’s obsession with her, and even giving up her underpants as a special favor. Samantha is the straight character among all the clowns in the cast, including her jerky younger brother played by Oscar nominee Justin Henry (Kramer vs Kramer). Paul Dooley, known for a career as a notable schlub, offers a nice scene or two with Ringwald as her father. John Hughes allowed himself to demonstrate how much he respects the characters he’s invented even if he spent the first two thirds of the picture humiliating them.

The transitional arc of the script almost parallels Hughes’ method of writing in his career. The comedy is sketched primarily in broad strokes. I said earlier it is rife with prejudiced humor, raunch and slapstick. That is until the end arrives with a mature, candle lit first kiss over a birthday cake accompanied by the sweet, soft melodies of the Thompson Twins. It’s adoring, sensitive, and Hughes closes the book on Sixteen Candles with the love and care he awarded most of his characters during his filmography. In one film, John Hughes approaches a level of maturity by the time the story’s end arrives.

The tenderness Hughes shows in the concluding scene of Sixteen Candles would become more evidently special in his later films like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty In Pink, (not directed, only written by him), The Breakfast Club, and Planes, Trains & Automobiles.

John Hughes’ legacy is unmatched. Sixteen Candles is proof of that, and though some today would be dismissive of its ingredients, it remains a defining film of what the 1980s provided, culturally. If you grew up during the decade of excess or likely the grunge of the ‘90s, chances are you attended a sleepover with friends watching Molly Ringwald as the lovestruck, but crushed Samantha. She had to survive the most awful night of high school, coincidentally occurring on the day of her sweet sixteen, while making wonderful memories of laughter, tears, love and bonding.

NOTE: I waited to post this review for over two years until the eve of my daughter Julia’s 16th birthday. Happy Birthday Jules. I didn’t fucking forget your birthday!

THE BREAKFAST CLUB

By Marc S. Sanders

The outcry of teen angst in the 1980s comes through predominantly in the dramatic talking piece called The Breakfast Club.  I look at the film as a mature interpretation of Charles Schultz’ Peanuts Gang actually, and maybe an extension of some of the themes found in Steven Spielberg’s E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial.  The children are heard.  The adults are present but are mostly muffled and out of consideration.  Writer/Director John Hughes wanted the five teenagers destined to occupy a Saturday in the school library for detention to completely undo their armor.  With adults in the way, kids can never truly be themselves.  Lies, exaggerations and attempts at acceptable image come first but as his script progresses, the teens are reduced to expressing how they value themselves and each other. 

Having grown up watching The Breakfast Club by myself on many Friday nights after some challenging weeks of school, I was always looking to sit on the floor with this pack and share my own demons and fears.  Sometimes it worked.  Sometimes I felt as if the brain (Anthony Michael Hall, as Brian), the athlete (Emilio Estevez as Andrew), the basket case (Ally Sheedy as Allison), the princess (Molly Ringwald as Claire) and the criminal (Judd Nelson as John) spoke back to me and told me when I was wrong or when I was justified for having felt like I did. 

Nearly forty years later, some of the thought processes the five endure of themselves seems outdated and inappropriate, however.  For example, in Hughes’ film the female characters are sexually harassed, harshly criticized and/or they succumb to stepping outside their comfort zone and changing their appearance to please a male character.  Had this film been released in a post Me Too era, I think both sides of the political aisle would protest its content.  The Breakfast Club is certainly a movie of its day where it’s treated as comedic escapism to have Nelson’s character commit a fellatio act upon Ringwald’s panty covered crotch.  Do not mistake me.  I am not crying foul and demanding censorship or calling for torches and pitchforks.  The contents of The Breakfast Club should certainly remain preserved and viewed upon as what was a mindset of films in the 1980s, and perhaps how the opposite sexes treated one another then.  Sadly, it is still happening all too often.

The success of the film relies upon the differences in the characters.  None of them have the same interests.  Yet, if you allow them to live among themselves without any outside influences, they will open up to one another.  Hughes’ film begins where the characters hardly speak.  John gets the ball rolling as the troublemaker looking for shock value as he attempts to urinate on the floor in front of the others and then succeeds in unifying the students when he causes the library door to remain shut keeping Mr. Vernon (Paul Gleason), the teacher/antagonist, out of reach of them.  Why should the five work together against Mr. Vernon?  They don’t know or have respect for each other.  Why?  Because one generation will stand arm and arm against another generation, specifically a domineering entity. 

Now that they are isolated, Hughes writes in set ups allowing the five to shed their skin.  In one scene, the ladies empty the contents of their purses while the men’s wallets are exposed.  John sleeps around.  Allison may be mentally ill.  Claire lives off the vanity that comes with makeup and perfumes.  Brian’s middle name is revealed.  (“Ralph, as in puke.”)  The kids lie about their sexual conquests only to be cornered into telling how little experience some of them actually have.  Maybe the most common plane they share are their home lives.  Each uncovers how they relate to their parents and none of them have an ideal upbringing.  Rather, they are disregarded or abused or forced into an appearance they really are not passionate about.  Before the film ends, the five will have their battle cry of dancing individually first, and then lined up together, unified, to a song titled, We Are Not Alone. 

Hughes even allows enough time and subtlety to demonstrate how Mr. Vernon seems to suffer.  There’s a quick moment, where Vernon commits John to two months of detention.  As Vernon storms out of the room, John screams out “Fuck You!” and Hughes keeps a closeup on Vernon letting out a weary sigh.  His exhaustion of being the authoritative adult is wearing on him.  Yet, after twenty-two years of teaching it is also the only pedestal he has left to stand on; to rule over five misfits on a boring isolated Saturday.  Later, he’ll only feel his most powerful when he has John imprisoned away from the others and he can antagonize and threaten him with the intent of elevating his stature over a punk kid.  (Ironically, this moment also reveals how weak John is and not the intimidating bully he holds himself to be in front of the others.)  Later, Vernon tells the janitor how he’ll have to worry about these kids growing up to look after him when he is elderly.  He’s been so occupied with being sadistically cruel, he has not allowed time to carve out a balanced future.

The Breakfast Club is an important piece to watch for uncovering teenage mentality and the subconsciousness.  How do teenagers function by themselves, with outsiders, with their peers, and with their parents?  What’s best celebrated in many of John Hughes’ films are when he allows his characters not to hinder how they truly regard one another.  While I won’t spoil how these five consider each other by the end of this particular Saturday, as an adult and one who analyzes story more carefully than I did at age fourteen, I am disappointed with how Hughes concludes his film.  At least for four of the characters, it doesn’t seem right.  While I’m let down though, that doesn’t mean the movie is wrong. 

Teenagers will not always act upon what is right or more precisely what they know to be right or just.  Our teenage years are an opportunity to commit and then learn from our mistakes.  In our adolescent years, we explore what is forbidden with misbehavior and risk whether it be rebelling against authority, daring to drink and do drugs, acting upon sexual impulse or exacting bullying and peer pressure.  Even sneaking through the hallways around school is a game of cat and mouse where the goal is not to get caught by the teacher.

I’m inclined to recommend that parents watch The Breakfast Club with their kids when they are mature enough for the material.  Yet, I really don’t want to.  The whole point of the film is to cut off these kids from the outside world of parents and teachers and peers who expect something different of them than how they truly see themselves.  If my daughter were to watch this movie with mom and dad sitting right next to her, then she might not unequivocally respond to what Andrew, Claire, Allison, Brian and John really have to say.  To get in their minds, my daughter would have to watch without any outside influence where the conversation she has with the film is private between The Breakfast Club and her.  Perhaps, then she’ll see another teenager’s honest point of view.

SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION

By Marc S. Sanders

John Guare adapted his celebrated Broadway play Six Degrees Of Separation into a screenplay directed by Fred Schepisi.  Having never seen a stage production of the show, I can still see how well it would work in live theater.  It’s a talking piece with colorful dialogue and fast paced monologues revealing the true nature of people whether they are telling the truth, exaggerating, or simply being lied to.  Can a piece of writing succeed at showing the phoniness of people while at the same time displaying the authentic nature of a con man and a liar? 

In a very early career performance, Will Smith plays a young man named Paul.  One night, he stumbles upon the Park Avenue apartment of Ouisa and Flan Kitteridge (Stockard Channing, Donald Sutherland), wealthy art dealers ready to make a multi-million-dollar deal with a South African guest, named Geoffrey (Ian McKellan).  Paul is a handsome black man in a navy blazer and college tie, with a knife wound in his side.  He has just been mugged while on his way to pay the Kitteridges a surprise visit.  They welcome him inside, clean his injury and loan him a freshly clean pink dress shirt from their son’s closet. 

Talking and interaction take effect.  Paul describes how he intimately knows the couple’s children away at college.  He segues into an insightful literary evaluation of Holden Caulfied from Catcher In The Rye, and he eventually makes his way into the kitchen where he impresses the high society people with his exquisite dinner preparation and his immense background of being the son of celebrated actor Sidney Poitier. 

By the end of the evening, Geoffrey is ready to sign the deal and the Kitteridges are over the moon with the dumbfound luck of meeting this young man, who is now going to arrange for them to be extras in the film adaptation of the musical Cats, soon to be directed by Sidney, himself.  It’s all too good to be true.  The next morning, after insisting that Paul stay over for the night, surprises abound and perhaps Ouisa and Flan don’t know everything they should have known about Paul.

The couple meets up for lunch with Larkin and Kitty, another high society couple (Bruce Dern, Mary Beth Hurt) who can’t wait to share an unbelievable story with them.  Only their anecdote is eerily similar to the experience they had with Paul.  Could these people have been duped?  The only option is to go to the police, and yet was there really a crime ever committed?  Fifty dollars was leant to Paul to get back to school, and he made off with the pink shirt, but that’s it.  All of their prized artwork and collectibles remained.  No one was physically harmed.  Nothing was stolen.  Still, the four people are insistent on uncovering the mystery of this man. 

Ouisa, Flan, Larkin and Kitty eventually catch up with their children to see how they had come to meet Paul.  The kids have no idea what their parents are talking about and are downright resentful of mom and dad.  Ouisa and Flan’s son (Jeff Abrams, as in eventual director JJ Abrams) is especially hurt they gave Paul his pink dress shirt.  The horror!  Their daughter describes them as ignorant and uncaring simply because of their wealth.

While I can’t describe the structure of the play, Schpisi’s film does a back and forth of Ouisa and Flan gleefully telling their tall tale to anyone who will listen.  While guests at a wedding reception, the crowd of listeners seem to grow around the pair, eventually to the point that the bride and groom are even listening.  Their story spreads at a funeral and dinner parties and on and on.

Later, a young couple (Heather Graham, Erik Thal) enter the frame to share their encounter with Paul after meeting him in Central Park.  Their tale is not as similar as the others, but there is enough to determine that they met the same “Paul” in their experience.

Paul’s existence seems to grow and grow, but not necessarily because of Paul.  Rather, it is because of how widespread his various intrusions become.  While making efforts to pursue the mystery, Ouisa and Flan get interviewed for the paper.  Even more people within New York City (revered for having eight million stories) reveal their own encounters. More people, especially their peers, become even more fascinated by the outrageous anecdote, and it becomes the centerpiece of dinner conversations and social gatherings.  People can’t get enough of the night Ouisa and Flan met Paul and what happened afterwards.

Guare’s script is focused not so much on dimension and character change, as it is in demonstrating what can happen when one story blossoms into a multitude of others.  The title follows the idea that every person on the planet can somehow be connected within six different people of one another.  What I took from the film is how inauthentic the ones who were duped actually are.  Flan wants nothing ever more to do with Paul, repeatedly declaring a fear that he may come back and “slash their throats.” Yet, he can’t resist sharing the story and what happened after that and then after that.  Ouisa follows along, until perhaps the end of the picture.

Stockard Channing plays the most dynamic of all the characters thanks to moments offered in the script where Ouisa begins to contemplate how fascinating it is how many people have come in contact with Paul and thus lending credence to the film’s title.  A memorable monologue towards the end earned her Oscar nomination for the film. 

Will Smith is the con man at the center of the script.  It’s an extraordinary performance and it’s an insightful character as well.  Paul is a con man.  That is the one sure thing that viewers assuredly walk away with from the movie.  It may be the only genuine fact in the film.  The people he seduces are eventually revealed to be fake for the sake of laying impressions upon their peers or for exacting aggravation, as the spoiled college age children seem to do.  Nothing that Ouisa, Flan, Larkin, Kitty or any of their high society friends and children come off with genuine affection and care for one another.  Their tales are told simply to impress and uphold relevance.  Only as the credits roll, does Ouisa perhaps have a revelation of how she behaves with her friends, and her children, particularly when in company with her husband, Flan.

Film Critic Roger Ebert didn’t care for this film as he asked what are we supposed to gain from this picture; that everyone in the world is a phony?  Maybe so.  The irony for me however, is that Paul is nothing but a con.  He never deviates from that pattern during the course of the picture all the way to his final scene when he’s alone on the street speaking with Ouisa on a pay phone. He still insists on being Paul Poitier, son of Sidney.  Therefore, let’s at least admire Paul’s consistent behavior of lying, while turning our backs as we realize how artificial the well to do folks really are.  Irony is thought provoking, and I think John Guare’s script at least succeeds in that respect. 

WEIRD SCIENCE

By Marc S. Sanders

John Hughes, as a writer, stretched his imagination far at times. Really far!!!!! You’d have to, to build up your confidence to make a ridiculous comedy like Weird Science come to life. The movie is blatantly absurd, outrageous, a little crude and outright nonsensical. It’s Frankenstein meets Pretty In Pink. It’s alive!!!!!

Double, maybe quadruple, Uber Nerds Gary and Wyatt (Anthony Michael Hall, Ilan Mitchell-Smith) spend their Friday night in front of the computer to create the hottest woman ever. With the help of a Barbie doll and some Playboy centerfolds, nothing on earth will compare to this creation for the XX chromosome community. They give her a brain as well by scanning in photographs of Albert Einstein, of course. From there, “Lisa” (Kelly LeBrock), with the toned body that SCREAMS SEX, plots out the boys’ weekend at a blues club, then the mall and later a party at Wyatt’s house where the boys’ reputations are enhanced almost as well as Lisa’s chest.

Lisa helps Gary and Wyatt overcome their insecurities with their popular girl crushes and teaches Chet, Wyatt’s idiot green beret brother, to lay off. Chet is played by Bill Paxton. Can you imagine anyone else playing Chet?

There’s a cuteness to Weird Science. However, the slapstick gags are what really wins. Either you like this silliness or you don’t. I get amused watching all the furnishings of Wyatt’s house, including the Baby Grand piano, get sucked out the chimney along with a half-naked girl. I love it when Lisa freezes the blue blood grandparents in the pantry closet or when she erases the memory of Gary’s father. I also like how Chet is reduced to a big blob of literal shit. Then there’s the nuclear missile that rises out of the floor, up through the roof.

Take off your cap of sophisticated maturity, and just appreciate silly, sophomoric comedy for a change. It’s all harmless, anyway. Lisa makes sure everything is back in its place by the end, only now it’s better and funnier than before.