Scene Anatomy 101 12.24.08: The Breakfast Club

Posted by George H. Sirois on 12.24.2008

A little reminder of what they were like before they started bonding...

ISSUE #198 – 2 TO GO


Sometimes stereotypical characters can be a good thing. When it comes to ensemble films, it's always good to be able to identify where everyone comes from right away. And the more different everyone is, the better chance there is for drama right off the bat. If everyone were shown at the beginning to be similar to each other, the writer would have to dig a little deeper to find the conflict, and it would take longer than needed to really get into the story.

That's where the stereotypes come in. Right away, we know where everyone stands so we're not wasting time, and best of all, as the story develops, we get to peel away the layers on everyone's surface and see what's underneath the assumptions. That's what we get to see happen in the John Hughes 1980s classic film...

What better scenario is there to explore a bunch of stereotypical characters than in a high school? EVERY high school has the social class system and all students naturally gravitate towards the people that make them feel the most comfortable. Since it's a lot easier to show five separate people rather than five various groups, Hughes set this film during a period of detention, and to make it even more isolating, he had this detention taking place... on a Saturday!

While none of the five students are in the first frame, we get to see many different shots of the character that is the true driving force of the film: the school itself. Over the images, we hear the voice of Brian Johnson (Anthony Michael Hall), the "brain" of the group...

BRIAN: Saturday. March 24, 1984. Shermer High School. Shermer, Illinois 60062.

We now see various close-up shots of the empty halls. We see the clock that hasn't struck 7:00 just yet. We also see close-ups of some walls that have phrases like "I don't like Mondays" carved into them.

BRIAN: Dear Mr. Vernon, We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong.

As Brian talks, we see a row of lockers and zoom in on one in particular. While all the other lockers are in perfectly good condition, and are all able to close without any problems, this one locker looks horrendous. The door is hanging off its hinges, the inside is blackened and its contents are burned up and lying on the floor.

Why is this locker like this? It's only natural that we find out later on.

BRIAN: What we did was wrong, but we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we are.

As Brian mentions the phrase "telling you who we are," we see a close-up of a bunch of trophies, followed by a wall covered with graffiti.

BRIAN: What do you care? You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, with the most convenient definitions.

The school really does look abandoned, with garbage lying around in the halls and a ladder left on the stage of the auditorium beside a banner that reads, "Senior Spirit Soars." Someone really has to clean this place up.

We then see a close-up shot of a group of male student senior pictures. The photos are below the phrase, "Man of the Year." The young man in the center picture – Carl Reed – looks so confident and prepared for the trials and tribulations of the world that lies ahead.

BRIAN: You see us as a brain...

Naturally, to illustrate the "brain," we see an empty classroom with computers at every desk.

BRIAN: ...an athlete...

We see the gym, with a bunch of used jock straps lying around.

BRIAN: ...a basket case...

We see the desk of the guidance counselor, Mr. Hashimoto (named after the production designer), with a bunch of Rorschach tests on top of the desk.

BRIAN: ...a princess...

What identifies a princess in high school more than someone wishing to be the Prom Queen? So we see a sign on the wall that says, "Vote for Your Prom Queen."

BRIAN: ...and a criminal. Correct?

Now, to illustrate the criminal, Hughes shows us a red locker with a warning written on it in black magic marker. The warning says, "Open this door, and you die, fag!" Obviously there's something hidden in the locker, and to show us just how serious the "criminal" is about keeping his stuff private, there is a small noose hanging out from the slot on the locker door.

BRIAN: That's the way we saw each other at 7:00 this morning. We were brainwashed.

Now that we've become fully acquainted with the school, let's meet our main characters. They are the definitive representatives of their respective "cliques."

First, let's meet the princess. Claire Standish (Molly Ringwald) is sitting shotgun in her daddy's BMW with a look of total contempt on her spoiled face. And what's the first thing she says to perfectly capture her "princess" attitude?

CLAIRE: I can't believe you can't get me out of this.

Not, "I can't believe I have to do this." No, this is somehow her daddy's fault because he couldn't pull the right strings to make sure she didn't have to give up her Saturday.

CLAIRE: It's so absurd I have to be here on a Saturday. It's not like I'm a defective or anything.

Claire's daddy – complete with Burberry scarf, just in case you didn't catch on to the fact that the Standish family is very well-off – tries to reason with Claire as he reaches behind her to get a bag from the back seat.

CLAIRE'S DADDY: I'll make it up to you.

"I'll make it up to you" for doing what you're supposed to do? That's a hell of an example you're setting, Daddy.

CLAIRE'S DADDY: Honey, ditching class to go shopping doesn't make you a defective. Have a good day.

Claire scowls at him as she grabs the bag from her daddy and gets out of the car. Right away, we can see that she's someone who is not willing to put up with anyone else that she's going to be spending time with in detention. It's in her nature to be stand-offish to anyone who is beneath her, which she already feels everyone else is. Hence her last name.

Then, we see the front seat of the car holding Brian Johnson, the voice that we heard before. Brian's mother is sitting behind the wheel, and his younger sister is sitting between them. Now, this is a standard Chrysler four-door car. There's no reason why the sister is sitting up front. But it works that she does, because we see how cramped Brian is, suffocated by his family and their demands of him. Even the Chrysler is demanding with a license plate that reads: E MC 2.

BRIAN'S MOM: Is this the first time or the last time we do this?

BRIAN: Last.

BRIAN'S MOM: Well, get in there and use the time to your advantage.

Brian rolls his eyes. Mom just doesn't get it.

BRIAN: Mom, we're not supposed to study. We're supposed to sit there and do nothing.

BRIAN'S MOM: Well, mister, you figure out a way to study.

The sister gets in on the fun by glaring at her older brother.

BRIAN'S SISTER: Yeah.

Brian sits silently for a moment, and we can see that this is just a typical day for him.

BRIAN'S MOM: Well, go.

Brian opens the car door and steps out.

We then see Andrew Clark (Emilio Estevez) sitting in his dad's truck. His father is trying to look into his eyes, but Andrew is keeping his head down. His manner is completely stoic, he has accepted his fate, and he's willing to pay the price for what he did. However, his dad refuses to just let the issue go.

ANDREW'S DAD: Hey, I screwed around. Guys screw around, there's nothing wrong with that. Except you got caught, sport.

Andrew nods.

ANDREW: Yeah, Mom already reamed me.

Andrew's dad keeps pressing the issue.

ANDREW'S DAD: You want to miss a match? You want to blow your ride? Now, no school is gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case!

Andrew gives his dad the stinkeye and then gets out of the truck. As the truck drives away, we can see someone walking into view. He is wearing a long trench coat, fingerless gloves and shades. He is John Bender (Judd Nelson), and he is so self-absorbed that he doesn't bother stopping when another car pulls up in front of the school.

Here's something else that's interesting. When we see Claire, Brian and Andrew, we see them up close and personal. We get a look at their family life, we see their faces and their contempt for all their parents and in this brief snapshot, and we feel like we know them a bit before they even walk inside the school.

But then we see Allison Reynolds (Ally Sheedy) getting out of her car. She's in the backseat even though nobody is riding shotgun, and when she steps out and leans towards the front window, the driver speeds away. Hughes had this shot from a distance, and it's so far away we barely know that she's even a girl. Right away we're kept at arm's length from Allison, but considering how she looks and how she acts during the first half, nobody wants to be close to her.

And just like that, the stage is set for these five characters. We see Claire and Andrew up close since they're the popular kids. They're the ones that we want to cozy up to as much as possible, since being close to them would make US popular. (This is a movie about high school, remember that.) And Brian puts himself out there because he wants to be liked, despite his current "status." We can see this desire in him later on when he just starts blabbering on about the various clubs he's in. However, Allison keeps herself at a distance and lies about herself constantly so nobody will ever know the kind of person she really is, and so the first scene we don't get a good look at her.

And then there's Bender. Despite being the most antagonistic of the group, he brings out the emotions in everyone else. He presses the other characters to answer various questions, even if he's not the one to ask them. He pushes everyone to defend themselves by mocking their lives, and when anyone tries to call him on anything that he says, he shows his scars to back it all up. While he may not seem like it on the surface, he's the most complex of all five of these characters, and he gets the most out of this Saturday with the brain, the basket case, the athlete and the princess. Jay and Silent Bob were right. The guy's f***in' harsh.

Overall, not a bad day at school with a bunch of stereotypes. To take us home for this week, here's Rick Tym with his thoughts on this scene and on the rest of the film...


The Breakfast Club is, of course, the quintessential ‘80s high school movie, written and directed by John Hughes, whose many works have influence and cable television repeatability that extend far beyond the time in which they were conceived (Weird Science, Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink and Ferris Bueller's Day Off spring immediately to mind—and don't forget, he wrote Christmas Vacation—happy holidays, everybody!) due to their sheer charm and infinite quotability.

Most fondly remembered by this writer is the term "Neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie," which in the context of the film not only perfectly described the epitome of nerd (I say that fondly as I was, in high school, part of that adolescently undesirable denomination) but also cemented a burnout's ability to think creatively.

Before that particular hyphenated classifier is hurled at an unsuspecting Anthony Michael Hall, the members of this makeshift troupe have to make their way up the steps of Shermer High and through the hallways of Saturday-removed teen societal angst to the library where the majority of the film takes place. The audience meets the five detention prisoners at the onset of this journey as they are being dropped off by their parents—or making their trench coated way across the football gridiron—to begin serving their sentence.

The narration that is in fact the punishment composition assigned by warden Richard Vernon frames the student's individual arrivals perfectly, telling you everything you need to know about the characters and their place in Hughes' fictional suburb; in straightforward terms, coming to school on what should be a day off are a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Simple and effective are these descriptors and the quick-cut interactions (or lack thereof) between the teens and their parents: the brain, being directed by his mother (and annoying little sister) to study even if it's not allowed; the jock, admonished by his father not for pulling what is revealed to be a dirty, petty prank, but for getting caught; the oddball who is so strange that her driver doesn't even speak to her, and pulls away hastily without even feigning a half-hearted goodbye; the popular spoiled brat who appeals to one half of her parental unit unsuccessfully, most likely since the other half isn't there to play off of; the criminal, who enters the frame alone, a not-so-subtle indicator that he is alone not only by choice but by someone else's indifference.

These introductions are short, sweetly bitter, and simplistically poignant because they frame so accurately the stereotypical nature of high school class (sociological, not freshmen/sophomore/junior/senior) ranking.

It's no coincidence that the success of The Breakfast Club lies in its ability to take these typical categorizations and shatter them with a hammer of three-dimensionality; sure, Brian, Andrew, Allison, Claire and Bender all live up to their presupposed traits and flaws, but over the course of a weekend school day, learn there's more to themselves—and life, whether it be of the real or not-as-important-as-it-seems-at-the-time scholastic variety.

In the end, all comes full-circle as they embrace not only their individual personalities, whatever they may be, but also each other's quirks and strengths with the knowledge that they are all essentially the same, united in their fears of neglect, control, abandonment and perception. Because really, who among us can honestly say they don't have a bit of geeky, competitive, neurotic, dramatic and sometimes veiled shady inclinations within ourselves? Brain, athlete, basket case, princess and criminal—we all carry a little of these around everyday, and that's just for starters, as The Breakfast Club's opening scene so aptly points out.


Next week, I give thanks to all of my co-workers for keeping up with my weekly columns by dedicating issue #199 to them. It's from a film that a lot of them are familiar with, and all I have to say to them is, "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night."

Until then, Class Dismissed and if you're celebrating it, have a Merry Christmas!


-- George H. Sirois