Misunderstood Masterpieces: The Breakfast Club

Posted by Will Helm on 03.15.2005

…or, The Culmination of Ninety-Nine Columns

Wasn’t that a Wu-Tang album?

For the past two years or so, nearly weekly, I have brought you a formidable collection of Misunderstood Masterpieces. From my auspicious and admittedly underwhelming debut to the present day, there has always been one film I have always wished to cover. Throughout the years, I’ve – at times – alluded to it and referred to it as one of the few films I loathe with all of my being. The funny thing is that a lot of people of my generation absolutely love this movie – and I have no idea why. I know more than a few people who can quote this film by heart; who have to watch this every time it’s on television. Who knows? You may even be one of those people. And I just have one thing to say to you if you are . . .

This is my hundredth column, so I’m doing The Breakfast Club, bitches! Ah . . . that felt good. The undead spirit of Rick James would be proud.

It is a fair assessment to say that John Hughes ruled popular cinema in the 1980s. Predominately as a writer and producer, and sometimes as a director, Hughes had a hand in some of the most memorable and successful films of that decade. Beginning with the obscure-yet-underrated National Lampoon’s Class Reunion in 1982, Hughes cinematic reign of terror continued on unabated and quickly gathering steam. There were his treatments for the awesome combination of Mr. Mom and Vacation (but also European Vacation). After these two films – ignoring the third – came one of the greatest runs of any filmmaker: Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, and – perhaps one of the best films of the ‘80s – Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Toward the end of the decade, Hughes would gradually leave directing behind, ending his career behind the camera . . . well, directly behind the camera . . . with films like Planes, Trains, and Automobiles and Uncle Buck. Apparently John Candy was a favored muse. Hughes, as a writer and producer, capped off the decade with one last smash hit: 1990’s Home Alone.

While many of these films have their own cult-like following and imbue the name “John Hughes” with some sort of preternatural cinematic goodness, one among them is often cited as “my favorite movie ever” or “so great and so meaningful” by many twenty-somethings. That film, dear readers, is the subject of my column . . . the rue of my days as a lowly video-store slave . . . the bane of my film-fan existence . . . the confused high-school drama/comedy . . . The Breakfast Club. It’s Misunderstood Masterpiece #100 . . . and away we go!

To be honest, it’s hard to believe that a film as “legendary” as this begins with just a stark, plain opening-credits sequence, set to the haunting strains of Simple Minds. And then that, for some unknown reason, leads to a random David Bowie quote, from the song “Changes.” Ah, there’s nothing more profound than Aladdin Sane. Or was he Ziggy Stardust then? Anyway, it’s of no consequence, as, after a moment’s pondering, the quote EXPLODES! Wow. Then a rambling voice-over begins, explaining that it’s a Saturday in March of 1984 and the proles are up in arms against Big Brother. They want Macintoshes and they want them now! Oh . . . wait. The YEAR 1984 . . . not 1984 or even the Van Halen album. And here I had a great “Jump” reference all lined up too. Said voice-over, much to his chagrin, is in detention and explains that he resents some guy and his stereotypes. It’s quite unclear as of this point just what the voice-over guy is talking about; I’m sure we’ll find out more about it as the film progresses. I hope.

To begin the Brat Pack parade, Molly Ringwald, in all her pale, ginger-haired glory, is dropped off in front of the school in a BMW. Of course, she whines about it, since she’s a stereotypical spoiled princess. In another car, Anthony Michael Hall’s mother – yes, his real mother – yells at him in a thick New York accent, which is very odd considering the film is set in the fictional town of Shermer, Illinois. We should be getting Jim Shorts, but instead we’re getting Uncle Floyd. Anyway, in ANOTHER car – I sense a running theme, Emilio Estevez’s father – who is not Martin Sheen in this picture – lectures him about the importance of winning and scholarships and other stereotypically athletic nonsense. Finally, Goth Ally Sheedy’s car nearly runs over trenchcoat-clad – and, therefore, rebellious – Judd Nelson. Damn . . . and I thought we were going to lose a character early on.

Now that all the dramatis personae have been introduced, they all meet for detention in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™. I really have to wonder just what kind of school district this is when the library is roughly the size of a small airplane hangar. It’s too bad Giles isn’t there, though. That’d be cool. Once inside the room, all of our wonderfully stereotypical characters stare at each other, utterly bewildered. Before any shenanigans can break out, the tough-as-nails principal (Paul Gleason) busts in and lays down the law in all his smarmy glory. Like Torquemada before him, the principal states that they’re all in detention for eight hours, during which they all must write an essay about themselves. Ah . . . how wonderfully existential! I sense another running theme, though. The principal, as a few parting shots before exiting, stage left, tells the prisoners that he doesn’t want any monkey business or for them to mess with any bull’s horns. Luckily, he leaves before he mentions any other animal metaphors; I doubt any of you want to know whether or not he’s hung like a horse. Then again . . . that’s a simile.

With the principal now safely in the confines of his office, Ally Sheedy picks her teeth loudly. Meanwhile, Anthony Michael Hall eats a pen; he then must miraculously regurgitate it, as, the next time we see it, it’s up his nose. Unless he had two pens . . . although I do hope he doesn’t have a pen for every orifice. After probing himself with writing implements, Anthony Michael Hall then has a staredown with Judd Nelson . . . for no reason in particular. After that, Judd Nelson throws a wad of paper at Molly Ringwald, either to get her attention or annoy her. His pulpy projectile has neither effect, so he just starts playing an air-guitar version of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love.” Something tells me this movie is going to be a collection of randomness; it’s just a hunch.

After he finishes rocking out – well, at least as well as you can rock out in detention in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™, Judd Nelson threatens to urinate on the floor. Before our burgeoning anti-hero can let loose with the bladder juice, Emilio Estevez freaks out and goes into a ‘roid rage, since he’s a stereotypical jock and all. Molly Ringwald, the princess, meanwhile, is totally put out by Judd Nelson’s uncouth behavior. He’s unaffected by her indignation, though; he’s “rebellious,” remember. Anthony Michael Hall, since he’s the weakest of the males in the room, tries to make peace, since he knows that he’d be the first to perish if the silverbacks decide to tussle for group supremacy. Ooh . . . it’s like a sociology experiment now. Claude Lévi-Strauss would be proud. Judd Nelson still tries to cause trouble, as the “rebellious” member of the group, this time by postulating that there’s something fishy going on between Emilio Estevez and Molly Ringwald. Of course, as before, Molly Ringwald tells off our lovable anti-hero, which piques the curiosity of the principle, much to the detainees’ chagrin.

After the principal goes back to doing whatever he was doing before being rudely interrupted, Emilio Estevez sends Judd Nelson into an existential tailspin by exclaiming that the anti-hero of the picture doesn’t exist! He must exist, though, as Molly Ringwald hates him . . . unless it is possible to hate abstractions. Much like Judd Nelson’s later career. Meanwhile, Emilio Estevez contradicts his former hypothesis by calling Judd Nelson a blustery coward. So, which is it, Emilio: is he a coward, or doesn’t he exist? The two cannot logically co-exist, you know. Meanwhile, Judd Nelson counteracts the philosophical bombardment by relishing his status as a member of the proletariat – maybe this is 1984 after all? – and raging against the elitism of the “high school club people.” Ah, so he does not want to conform, then? Silly deluded youth. Doesn’t he know that conformity is what all the cool kids are doing now? They all told me so in their Ritalin-induced monotones. Just to diffuse the situation, someone asks Anthony Michael Hall about his social standing; it seems that he’s a club person, but a dork, so Judd Nelson doesn’t hate him AS much. Anthony Michael Hall, unconcerned with the situation, then starts babbling and mumbling about getting high for no reason in particular. Hmm . . . I smell foreshadowing. Or is that cannabis?

The palpable peace is momentary, though, as Judd Nelson turns his aggressions back on Emilio Estevez, this time noting Estevez’s athletic prowess in the discipline of wrestling. Emilio’s well thought reply: he calls Judd Nelson a “faggot.” Well said, I must say, for someone who routinely rolls around, scantly glad, on a mat with other men. Touché, I must say. Meanwhile, in the hallway, the principal checks himself out in the window of a fire extinguisher cabinet; he’s a studly academic administrator. While the principal channels Narcissus, Judd Nelson “rebels” and pulls a screw from the door to THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™, shutting it. The principal, curious as to why the door is now closed against his wishes, questions the detainees. They all proclaim ignorance . . . except for Ally Sheedy. She just squeaks.

The principal, on to the plague of shenanigans and its possible source, interrogates Judd Nelson as to the location of the screw. Judd Nelson doesn’t crack under the pressure, so the principal enlists Emilio Estevez to help him comically attempt to prop open the door. While a good time is being had by all, Judd Nelson lectures the flustered principal as to the importance of fire codes and impeding safe exit. Joe Clark, take heed! The principal, if he wasn’t already before, gets testy; Judd Nelson responds by telling the authority figure against whom he is rebelling at the moment to “eat my shorts.” Wow . . . powerful words from the Juddster. Whew. Scathing, to the last. The principal responds by awarding Judd Nelson with another Saturday of detention, leading to what can best be described as not only a war of wits and wills nor a war of attrition but, rightly, a war of detention. The principal finishes the feud by flashing Judd Nelson the devil horns! Ooh . . . he’s going for a ride on the Crazy Train! The principal ROXXORS! The principal, letting loose with his violent, headbanging tendencies, then threatens to crack skulls if any more of his charges step out of line. Yeah . . . he’s hopped up on crank.

Later in the morning or the day or whenever, Judd Nelson passes time by setting his foot on fire and using the flaming shoe to light a cigarette. Ooh . . . so rebellious. Meanwhile, Ally Sheedy, in all her crackpot glory, tries to tie off a finger and Emilio Estevez has delusions of grandeur. Ally Sheedy then segues into making dandruff snow for a lovely ink drawing of a covered bridge . . . and Anthony Michael Hall as a boner for no particular reason. Then, they all fall asleep. Ah, so THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™ has a slow gas leak, then? Great . . . movie’s over! Unfortunately for me, they all wake up; like Anthony Michael Hall before him, Emilio Estevez must awaken a bit stiff, so he rectifies the situation by stretching like a ballerina. And, meanwhile, he’s the one throwing around homophobic epithets earlier in the picture. A wee bit insecure there, son? Meanwhile, perhaps in a sort of strange commentary on the state of literature or the state of being – existentialism wow! – Judd Nelson slowly, diligently tears pages out of a book of Molière. How deep and metaphorical!

Later, Judd Nelson and Emilio Estevez bicker again. You can honestly cut the sexual tension with a knife at this point. Emilio Estevez, bored with trying to convince Judd Nelson to play Greco-Roman style, perhaps attempts to make him jealous by hitting on Molly Ringwald. Molly Ringwald, meanwhile, for some reason brings up how she’s caught between parents, adding a little sorely needed melodrama and pathos to the scene. And by “sorely needed” I mean “not needed at all,” thank you. Judd Nelson, his curiosity now enlarged by Molly Ringwald’s exposition, questions her as to which parent she prefers. She deigns to answer, instead stating that she cares only for her brother. Then she goes back to reading Flowers in the Attic. Ally Sheedy, for no reason, screams, and then Judd Nelson asks Emilio Estevez about his parents. Emilio is not happy about the impromptu interrogation, so he threatens to “waste” Judd Nelson. Meanwhile, Anthony Michael Hall, again sensing his demise when the silverback rumble breaks out, tries to make peace by rambling on about random things. Judd Nelson luckily puts an end to his unintelligible monologue by calling him a “neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie” . . . or words to that effect. Oh, and he’s named Brian. Good for him.

After this startling revelation, we then learn that Molly Ringwald is actually named Claire! Ah . . . now the secrets come out! Judd Nelson, just to rankle “Claire” – if that is her real name, tells her that someday, when married life hits her square in the gut, she’s going to get fat . . . and then he asks her if she’s a virgin. Emilio Estevez interprets this as getting fresh with Claire, so, being the resident athletic, heterosexual male in the room, he steps to her defense. Judd Nelson, once again, stands tough against his rival for herd supremacy. Emilio Estevez, sensing a weakness, an insecurity, in Judd Nelson’s stance, takes him down; Judd Nelson, though overpowered, still talks a good game, but we all know he ain’t got the skillz to back it up. He then brings the legal system into things, since he fears the wrongful death suit that would arise if he went full bore against Emilio Estevez. Whatever, punk. You know you got schooled . . . and, ironically, in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™. Emilio Estevez, sensing his victory over the other prime male in the room, scolds Judd Nelson for his impudence; Ally Sheedy, sensing danger, steals Judd Nelson’s switchblade, making the emasculation complete.

Later, the school’s lowly janitor (John Kapelos) enters the room . . . and he may or may not be Brian’s dad. Weird. Judd Nelson, just to cause trouble now that he’s been humbled, patronizes the janitor and asks the humble custodian just how he can join the ranks of the few, the proud, the cleaning crew. The janitor, meanwhile, reveals the greatest perk of the job: he’s the spy of the school. And he gets to watch the girls change in their locker room . . . but I think that goes without saying. Later, at 11:30AM specifically, all of the detainees start whistling like it was the beginning of The Bridge on the River Kwai. The principal, now an ersatz Colonel Saito, breaks up the musical interlude, but only because it’s lunch time! Yay! Crusts and water for everyone! Jean Valjean would be proud. The principal, sensing that the dynamic of the room has changed since his last visit, orders Ally Sheedy to get up and get lunch for the group. He also enlists Emilio Estevez, the room’s newly crowned alpha male, to aid her in her quest to the teachers’ lounge. Along the way, Ally Sheedy and Emilio Estevez bond, mainly because she’s a vodka drinker. Or something like that. She then turns the existential tables on Emilio Estevez, asking him why he’s there; he says it’s because he’s a racehorse . . . whatever that means. Although it does complete the animal-metaphor cycle, so bully for them.

Over in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™, Judd Nelson tells Molly Ringwald all about the trials and travails of the average elephantitis sufferer. Somehow, by talking about grossly enlarged testicles, Judd Nelson discerns that Brian is indeed a virgin. Hmm . . . methinks the logical progression there is a bit flawed. Judd Nelson then asks Brian what the truth really is, but Brian somehow infers – at least according to Judd Nelson – that he and Claire did the deed. Judd Nelson confesses his discovery to Claire; Brian is nonplussed by the inference. Later, during lunch, Claire, as the stereotypical spoiled princess, pulls out a box of sushi for lunch. You know . . . I’d love to open a sushi place called “Get Bento!” It’d be a hit. Anyway, Judd Nelson compares sushi to fellatio, but we all know he’s just bluster at this point. Emilio Estevez, since he’s a stereotypical jock, has a comically large lunch; elsewhere, all by her lonesome, Ally Sheedy throws olive loaf into the air and then makes a Pixie Stix and Cap’n Crunch sandwich. Mmm . . . citric acid goodness. Although the combination of the Pixie Stix’s acidic qualities and the abrasiveness of the Cap’n Crunch can’t be comfortable for your soft palate . . . but I could be wrong.

Judd Nelson, bored with his surroundings, sidles up to Brian and makes fun of his wholly nutritious and delicious lunch . . . which somehow moves into a characterization of Brian’s family life. Ah . . . he’s doing stand-up now! Unfortunately, the act bombs. Emilio Estevez, perhaps seeking to test the skills of the master thespian Judd Nelson, asks the “rebellious” anti-hero about his family. Judd Nelson, method actor, replies by performing a short piece about a stereotypically abusive parent-child relationship. Either that, or he’s having a fit of Tourette’s. While the rest of the audience is speechless, Emilio Estevez is skeptical of the scene’s realism. Well, everyone’s a critic now, I guess. Even the guy who grapples innocently with other singlet-clad men. Judd Nelson, unhappy with Emilio Estevez’s critique, gets all up in the jock’s grill . . . and then, like a primordial ape, he goes mad and starts climbing things. Wow. This is like ethology 101.

Somehow, things must calm down in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™, as we then turn to the misadventures of the principal, who hilariously spills coffee all over his yummy lunch and desk. Well . . . the lunch looked yummy. I don’t know about the desk, though. Of course, since the principal is distracted, that means it’s time for the kids to make a JAILBREAK!!! Ah . . . it’s been so long. AC/DC would be proud. Judd Nelson, oddly, since he had been emasculated to the point of tantrums earlier, leads the group on an expedition to his locker, where he craftily hides his trusty stash. He stuffs it down Brian’s pants, leading to a patented “Anthony Michael Hall Dork Freak-Out,” and then they run through the halls in a wacky musical montage. Who knew Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! could have such an influence on future cinema? Emilio Estevez, unhappy with Judd Nelson’s leadership, takes over the mission; Judd Nelson, smartly, runs off as a distraction . . . and he ends up angrily playing basketball in the gym. Yup. The principal, unsurprisingly, is not happy with this turn of events.

Later, the principal, rightly enraged, calls Judd Nelson a bum, all because he pulled a false alarm the day before. Ah . . . that explains why he knew so much about fire codes earlier in the picture. Continuity: ask for it by name. Judd Nelson, sensing another belittling coming, gets defensive, so the principal hauls him away for a private lecture. Said private lecture, actually, is instead a swath of posturing and time-tested “fightin’ words,” but Judd Nelson doesn’t take the principal up on his offer of some good ol’ fisticuffs. After the principal leaves the room, Judd Nelson enacts his “rebelliousness” the only way he knows how: he climbs up into the ceiling to continue his secret war against “The Man.” Oh, and he tells himself a joke along the way. Weird. And then, before he can say the punchline of said joke, he uproariously falls through the ceiling of THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™. The principal, hearing a ruckus, barges into the room, but the detainees refuse to divulge Judd Nelson’s whereabouts . . . which just happens to be between Claire’s legs. Hmm . . . more foreshadowing, perhaps? And why is the movie suddenly trying so hard to be funny?

Judd Nelson, back among his fellow inmates to cause more trouble, procures his lucky stash from Brian’s pants. Emilio Estevez tells the resident “wastoid” not to “blaze up” on his watch, but Judd Nelson ignores him and wanders off to smoke up. Everyone, slowly, follows in his wake . . . except for Ally Sheedy. She’s naturally high. After the sweet weed is enjoyed, they all start cracking up and, for some reason, Brian turns black. Well, not physically black, but his diction and mannerisms do. Meanwhile, Claire brags about herself, which isn’t much of a stretch for her. On the second floor, Emilio Estevez gets righteously stoned and turns into a kind of gymnastic Billy Idol. After his floor exercise – or is it a second-floor exercise? – he goes into a room, yells, and breaks a window with the power of his rocking! Any ‘80s metal band and Patton Oswalt would be proud.

Down in the basement, the principal searches through a trove of confidential files; the janitor catches him and, logically, blackmails him. Ah . . . comeuppance! Back among the detainees, Ally Sheedy finally comes out of her shell, mainly because she just wants to confess that she stole Brian’s wallet. Meanwhile, Judd Nelson plays with Claire’s makeup while she pesters him regarding his past relationships. For some reason, she confesses that she never throws things away. Except for men, that is. Hilariously, we learn that Brian has a fake I.D. that makes him 68-years-old, but he only had it made to vote anyway. You see, it’s because he’s a stereotypical dork. Anyway, Ally Sheedy empties the contents of her bag onto the couch, but it’s all just a bunch of random crap, since she fancies herself a homeless woman. A worldly homeless woman who wishes to be homeless in random countries and on random continents, but a homeless woman nonetheless. Brian is all freaked out, but Emilio Estevez tries to make sense of Ally Sheedy’s bizarre nature. Personally, I blame the heroin. Ally Sheedy, perhaps sensing that someone is finally on to her ruse, gets defensive, so Emilio Estevez invokes his status as alpha male and questions her further. She responds by yelling at him because he’s got problems . . . and then she starts crying. Why? She’s upset because she’s always ignored . . . but she says this while all eyes are on her. Go figure.

Down in the boiler room, the principal and the janitor chat over beers; the janitor’s cool, but the principal is a failure to himself and fears for the future of America. So do I, Mr. Principal . . . so do I. Once again in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™, the detainees now sit down together to chat about hypothetical issues. During this therapy session, Ally Sheedy reveals that she’s a nymphomaniac . . . or a pathological liar. Claire is freaked out by Ally Sheedy’s posturing, but Ally Sheedy asks the one question that went unanswered earlier: is Claire a virgin? The world wants to know! Well . . . actually . . . I really don’t care. The world (minus me) wants to know! It seems that Claire has some sort of double standard, which Judd Nelson attributes to her being a tease. Claire is put off by his insinuations, but Judd Nelson probes further and piques the rest of the males’ curiosities, leading to a shocking revelation. Claire IS a virgin . . . and Ally Sheedy is a pathological liar after all. I know everyone’s upset.

After Claire’s confession, Emilio Estevez reveals his major malfunction: he’s brainless. Well, I could’ve told you that. He then, perhaps as an act of contrition, states what the crime that landed him in detention was: he tore off some kid’s skin with duct tape . . . but he did it all for his father? Martin Sheen . . . you BASTARD! Oh, wait . . . not in real life. Anyway, it seems that, as the school’s resident alpha male, and to live up to his family legacy, Emilio Estevez must prey on the weak. But, oddly, he’s regretful, which I guess makes him a lovable, cuddly sadist. With daddy issues. We can’t forget those. Oh, and, of course, he has a nervous breakdown. Meanwhile, Brian starts rambling and mumbling about something; specifically, we discover that he’s failing shop class, both literally and metaphorically . . . whatever that means. He and Judd Nelson then argue about lamps and then Claire lightens the mood by applying lipstick with her cleavage. Umm . . . OK then.

Judd Nelson, distracted by Claire’s odd talents, mocks her, but everyone turns on him again. He then repeats Emilio Estevez’s rant about existence from earlier, which somehow makes Claire sad. Judd Nelson, sensing weakness – he’s as bad as Emilio when it comes to that – continues needling her, so she freaks out. Then, somehow this leads to the conclusion that they should never turn into their parents. Yeah . . . that’s random. Brian, as the peacemaker, wants them all to be friends, but Claire doesn’t think that’s possible. In fact, I think it’s impossible, but that’s just me. And I’m a loner. A rebel. There’s things about me you wouldn’t understand. And you know the rest. Anyway, Claire and Judd Nelson end up getting into another shouting match and Claire ends up freaking out yet again. Wow . . . the pack is really trying to emphasize the pecking order, eh?

After things settle down momentarily, Brian starts mumbling incoherently again, this time about friendship, and he starts bawling. He randomly tells off Claire and then reveals that he brought a gun to school with him, either to shoot his lamp or his shop teacher or himself. Ah, the days before “zero tolerance,” when a gun in your locker just meant a Saturday in detention. Because, as we must remember, guns don’t kill people, disenfranchised youth kill people. Somehow, instead of everyone slowly backing away from Brian, they all start cracking up and Ally Sheedy pops in for no particular reason. And then, for even less of a particular reason, another musical number breaks out and they all dance, badly. Judd Nelson, not wanting to get his fellow inmates in any more trouble, crawls back through the ceiling; in THE WORLD’S LARGEST HIGH SCHOOL LIBRARY™, Claire takes charge and tells Brian to write their punishment essays. Then, just because we’re running out of time and we have a lot of plot lines to reconcile, Claire gives Ally Sheedy a makeover. Then, perhaps because now she’s warping time and space, Claire visits Judd Nelson in solitary confinement and they make out. Meanwhile, Emilio Estevez surprisingly falls for the slutted-up version of Ally Sheedy. Sigh . . . no love for the quirky Goth girl. Brian, perhaps feeling lonely, kisses the essay and then they all leave. Oddly enough, they pass the cool janitor on the way out . . . who amazingly can’t smell the overwhelming odor of marijuana on them. I guess the cleaning products have killed his olfactory nerves. Outside the high school, Emilio Estevez and Ally Sheedy make out, Claire gives Judd Nelson an earring, and Brian goes home . . . alone and unsatisfied. When all is said and done, the principal reads the essay and Judd Nelson is still “rebellious.” Yup.

I find it odd, twenty years after the fact, that the cult-like status of this movie has really done nothing to sustain the careers of its stars. Illicit activities and off-screen troubles may be part of the reason, but there has to be more to it. I mean, this is the kind of film where 90% of the stars, if not all of them, are referred to as “exciting” or “promising” by Hollywood press. Could the promise have been broken? The expectations not lived up to? Or could it be the film itself? Upon watching The Breakfast Club in its entirety, hopefully for the last time, one realization came upon me: for all its posturing, its bluster, and its false morals, the film is empty. Like the character of John Bender – Judd Nelson’s alter ego in the film – the film seeks to be a rebellious statement against authority, but there really is no worthy authority to rebel against. Instead, it’s all just baseless threats, teenage angst, and pointless melodrama. Perhaps Shakespeare said it best in Macbeth: ”it is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury / Signifying nothing.”

Join me in two weeks, dear readers, when . . . what? I think after one hundred columns I deserve a week off, don’t you? Anyway, join me in two weeks when I kick off another century of Misunderstood Masterpieces with a very recent ill-conceived buddy picture! I know . . . that could describe anything. So, I’ll be here in two weeks. See you then!