trinityvixen | Can I be a total girl here for a moment?

I watched The Breakfast Club and Say Anything... this weekend, so I'm like brimming with wistful, doe-eyed romanticism that only John Hughes-ish movies are capable of inducing. It's funny that these movies are so sacred to me, when, upon repeat viewings I can see how shallow some of the dialogue is or where performances were lacking (the chick from Say Anything... can't compete against the tour-de-force of emotionally wounded John Cusack), but I can't stop loving them.

Last time I watched The Breakfast Club, I got distracted trying to figure out if Ally Sheedy's makeover in the movie was a move to curb her self-expression (the verdict: probably not). This time, I got distracted by Judd Nelson. For the record, I don't think he's a good, let alone great actor (which, hilariously, was the reason one or another of the crew used to explain to the director why he was being a dick to Molly Ringwald--he was "staying in character"). That said, I think that whatever mediocrity he championed (what a great line, from Say Anything..., which is choc-a-block with great lines) later in his career, he made up for by playing John Bender in The Breakfast Club.

His physical performance--the way he moves, frowns, otherwise gives attitude--is acceptable, especially for a roll that should have been so one-note any half-competant actor could have slept-walk through it. It's the way he uses his eyes that gets me. The indignity of Andy not believing him about his life of abuse; the absolute terror when the Principal gets in his face and offers to let him punch away; the confusion-hope-thrill of Claire responding in some way to show that she gets it--that is genius. So much of his character is bravado-that-isn't, bravery-that-can't-be. He is a loner, but he also takes hits for the team. He decimates what he considers hypocrisy and mocks the pain of others until they confess and cleanse, but he cannot face his own without exploding when he's called on his bullshit.

It's all there in his eyes. The kid who was beaten for being not enough--not smart enough, not motivated enough, etc etc--who knows the ugly stuff is probably reality but has a kid's appreciation and hope that maybe things can get better, even if only for a little while. The hurt pride that lashes out and only hurts itself further in the process. The Principal warns off the rest of the group that Bender's antics aren't impressive (or to be imitated), he isn't a worthwhile human being, and that he has no future. The saddest part is that he is probably right--in Vernon's appreciation of what is or isn't "A Future," Bender has no hope to make one. No one gave him a chance, so he took risks. No one will give him a chance because those risks have come at serious cost (I guess it's fitting I watched Terminator 2 right after because if "There is no fate but what we make for ourselves" doesn't fit John Bender, I dunno who fits it better). All this because Judd Nelson opens his eyes wide at a moment, narrows them just so at another, blinks, nearly cries (perhaps the saddest fact of all is that he is dry-eyed throughout, given that everyone else cries in the big group-share session). He just lets you in. There is an idea of John Bender, but there wasn't a John Bender until Judd Nelson created him behind a cage of eyelashes.

I think

linaerys or maybe it was

deepredbelle (help me out: which of you was it?) linked to a Say Anything... fanfic about those characters down the road, and I immediately wanted one for Bender as soon as the movie was over, fading away from him pumping his fist. I then immediately did not. There was a plan, once to do such a thing, to catch up with these characters (I think there was even a deleted bit where the janitor was going to mention what happened to all of them later, Can't Hardly Wait-style), but the bittersweet wonderfulness of The Breakfast Club was the idea of the moment being all they had. Brian asks--"Are we still friends on Monday?"--and the answer Claire gives is probably what is true: no, they aren't. Do you want to know that, though? Do you want to imagine Claire said "Hi," to Brian and then didn't immediately dismiss him to her friends (just as she said Bender would do to her)? There's a duality that is this movie's enduring strength in that you know or can least reasonably assume that the day will have changed the people but not the system, and that you can predict what will have changed (the answer is nothing); however, you never stop hoping that maybe the impossible will be reality and civilized behavior will come to a bunch of high schoolers (I know, right?). It feels wrong to set down an idea of the future for these characters because the future will never be as important as the potential.

Say Anything..., on the other hand, is all about the future. Lots of futures, actually. You can see Lloyd Dobbler being mostly lousy at making money but forever happy so long as he's where he wants to be, with whom he wants to be. I'm nearly seven years removed from that point in my life, and I can remember thinking of how wide open the world seemed and now I know better, so I can also see that character crushed and tramped down and disillusioned. It's why it is so key that he be at that stage of his life when he falls in love for the first time. The opportunity to shape his future outlook is there, and he can do the Sunday dinner with the girlfriend's judgmental entourage and fit in and flirt with them, or he can uproot his life to plant it closer to her more fixed plans for the future and stay in love with her.

"If you were Diane Court, would you fall for a guy like Lloyd?" The answer is: of course, YES. John Cusack is adorable and handsome and such, but the appeal of his character is his vulnerability and eccentricity. He puts himself at risk to be hurt, and he hurts. He's a woman's dream because he doesn't play to his gender stereotype (nor does Diane, to be fair to her; she pushes for sex first, and she gladly discloses to her father about her desires and realization of same). When they've gone through the "boy loses girl" phase of the movie, one of Lloyd's girl-friends tells him, "Don't be a guy. The world is full of guys. Be a man." She's telling him to endure and compromise, the things even women in abusive relationships (to say nothing of average ones) are expected to do for their significant other. Be a man isn't "be manly;" it isn't "fight for her affection," "trick her into loving you," or "scheme to break her apart from others." It's be a fucking human being and try. Try to appreciate the hurt on the other side; dare to wish her well; consider her happiness as well as your own; accept the decision, fight the fate. "I have pride," Lloyd says, as he tries to weasel out of it, but having pride means ending things like an adult, not revisiting and moaning about the death of what was. It might have been over (and don't get me wrong, sooooo happy with how it ends), but if you end it right, you can still make it together-but-apart to the other side.

Christ, though, she gave him a pen.

"I told her I loved her, and she gave me a pen." (I did say this movie has a billion great quotes) Something that bugged me (on his behalf; as a fan of this movie, you are a friend of Lloyd, so you wish him the best, always) was how easily he takes her back. "Are you here because you need someone or you need me?" And she doesn't answer. He doesn't make her, sure, and the inference is that she needs him, but there's a real ambiguity about that. He, being a man, is good enough of a friend that he won't demand she see him only on his terms. Quite possibly, she does only need someone, and her pool of someones is shallow, but he's so grateful to have her talking to him and in his life, it doesn't even matter. She does say she loves him, and I believe that's true, in as much as you can know those things at eighteen, and there's a real interrupted-not-broken nature to the quick way they fall back together that doesn't necessarily have to happen for the film to end within a reasonable running time (i.e. this isn't just "happily ever after," it's "and now back to the story"), so I buy it.

Oh, I buy it. I am such a girl for that movie. John Cusack does good things and so-so things, and I've loved things he's done after this to pieces (favorite besides this one would have to be Grosse Pointe Blank, though Better Off Dead is so quote-worthy, it's up there, too), but this is the only movie of his that reduces me to a sighing, dreamy mess. Le siiiiiiigh....