John Hughes: dead

Of a heart attack at age 59; jeez. As a writer, director and producer, Hughes is responsible for several films (I’m thinking specifically here of Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, and Home Alone) that my generation often seems to regard as “belonging” to us, despite the fact that most of them were conceived and produced years before any of us were born; if anything, this phenomenon is a testament to the notion that he must’ve been doing something “right” (well, that and his bankroll).

Update 8/8: The NY Times’ A.O. Scott with an effusive elegy to the recently departed. Pretty bold stuff: “I don’t think I’m alone among my cohort in the belief that John Hughes was our Godard, the filmmaker who crystallized our attitudes and anxieties with just the right blend of teasing and sympathy.”

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One Response to “John Hughes: dead”

  1. jimbo Says:

    Not that Hughes was a profound artist at all, but the strength (and marketability perhaps) of his films was that he really let kids and adolescents and semi-immature high schoolers be themselves. I think he hit the right nerves that let those smart-alecks be their own version of smart-alecks and not some “responsible adult’s” version of that.

    But even those white suburban teens were always forced to deal with some kind of moral issue. As simplistic as it appears on the surface, still like BREAKFAST CLUB the best.

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