Volume 2, Number 2 -- February, 1997
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Volume 2, Number 2 -- February, 1997 |
by Dean Shutt
The idea was simple yet elegant. Five of the best movies
of the eighties, chosen by committee, viewed back to back
over a ten hour period. Why five movies? Why the eighties?
Why all together? Good questions all, and were I the sort
that worried about what the normal people say I might be
daunted by them. I am not concerned with convention, though - I
feel that anyone who needs to ask these questions couldn't
handle the answers anyway. That is why I was here at nine
o'clock on a Friday night, a few stout companions gathered
around, prepared to embark on a wonderous journey through
the finest of eighties cinema...and perhaps beyond.
I suppose now I ought to set the players, the brave souls
who would accompany me on this journey into the American
psyche. First up was Dave, who, though a dirty lying scum,
I consider a friend. Next was his lovely and charming
significant other Tami, who had promised to bake brownies
for the occasion. Then we had Rick, a man who could be
depended upon. Also joining us was Tony, a man who I had
worked with in the past and whose limitations I was well
aware of. Finally there was me, the driving force behind
this little social experiment. I wanted to know, could we
collectively go back in time through the movies of our
youth? Might we somehow recapture that lost spirit of idealism
and innocence we had all possessed when these films were
first released? Was it possible to find in the subtext of
these movies, the defining characteristic of a cynical
generation? More importantly perhaps, could that many people
pushing thirty stay awake for that long?
The selection process was simple and as I found out,
laughably ineffective. We would all choose a couple of
movies and then argue about which ones to watch. Looking
back, something a bit more standardized might have been
prudent, but then, standardized processes have never been
our strong suite. It soon became evident that I hadn't been
nearly precise enough in my definition of "eighties
movies". Rick had brought us The Neighbors
and Lost in America, two seventies movies that
just happened to made in the eighties. Dave had chosen
The Survivors, obviously unaware that any film
involving Walter Matthau could not be considered an eighties
movie. Tami picked 9 to 5, but then she was making
us brownies, so we allowed her to stay. Tony had come through
in a big way though, The Sure Thing, Dream
a Little Dream and The Breakfast Club. The
first, a John Cusack classic (and you really can't do an
eighties marathon without John Cusack) costarring a young Dapne
Zuniga and Anthony Edwards with a full head of hair. Dream
a Little Dream, though made in the late eighties, is
significant because it is the best work done by the Coreys (Haim
and Feldman), two actors whose careers died so quickly, they did
about four more movies together before they realized it.
The Breakfast Club is self explanatory, you cannot have a
serious discussion of eighties movies (or a loud drunken one for
that matter) without The Breakfast Club being
involved. It is not only the ultimate representation of the eighties
movie, it is the pinnacle of not just one, but many careers. As
Tony so succinctly put it, John Hughes shot his wad on this movie.
I would only add that Judd Nelson, Molly Ringwald, Ally Sheedy,
Emilio Estevez and Anthony Michael Hall shot theirs as well. I
had managed to find a couple of true gems, Can't Buy Me
Love and Valley Girl. Can't Buy Me
Love starred Patrick Dempsey, the definitive eighties
geek turned stud. It also featured Amanda Peterson, an actress
who gave Deborah Foreman of Valley Girl a run for
her money in the fastest career death category, and the black
cowboy hat Amanda wears at the end of the movie. This could be
the only time in history that a hat deserved star billing.
Valley Girl is the mother of all eighties teen
romances. It featured Nicholas Cage in one of his first starring
roles and the the aforementioned Deborah Foreman.
We started with The Neighbours, as I said, actually a
seventies movie that happened to be made in the eighties. Rick
was sulking at the derision we had heaped upon his choices by
this time. We all felt that if we didn't at least watch one of
his movies, we might lose him altogether. What none of us realized
was that The Neighbours would be so bad that we would
have to pound Rick even more mercilessly for his abhorrent taste in
films. Imagine if you will, a movie in which John Belushi plays
the straight man to Dan Ackroyd. Calling the casting a mistake is
sort of like calling the Jets a bad football team. The
Neighbours was so bad in fact that it nearly killed the
evening before it started. By the time the movie was finished, we
had all started drinking, something that would not help us stay
awake later. By the end of The Neighbours, Rick was in
an even deeper funk. The rest of us were sitting in the midst of
an uncomfortable silence brought on by the desire to strip Rick
naked and drop him at the local cineplex and the knowledge that
the wrong word could cause him to snap and kill us all. All the
while chanting "Toga, Toga!" and dreaming of Belushi's glory days.
Action was needed and I was just the boy to take it. I snatched
The Neighbours from the VCR and dropped in The
Sure Thing. While it wasn't one of my alltime faves, it was
the consensus choice of my peers. I had planned to use it in the
third or even fourth spot in lineup. A sort of pick me up at three
in the morning when spirits were starting to flag. At the rate we
were going though, we wouldn't survive Dream a Little Dream
and make it to that point.
Don't misunderstand, even though The Sure Thing isn't
on personal list of great eighties movies, I do appreciate its
importance. The film stars John Cusack (eighties god) in a role
that he could play in his sleep. A cool man, perhaps too cool to
be appreciated by those around him, but not too cool for the
audience to appreciate. We know that it is merely a matter of
time before he gets what he wants, he just needs to find out what
that is first.
The Sure Thing had it's intended effect on all save
Rick. He was bound and determined to be pissy about the whole
business. I figured I could either pull him aside and gently
explain where he had gone wrong with his selections, or I could
beat him into unconciousness with a piece of firewood. What can
I say, Rick was always more fun to be around when he was unconcious.
The rest of us were flying, though, shouting out the dialogue,
grooving on the soundtrack, we had found the vibe.
After The Sure Thing I decided it was time for
Dream a Little Dream. I had initially wanted to run
this film second in the line-up. The problem with DaLD is that it
can be a tad difficult to follow after a few beers. With all of
it's mysticism and body swapping and Jason Robards dancing in his
pajamas, you really need to get it out of the way early during an
experiment such as this. The effect on morale was disasterous, Rick
woke up and stumbled groggily home, probably wondering what had
hit him (oak, for the record). Tami and Dave turned on me like
jackals, heaping scorn and derision on my selection. Tony just
stared at me quietly with pity in his eyes. I was apologetic, I
knew I should have dropped DaLD from the evening's entertainment,
but had been too stubborn to do so.
We attempted to save the evening with The Breakfast
Club. If anything could get us on the right track at point,
it would be TBC. Unfortunately, nothing could save the shambles
this evening had become. Dave was in his cups, screaming that he
would destroy Judd Nelson and his father Ricky. Tony was in a
fetal position on the couch, while Tami pelted him with half-baked
brownies and questioned his manhood. What had become of me, you
might ask? I was on the floor, wondering when it all had gone so
wrong. I'll grant you the planning of the event wasn't all it
could have been, but then planning wasn't something that had ever
affected our little jaunts in the past. No, I decided in the end
that it was all my "friends'" fault. After all, I was
the man who stayed focused through
nine movies in thirty hours.
Suddenly, when I allow my "friends" in on the act, we
are incapable of doing three in a row. Pathetic, I suppose the
bigger question here is how I managed to accomplish as much as
I had with these losers holding me down.
The last two films, The Breakfast Club and Can't
Buy Me Love were viewed by Tony and myself. Our mood was
somber as we watched what should have been the pinnacle of our
achievement. Instead, we watched them upstairs on the little
television, Rick gone, Dave and Tami doing "God knows
what" in bed next door. It should have been a triumph,
new sociological ground broken, our names in the annals of cinematic
history, crowds chanting our names. No, we watched quietly from
Loserville as the march of history trampled our geek necks.
Perhaps all this was as it should be. Perhaps this was needed
to open my eyes to the truth. My life of danger and adventure was
not meant to be shared, my next mission will be alone or maybe
with an attractive blonde.
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