Owing to a hectic day at work followed by a farewell happy hour for our intern, I didn't find out about John Hughes until I got home last night, and I spent the next few hours realizing just how much of an impact his movies had on my teen years.
When I was younger, people often told me I looked like Molly Ringwald, who was already one of my favorite stars. As a result, I spent even more hours watching her and wishing I really did look like her. For an uncoordinated, brace-faced, bespectacled teenager, the fact that people thought I bore any resemblance to a movie star was like a ray of light in my otherwise awkward existence.
Pretty in Pink has always been my favorite John Hughes movie. Duckie Dale was the boy I hoped was coming to sweep me off my feet. Everything about him was perfect - he had his own style, he didn't care what other people thought, he was funny and cute, and most importantly, he was unendingly loyal to Andie, Ringwald's character in the movie.
The wrongness of the fact that she ended up with Blane at the end of the movie is another post for another day.
John Hughes' movies transported me. I never got tired of watching them, because each one gave me a different way of looking at things. Sixteen Candles gave me hope that, no matter how improbably, there was a Jake Ryan out there for me. The Breakfast Club made me realize that, no matter how different we all were, we were all fighting our own battles.
John Hughes hasn't been a part of Hollywood for some time now, but his movies still resonate. I came home today and watched Pretty in Pink, feeling so grateful that there was a John Hughes, who let me know that I wasn't the only awkward teenager out there trying to figure out how life was supposed to work. It's still nice to know that there was someone out there who understood. He's certainly gone too soon, but the outpouring I've seen so far just proves that the legacy he left won't just fade away.
Friday, August 7, 2009
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