by Caroline Brewer, ’18

The Breakfast Club is a brutally honest 1985 cult classic that conveys teenage vulnerability in an unparalleled manner, cashing in and appealing to our society’s concept of what it truly means to be a teenager in America. Five unattended teenagers in a room would typically be considered a recipe for trouble, but for Claire (the princess – played by Molly Ringwald), John (the criminal – played by Judd Nelson), Allison (the weirdo – played by Ally Sheedy), Brian (the nerd – played by Anthony Michael Hall), and Andy (the jock – played by Emilio Estevez), it is an opportunity to understand each other behind their conventionally adolescent façades, all while trying to avoid the scrutiny of their belligerent principal Mr. Vernon. Due mostly to their circumstances, their unlikely comradery begins through a shared attempt to psychoanalyze each other by figuring out why they are in detention. They realize that although the reasons – 1attempted suicide, duct taping someone’s butt together, absolutely nothing at all – may be different, they all ultimately share the same fears about adulthood, about social stature, about life.

Director John Hughes could not have picked a more star studded 80s cast for this film, yet the casting choices can’t help but feel somewhat predictable. After all, having Molly Ringwald play the ‘pretty girl’ is not something that hasn’t been done before (look at Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink, to name a couple). Yet, Hughes demonstrates intelligence through understanding the niche that each actor fit, and he caters to that tremendously. Anthony Michael Hall in particular shines through as the physics loving “neo-maxi zune dweebie” of the group, allowing audiences to peel back the more superficial layers of his character and see a deeply troubled, somewhat scared, and more nuanced portrayal of a teenage boy who has cracked under pressure. When it comes time for Brian to reveal why he is in detention, this masculine vulnerability is emphasized. He breaks down crying and tells everyone that when he looks at himself, he doesn’t like what he sees. He laments about parents that stress nothing but success, laments about grades, laments about wanting to kill himself, and then – he stops. His anger is almost amplified by the lack of communication with the others, the silence being able to communicate his words and their impact almost more than any audible reaction could. The sudden stop is a painfully sad gesture, ultimately signifying his reluctance to tell anyone his problems, yet it elicits a sense within the viewer that he or she will never truly be able to understand what Brian is feeling – which is exactly the tortured soul atmosphere that all teenagers seem to feel. Anthony Michael Hall forces the viewer to consider that perfection and normality are such contrived concepts through the gradual emotional unwinding of his character.

Silence actually happens to be a commonality throughout the entire film, with any sound effects being minimal and every song played (mostly Simple Mind’s Don’t You Forget About Me) being poppy and peppy and very 80s in every regard. Even so, these songs are played during either really climatic or anticlimactic scenes, with no in-between. Yet, this seems to have been done almost intentionally, with good reason too. The entire movie has an obviously present emotional dichotomy, with scenes being either very solemn or very silly, which can get confusing as the pace of the movie changes frequently and without warning. Silence acts as an indicator to the listener when to take things seriously, and it quickly becomes a subconscious association that is made. The emotionally charged movie becomes significantly easier to navigate due to the wise scoring – or lack thereof – of the film.

The Breakfast Club is a film that effectively takes the minds of teenagers and puts them on blast for the rest of world to see. It shows to us that being an American teenager is much more than grades and parties. It  adeptly and successfully restores a sense of humanity to teenagers that adults often forget.