For those of you who may be like “Who the hell is John Hughes and what did he do?” Here’s the quick low down.
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986), Pretty in Pink (1986), and Sixteen Candles (1984) ushered in a new season of the teenage life as seen through the eyes of Hollywood. Seriously, he is known for his master of the teenage angst. He died last year, which was super depressing. Anyways, I digress..
And then there was two of my other favorite teenage films that aren’t Hughes, but in the Hughes-vain, Say Anything (1989) and Can’t Buy Me Love (1987).
They are just movies, so what?
So what? So WHHHATT?
Really? You can’t say that these diluted depictions of love and courtship had no effect on you? None?
Well they had a profound effect on me. I want this.
And this is the man who made me fall in love with love…John Hughes did it.
He can’t take ALL the blame, I mean responsibility. But he’s the one who brought these stories alive for me and they still live on. Should I hate him for it?
I’m not sure what this means for me. Is imagining love through art dangerous? It doesn’t have to be movies, it could be anything…books, plays, whatever. Is it dangerous because it doesn’t exist? Dangerous because it will never live up to your expectations?
These stories were written by people, like you and me, maybe they were sharing something with us that they had seen. Or maybe they were making it all up. Gods help us all if it was all made up.
I think I will choose to believe that it does exist. That love, the stereo blaring/lawn mower riding kind, can happen.
And will happen. If we let it.