Discussion #260: The Breakfast Club (1985)

Director: John Hughes

Thank goodness this film had an ending that wasn’t to my taste, as I was afraid I’d have to award another 10/10 and subsequently worry that I’d gone soft. Truthfully, The Breakfast Club made very little impact on me when I saw it years ago, but I was blown away by it this time around.

Hughes takes the coming-of-age drama and boils it down to its simplest elements and puts six classical characters – the jock, the bully, the nerd, the prom queen, the outcast and the stuck-up teacher – in close confinement, just to see what will happen when they are forced to interact. Right up until the ending, the film flows pretty naturally from one revelation to the next. While the characters’ personalities, hopes, dreams and fears are revealed to us, there’s also the mystery of why each has come to be in full-day detention on a Saturday.

The Breakfast Club manages to do two things perfectly, being a product of its time and also timeless. The music, hair, outfits and even the strong language used perfectly places the audience in the centre of the 1980s, but the attitudes of the teenagers don’t seem so alien to us. The careful and considerate way that information is revealed to us feels like a steady dance and it is executed wonderfully.

It’s clear that none of the characters are the cardboard cut-outs that they might seem to be at the beginning of the film, or how they certainly would be in a lesser coming-of-age film. Even the sadistic vice principal is shown having a moment of personal reflection and regret after giving Bender seven straight weeks of detention in a subtle five-second shot that adds a new level of weight to his character. It’s the extra attention to detail that makes you feel so invested in all of the characters.

I can’t say that I care too much for the goofy musical scenes which seem far too whimsical in a performance that normally seems pretty sombre, but I suppose that reflects the kids’ attitudes and attention span and also gives the film its iconic 80s touch. But what puzzled me the most was the film’s rather over-the-top happy ending where two unexpected couples are formed and some characters seem to turn 180° in their personality. Claire spends most of the film hating Bender and receiving verbal abuse from him but nonetheless kisses him at the end of the film, signalling that they are now in a relationship. Meanwhile, Allison’s makeover makes Andrew suddenly interested in her, and they also kiss. It just doesn’t seem realistic that this sort of change of attitude would really happen in the space of a couple of hours, and it doesn’t feel true to their characters either. It honestly reeks of the kind of happy ending that was forced by studios onto multiple films during the 80s, such as Blade Runner and Brazil.

Nevertheless, the main bulk of the film was an extraordinary piece with great character analysis and social themes. I was riveted by the conversations the characters were having and found them very thought-provoking. One message that hit me hard was when Claire tried to pipe up that she had valid feelings too when Bender was going on about how privileged she was. It’s an interesting point to make: when we recognise some people are going through a much worse time than we are, how can we make sense of the fact that we still feel bad and deserve sympathy? Dozens of questions such as this one are asked of the audience and in a film with seemingly low stakes, there is a huge amount of emotional engagement.

9/10

Discussion #259: Koyaanisqatsi (1982)

Director: Godfrey Reggio

I could probably write a hundred paragraphs about why I love this film, but I’ll try to keep it brief. With its daft name and new-age premise, I was not expecting much out of Koyaanisqatsi, but it ended up being one of the most profound film experiences I’ve ever had. I was so firmly on the filmmaker’s wavelength that I even became creatively inspired as the film unfolded. I’m a drummer and could not stop tapping along to Glass’s score, which is surprisingly free of percussion despite being so rhythmic. One day, I would like to provide a live drum performance as an accompaniment to this film, which has influenced me so heavily. I’m still years away from ever seeing this realised, as there would be so much to organise to make it happen, but it’s on my bucket list.

It’s true that the cinematography is beautiful, although there is a fierce debate as to whether the film should be shown in 4:3 – as on the IRE DVD – or in 16:9 – as on the MGM DVD and Blu-ray. I’m in the camp of the former, as the 16:9 crops a significant amount of the image out, and makes some of the shots – e.g. the landscape shot of NYC with the skyline just out of view and the shot of a vertical rocket missing its nose and tail – look way worse. But Reggio himself has gone on record and said that 16:9 is how the film was intended to look, which is hogwash damage control, in my opinion. The cleaned-up picture of the remaster is stunning, but Ron Fricke’s deliberate framing is ruined.

But, however you view this film, it’s an otherworldly experience, despite being firmly about our planet. That must surely be thanks to Philip Glass, whose signature minimalist score brings the evocative and poetic images to life. The interplay of emotion between video and audio is executed so precisely as to yield the greatest reaction from the audience. It’s a mesmerising audio-visual display. The role the music plays is so large that one could see Reggio’s film as nothing but a feature-length music video to Glass’s score, though that would deny the innovation that has come in the film-making.

The best example of how the video and audio interact is near the end of the film. After the haunting theme of Prophecies, we see a rocket launch into the sky, mirroring a clip from the start of the film. As the rocket flies into the air, a familiar theme reappears, the main theme heard in the intro, signalling the beginning of the end. When I first watched this, the footage of the rocket climbing looked eerily similar to that of the Challenger disaster. When I remembered that that explosion happened four years after this film was released, however, I relaxed thinking nothing was going to go wrong with this rocket.

As hoped, the bass choir chimes in with their chant of “Koyaanisqatsi” which hasn’t been heard since the film’s opening ten minutes. Once, they sing it. Twice, they sing it. KABOOM! The rocket is blown to smithereens just as the singers repeat “Koyaanisqatsi” the third time, emotionless. The placement of the chorus at this precise moment is so supremely moving and saddening that it feels like a gut punch. It seems to say that this is our chaotic world, where a rocket can blow up so violently and yet there will be no emotional reaction. As the singers repeat their fourth “Koyaanisqatsi” the theme song has become a dirge, the type one might hear at a funeral, especially since it is played on an organ.

It turns out the footage was of an unmanned rocket from the 1960s that exploded. Nevertheless, the seemingly never-ending flight of the fiery cockpit gives an indication of how far and fast this thing was travelling, even if it is hard to judge the distance based on the unchanging blue sky background. The perpetual spinning and falling seems utterly terrifying, and Reggio wisely stops the film before we ever see the fate of the cockpit – which you can see here, in black and white.

I seem to have given away the ending before getting into other great moments this film has, such as the looming of giant planes viewed face-on through heat waves, bending the light, getting so large that they seem about to break through the screen. Then there’s the destruction of the Pruitt-Igoe apartment complex in St. Louis, Missouri, which is a fascinating story in itself. If you ever get to see The Pruitt-Igoe Myth, please do, as it explains how much of a disaster these iconic buildings were during their two-decade lifetime. The exciting time-lapse footage of The Grid might be what this film is best known for, and is extremely effective in showing how busy the human race can be, in a dizzying display of sped-up action.

Reggio finds a sordid beauty in all the chaos of the world and finds the best ways to wordlessly highlight objects, processes and places that might cause us wonder or alarm. It’s hard not to feel a little helpless to get life back in balance, but in the meantime, we can remain mesmerised by the powerful combination of Fricke’s cinematography and Glass’s music, combined with Reggio’s direction.

10/10