When John Hughes died a few days ago, the memories of his films came flooding back. Just a few of my favorites are Sixteen Candles; Planes, Trains and Automobiles; Ferris Bueller's Day Off; National Lampoon's Vacation; and Uncle Buck.
When Hughes wrote Pretty in Pink (directed by his friend Howard Deutsch) he had Molly Ringwald's character reject Andrew McCarthy (as most free-thinking humans would), but test audiences didn't like it, so the studio changed the ending. As soon as the film was finished he already had a script ready for Some Kind of Wonderful, which has the exact same plot as Pretty in Pink but the ending that Hughes wanted. He even hired the same director.
I think I like Some Kind of Wonderful a little more, mainly because Andrew McCarthy isn't in it. Andrew McCarthy may be the worst actor in the history of talking pictures. He has one acting move: Reacting to any conflict with a look of abject terror on his face. Can you imagine directing this clown?
"Andrew, your character is experiencing a minor inconvenience. Can you possibly NOT look like someone watching an elementary school burn to the ground?"
"Sorry dude...this is all I got."
"Okay, that's a wrap then. Let's break for lunch."
There was always talk of a sequel to The Breakfast Club. First they were all going to be in college, then as the years passed they were supposed to meet at a high school reunion (even though they were all in different grades, but whatever). If Hughes ever finished a script for The Breakfast Club 2: The Autumn Years they should make it in his honor.
Hughes spent his last years as kind of a recluse; he was last photographed in 2001 and stopped cutting his toenails 17 years ago. Ok, I made that last one up.
In closing, it is pretty obvious that I suck at writing memorials. Do I regret using the death of a talented writer as an excuse to rag on Andrew McCarthy? Of course not. Do I wish I had better articulated how John Hughes almost single-handedly changed the tone of teen films? Of course.