The Breakfast Club (1985)

Director: John Hughes

Cast: Emilio Estevez, Paul Gleason, Anthony Michael Hall, Judd Nelson

Have I Seen it Before: Oh, sure. I think anyone who’s had cable at any point in their lives has probably pieced together the film a few minutes at a time.

Did I Like It: I think my reaction in the past to this movie is pretty easy to sum up. It’s a minimalist wonder, and I don’t like Molly Ringwald all that much. I never really liked Molly Ringwald, and I could never quite get through Pretty in Pink (1986) because of it.

But that feels like a reaction that’s not entirely equal to the current moment. In the past, the film’s refusal to answer the question of whether or not the characters would feel the same about each other on Monday as they did during their stint in detention was an optimistic choice, as we were allowed to believe that this Saturday had truly changed their adolescent lives. Not only were things back the way they were within the next week, by the end of April, 1984, I imagine they barely remembered anything that happened in March. I guess that is the cynicism that comes with time. It may not be the film’s fault.

Yes, this film proves to be largely less pointedly problematic as, say, Sixteen Candles (1984) seems to delight in being, but with a leering, abusive protagonist like John Bender (Nelson) at its core (and he is the hero of the piece, don’t kid yourself), the movie does seem to ever so slightly wilt as the years continue. That toxicity Bender delights in (and I’d venture to say might be Hughes’ true proxy in the piece) is pontificated on (among a larger reckoning with Hughesenalia) by Molly Ringwald in a recent piece for The New Yorker. I’d recommend you five the piece a read. It certainly moved me from being a dyed-in-the-wool supporter of the film to someone who wants to keep its true nature in perspective.

Maybe I need to finally get over my bullshit and watch Pretty in Pink all the way through.

Doc Savage: Man of Bronze (1975)

Director: Michael Anderson

Cast: Ron Ely, Paul Gleason, William Lucking, Michael Miller

Have I Seen It Before?: Never. As much as I have steeped myself in the pre-Superman pulp heroes, I have only recently immersed myself in the exploits of Clark Savage, Jr. and the Fabulous Five. It even took some intrepid doing to track down a copy of the film on either DVD or Blu Ray.

That probably should have told me something.

Yes, I could have purchased the film on one of the many streaming services, but what the hell is the fun in that? Prior, of course, to the world flipping upside down on everyone?

Did I like it?: Man, I really wanted to, you know?

The film is almost well-cast, with the character actors rounding out the fabulous five doing so believably, but Ron Ely never quite brings Doc’s eccentricity to life. He was probably an able Tarzan on television, but here he’s dead weight in a film that didn’t need the additional load. Until recently, Dwayne Johnson was on deck to play Doc in a new movie (with Shane Black directing, no less). That project has fallen by the wayside in favor of a possible television adaptation. While television may serve the larger Doc canon well, it’s hard to see an actor better suited to the role than The Rock.

It’s easy to see why audiences didn’t take to the movie. It’s a bit too hoaky in an era that would see the dawn of Spielberg with Jaws just a few weeks later. The glowing green serpents alone are enough to turn off modern audiences as well. Who the hell thought just co-opting the music of John Phillips Sousa for the score? I’ve had to use public domain stuff for my own work, but that was mainly because I wasn’t friends with major motion picture composers. Why, whenever Mr. Sousa is referred in the credits do the last three letters of his name have to be in red, white, and blue, I’ll never know.

But as hoaky as it might be, it doesn’t embrace the whiz-bang pulp earnestness of the source material, either. There is just an ounce of camp and irony to everything done here, from the perpetual twinkle in Doc’s eyes, to the perplexing decision to have one of the henchmen (Bob Corso) sleep in a giant baby’s crib, the film tries to inject ironic detachment to the material. The problem is that when you are injecting this level of camp, it needs to come off funny for any of it to work. It’s the difference between the Adam West version of Batman and Batman & Robin (1997).