Reuniting with ‘The Breakfast Club’ at 40

Does the John Hughes classic work better for me this time?

Confession: I never much liked The Breakfast Club.

Before this week, I’d only seen the movie once all the way through. In my early twenties, I watched it with some friends who loved it, but I didn’t get the appeal. This was in the late 90s or early 2000s, and I think the heavy ‘80s vibe put me off. I saw it as a story about a group of shallow teenagers who were so focused on maintaining their own images that they didn’t realize how cruel they were to others doing the same.

Of course, that’s the entire point. But at the time, I was too close to a dreadful high school experience to appreciate Hughes’ film or see that I was happy to be my own version of Bender, tearing everything down because of my own insecurities.

The Breakfast Club turns 40 this weekend, and I recently decided to give it a rewatch. I was always curious about whether I'd simply been too close to my own high school days to appreciate the film. Over the years, I learned I was in the minority. My wife, in particular, is a big fan and one year for Halloween made me dress up as Bender and she went as Claire. I went along, but refused to rewatch the film for inspiration.

You can already see this coming, I’m sure, but now…I get it. Hughes’ film is one of the great teen movies, a funny and honest unpacking of the people behind the stereotypes and an example of empathy in action that feels, in some ways, more refreshing and needed now than it was in 1985. Yes, some of it is dated – its soundtrack and style have become shorthand for 1980s movies – and I understand why that initially kept me at arm’s length. But those moments that make the film a product of its era only make the timelessness of its themes and dialogue stand out more.

I’m surprised this movie hasn’t been remade every decade or so. It could easily be done. The story’s simple enough – a group of high schoolers from different cliques spend a day at Saturday detention. There might be something to telling the story as fads and styles change. But do we have another screenwriter with Hughes’ ear for how teens speak? And could anyone else tell this story without condescension and didacticism while still being so funny and endearing?

The characters are archetypal enough that even though they feel firmly entrenched in the 1980s – because the actors portraying them are ‘80s icons (mostly because of this movie) – today’s teenagers wouldn’t have to squint to see themselves too much in Claire, the popular one (Molly Ringwald); Andy, the jock (Emilio Estevez); Bender, the rebel (Judd Nelson); Brian, the nerd (Anthony Michael Hall); and Allison, the weird one (Ally Sheedy). Nuances about their types might have changed, but I’m sure today’s teens can still identify which role they would have been slotted into (I wasn’t a straight-A student, but I can see myself in Brian’s wholesome attitude, social awkwardness and wardrobe).

The film suggests at the beginning that each of these characters fits into their roles because the adults in their lives try to slot them into easy categories. And certainly, each is suffering under their parents’ expectations and thumbs, be it through coddling, violence or pressure. Even the teacher assigned to give up his Saturday to babysit them – played with wonderful macho fragility by Paul Gleason – views them not as individuals but as a mass of screw-ups who are ruining his weekend. He’s so frustrated by all of them – and likely by what he sees as his own career and life failures – that he tries to goad Bender into violence, perhaps seeing too much of himself in the rebel or angered by what he sees as a lack of the respect he thinks he’s owed. The only person who views everyone clearly is the janitor, who’s privy to the notes they throw away and the conversations he hears in passing and knows there’s more to the kids than the stereotypes to which they’ve been reduced.

Much of The Breakfast Club feels like it was written as a play, fitting because each student is playing a character. They’ve accepted their roles and are either fated or eager to stay in them, either to please or piss off everyone else. And they’re not too interested in stepping outside their cliques and making friends. Their Saturday in detention is a bit of a social experiment to see what happens when there’s no one else around.

It doesn’t take much moviegoing experience to deduce that the five students from diverse cliques will eventually see each other as more than a stereotype and understand their commonality. As Roger Ebert noted in his review, this isn’t exactly a novel plot device. It’s just that a different setting.

But what makes the film resonate all these years later is how Hughes and his cast get us to that point of understanding. Throughout his career, Hughes’ films explored the collision of cliques and types – even among adults. And while I don’t know that The Breakfast Club is my favorite of his movies – I probably still prefer Planes, Trains and Automobiles – I would entertain an argument that this is his best script, largely because of how hijinks-free it is, bringing his characters together through conversation in a way that never feels false or preachy.

I’ll admit that part of my grudge toward this movie, especially in my thirties, was that I thought it was the type of thing Richard Linklater could do better. But would Dazed and Confused exist without Hughes’ film? And while Linklater’s handled similar material before – not only Dazed and Confused, but also Everybody Wants Some!! – I don’t think anyone had a more natural grasp for how teenagers talk and behave than Hughes. Linklater’s characters philosophize or realize that they’re searching for something. The joy of The Breakfast Club is that I believe these characters come into detention not even conscious of the fact that they’re playing roles and discover a bit of self-awareness, curiosity and compassion in the moment.

Certainly, they don’t want to talk to each other when they arrive at Shermer High School that Saturday morning. They’re dropped off by their parents and are content to sit silently at their desks all day; perhaps they’ll scribble out Vernon’s essay by the end of the day. I think it’s interesting that Bender is the one who’s the instigator; he’s the one most overtly antisocial, with a chip on his shoulder toward everyone. But he’s the one who begins pushing his classmates’ buttons and goading them into conversation. He’s like a firecracker tossed into a pond, causing everything roiling within the others to come to the surface.

The film is a feature-length unpacking of the old idiom “everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.” Throughout their time in the library, the students reveal how their personas are survival mechanisms or how the pressure to keep up their facades turns them into people they don’t like. Andy’s in detention because he bullied a student, trying to live up to his father’s expectations as the big man on campus. Claire’s the popular girl who’s out of touch with those deemed below her clique; she’s also trying to navigate the unfair sexual expectations that come with being a girl. If she admits she’s a virgin, she’s a loser; if she talks about sex, she’s a slut. Brian is cracking under the pressure of grades, Bender comes from an abusive home. Allison tries her best to be off-putting and odd – the scene of her using her dandruff for art is pretty revolting – but she does so because it’s her cry for attention.

The conversations unfold naturally. Hughes occasionally breaks from the dialogue to catch them goofing around in ways that show how them letting their guards down. At first, they all tend to their quirks. Then, they begin whistling in tune. By the end of the film – in the one sequence that feels a bit forced – they’re doing synchronized dances. There’s humor followed by heartfelt and vulnerable moments. The sequence where they finally discuss why they’re all spending the Saturday together is possibly the best-written and acted sequence of Hughes’ career. Never does it feel staged; Hughes understands that, in the moment, these characters are processing and understanding themselves and others in a way they probably have not before. Their truces are tenuous; they find moments of understanding before lashing out at each other in a way that feels genuine.

It helps that, despite the fact that half the cast members look a decade too old for high school, the actors fully embody their characters, and Hughes wisely doesn’t overbalance and make one of them the star. It’s a true ensemble piece, and each actor only gets better when they’re bouncing off the others. Ringwald is good at Claire, but she’s never better than in the moments when she’s smiling at Bender’s comments in spite of herself. There’s a corniness to Andy that comes from playing the role of the school’s straight arrow, but Estevez is best in the scenes where he lets his guard down alongside his peers. Anthony Michael Hall’s every facial expression and tic is comic gold…but when Brian fears that his newfound friends will ignore him come Monday, Hall gives a solid dramatic performance. The moment where he discusses his suicide plan and then busts out laughing when Andy points out its futility is a genuinely human moment. And while the film gets big laughs from Allison’s quirks, the joy in Sheedy’s face when the others – especially Andy – pay attention to her is radiant¹.

I’m probably not alone in thinking that Nelson walks away with the film as Bender, though. It’s a great performance, easily Nelson’s best. Bender’s a bully and a jerk – and his jokes/threats about sexual assault would thankfully not make it past the script stage today – but I love the vulnerability Nelson imbues him with. He doesn’t want to be the jackass, but he’s cultivated the image because the world has relegated him to a position of failure, and it’s a defense mechanism. The adults have failed him – look at the sheer terror on his face when Vernon threatens him to a fight; there’s genuine terror in realizing that his anger might not be something he outgrows. He seems to have friends, but I think he’s just as lonely as Brian. Why else would he instigate the others so much? He’s curious, but knows that his role is to push everyone else away, and while the film doesn’t have a star, I think Bender is its hero.

Of course, there’s the question about what good this Saturday might do. Brian poses that question himself – are they still going to be friends Monday morning? The film is wise enough not to resolve that tension, and I don’t think there’s a neat answer anyway. No, I don’t really think that the Breakfast Club will find a seat together at the lunch table. But do I think that this day was important enough to cause them to stop and nod at each other in the hallway or sign each other’s yearbooks? Maybe.

Which is why I’m glad there was never a sequel, even though Hughes toyed around with one set in university; it was abandoned after he died. While all the actors are still alive, I’m glad there’s been no legacy sequel where they all catch up at reunion. First, entering back into this world without Hughes feels wrong. But rather than a movie that shows them reconnecting decades after drifting apart, I’d much rather end on Bender’s fist, raised in a moment of triumph and hope. I don’t think this day changes their high school career, but it very possibly is a small moment that changes their lives.

1. The film’s one false note is giving Allison a makeover at the end.