John Hughes died yesterday. He was 59. Hughes wrote and directed a string of wildly popular comedies in the Eighties. They were suburban (filmed outside of Chicago) and white-bred and an indelible part of my childhood.
Hughes’ movies always flattered kids by painting grown ups to be utter morons. There isn’t much point talking about if they were any good or not–we’ll all have different takes on that–but his movies made an impression. They gave us some good laughs–he had a gift for comic timing and for working with actors–and I can easily quote from most of them. They are in regular rotation on TV and I suppose we’ll be seeing The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Uncle Buck for the rest of our lives.