My brother (who was 8 at the time) and I were in the living room. My parents had retreated to their bedroom. I had bribed my brother into watching Showtime--it cost me three dollars to watch The Breakfast Club during the channel's Saturday night premiere.
Before the film, which was introduced by Leonard Maltin, Showtime promoted their weekly trivia contest. That week's question: How much does John Bender bet that Claire is still a virgin? At 11, the question made me blush.
I had wanted to see The Breakfast Club in theaters, but while my parents never cared much about what I saw or did, there was no way they were going to take me, so I bided my time and kept my eye on the movie channels, which were newly minted in our sleepy, suburban neighborhood.
To be honest, I had a bit of a crush on Emilio Estevez. I can't remember what movie this started with or if my infatuation came from The Breakfast Club's iconic poster (which was shot by a young Annie Leibovitz). In any case, I'm sure I'm one of many who flocked to the film that would make its young leads bonafied stars because of teenage (or in my case, pre-teen) lust.
By the end of the film, my crush had switched to Judd Nelson, I knew the answer to Showtime's trivia question (a million dollars), and I fell in love with film.
In some ways, I wish I could say it was Citizen Kane or Gone With the Wind that led me down the path of film appreciation. That would sound more sophisticated, but it wouldn't be true. To this day, while I can appreciate the cinematic merits of both those films and countless other classics, The Breakfast Club still moves me, speaks to me. The Breakfast Club was the first film I had ever seen that felt like it was made for me. While there was a lot my 11-year-old self didn't quite get (When Bender says the seminal line "Calvins in a ball in the back seat past 11 on a school night", I wondered who Calvin was and why he was in a ball.), I recognized its honesty and the raw emotion laid bare by the film's leads. It was the first time I remember appreciating not only film making, but just how powerful great acting can be.
Sure, it's not perfect. There are scenes that feel inauthentic--Andrew Clark's drug induced dance mania (I don't know about you--but pot makes me sleepy) and Allison's make-over. On this last scene, I've always been conflicted--I love when she's finally brave enough to come out from behind her impossible bangs and the if-looks-could-kill glare she gives to Brian when he stares up at her, shocked. When he breaks into a smile, her sharpness fades and she simply says, "Thank you." That's the ultimate for this not-quite-broken girl, long ignored by her parents and society. It's perfect on that emotional level, but the idea that Allison should have a make-over in a film that is, on some level, about accepting who you are feels false.
The Breakfast Club changed cinema. It, along with other films by Hughes and his contemporaries, helped usher in a new day in "teen" cinema. These movies didn't rely on gross-out jokes or tits & ass; instead they spoke honestly to their audiences in a way that not only affected teens but made adults remember what it was like to be young, confused, and often, misunderstood.
I revisit The Breakfast Club once every few months. Usually when I'm sick or have had a tough day. It always welcomes me back and when Bender pumps his fist in the air just as the first beat of Simple Minds' "Don't You Forget About Me" begins the credits, I know it's always going to be okay to be a brain, a jock, a basket case, a princess, or a criminal.
