At 35, "The Breakfast Club" Remains One of the Best Teen Movies Ever Made

Scene from The Breakfast Club

There is this common notion that John Hughes was the quintessential filmmaker of teen angst. With films like Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink, he found ways to mold the template into something accessible, often relying on a series of young actors known as "The Brat Pack" lead by Molly Ringwald to present films that weren't only thought-provoking narratives, but featured soundtracks that formed their own legacy. Everything about a Hughes film has become so famous that it's easy to find traces of it in almost every teen drama since with many flat out dropping Hughes' name as if he's this poet laureate of their experiences. Time may change and the flaws may come up, but the human condition at the center of his work will never fade away.

However, there is one question to ask when talking about Hughes: Would John Hughes be John Hughes without The Breakfast Club? Not only does it have his most memorable song cue (Simple Minds' "Don't You Forget About Me"), but its simple premise is essentially a stage drama for every high school archetype to confront each other. Over the course of one morning, they learn the complicated inner lives of each other and discover how similar they actually are. It's the ultimate nightmare wrapped in a powerful life lesson that never goes out of fashion. It helps that it's also really entertaining. Even 35 years later, the film has the power to represent Hughes' ultimate goal with his Brat Pack movies. He wanted to get us to see teens as people deserving of more respect and even empathy. With a film that streamlines these ideas perfectly, he created the perfect teen movie that embodies everything great and awful about being young and naive.

At the start of the film, everyone is powerless. They're like suspects brought in for a police line-up, accused of crimes that have happened at Shermer High School. But what could possibly make them all come in for detention on a Saturday? Nobody comes to school on a Saturday. It's just unheard of. By juxtaposing the image of a lock-up with teenagers forced to be stuck in a school, forced to write an essay on how to follow rules, there is this wonder if they'll actually learn anything. Then again, the essay feels like the subtext made visual, sitting on a table as the five suspects gather around, defying their authority figure Richard Vernon (Paul Gleason), whose unruly desire for discipline already places him as unpleasant. He's a familiar kind of unpleasant. A type of man who would give jaywalkers a demerit when the streets are empty. He also seems terrible because, without his approval, they'll be stuck at Shermer for the rest of their insufferable lives.

Even if they come in as archetypes with their own mysterious reason for being here, they have one thing in common. They are stuck inside, bored and waiting for that clock to roll around, the bell to ring, and for them to return to their regular lives. Some of them, like the rebel John Bender (Judd Nelson) seem like they would've been there anyway, but what could the popular girl Claire Standish (Ringwald) or jock Andrew Clark (Emilio Estevez) possibly do to belong here? They're in the prison yard, eying each other up and down to determine which person can be loyal enough to be in their inner circle. As the story continues to spiral, arguments break out and the differences make things heated. It's here that things become much more interesting and characters seeming free of flaws, like nerd Brian Johnson (Anthony Michael Hall) burst out with a moment to share a problematic home life.

It's here that Hughes' subversion of genre becomes something grander. The prison yard mentality slowly fades away, turning into a huddle as the characters play those teenage games where they dare each other to open up, revealing something so personal that it makes them vulnerable. By the end, everyone is more vulnerable in different ways. The only thing combining them is that it serves as some insular frustration, their difficulty to see the world as something full of sunshine and flowers. It is only in being trapped that they realize the walls that they have put up to their peers, the people they have sneered at in the hallways and never thought they'd hang out with. Those people were not like them because society told them to believe this. It's a problem everyone coming to the film faces, and in some ways, it gets worse outside of high school.

The best detail of Hughes' script is his chance to just let the detention grow into a stage play as if every character is giving a monologue to an unseen crowd in an aside. It's a simple tool, but one that turns outsider/proto-goth Allison Reynolds (Ally Sheedy) into these adorable figures. Where Allison starts as the weirdo, purposely being off-putting to keep everyone away, she begins to accept the people she thought would bully her as being just as vulnerable as her. She gets a makeover and suddenly she's their peer. For a detention that is supposed to be heavily surveilled, a lot of personal growth happens in a way that is accessible to the audience. Everyone has been through their teenage years, having to deal with the insecurity of facing a world that may reject them. Where do they go when their monologue ends? Do they return to the shadows to be ignored, or is there applause waiting for them? Whatever there is, Hughes treats these moments as personal catharsis, especially as one moment mirrors another.

It's true that like all of Hughes' films, it's really entertaining. There is this underlying knowledge that teens are awkward, sometimes self-involved, and falling into trendy language that adults would never understand. As much as this film's soundtrack is rooted in a 1980s tone, there is not enough to distract from its heart. It's the fun accompaniment, turning every breakthrough into something triumphant. Whether it's Hughes understanding teens or shaping their behavior, The Breakfast Club has an undeniable charm to it that breaks through artifice by tearing archetypes down to their core. When there's no jock or geek label, there is only a human trying to get through life, through this detention so that they can go about their life. They don't yet have driver's licenses. They can't just leave town. So much of their own lives feel imprisoned until they're 18, and to make it so direct at school is genius. 

Every other film by Hughes during this time can be nitpicked for its dated aspects, notably in regards to problematic humor choices (Sixteen Candles is a minefield for controversy). Anything that can be thorny here is more seen as character traits, of messy teens coming to terms with their mistakes in the hopes of becoming better adults. Everything is organic to character, and in the process validates their experiences. For one of the few times, everyone is allowed to tear down walls and be themselves. They're allowed to open up and create this better understanding of their social dynamics. In some ways, it's the perfect embodiment of what should be happening every day in the world around them, where conversations teach them to be better people. The Breakfast Club is more than a teen movie. It's a lesson on how to break free of the social prisons and understand what makes us all so interesting.

More than any other Hughes film, The Breakfast Club is deserving of its legacy, where every acting beat has inspired another teen movie in the 35 years since. The final shot of the film where John raises his fist in the air has become iconic. Even the poster for the film has been lampooned constantly. Hughes has become somewhat of a demigod for how he treats teenagers as these humans capable of deeper and more mature understanding. Rarely has this been more apparent than it is here. It's one of the few times when it's felt like it exists outside of melodrama and is something more real. Everyone can see something of value in the narrative and feel moved. That is why it continues to be referenced in teen comedies, where Ringwald remains an icon for a generation, even honoring the passing of Hughes at The Academy Awards in 2010. 

For a film about being stuck at school on a Saturday, it holds a lot of power. While not a revolutionary idea, it has rarely been this endearing. It's a teenage film meaning to be accepted by a public, and it does so by having a discussion that made it ahead of its time. In 2020, it's more acceptable to discuss and embrace differences within society. In The Breakfast Club, it feels like a teenager was still someone not to trust. In that way, Vernon was the public who sneers at taking anyone that young seriously. Hughes decided to find something underneath their defensive exteriors. It asks the audience on the way out to hold a conversation with someone they think wouldn't like them to see what's going in their life. If the world did that more often, maybe there would be less hostility. It's best to start this quest for empathy early and often because it's only then that society can become more interesting.