Ferris Bueller's Day Off

If you are lucky enough not to have to play by the rules, why should you? This film is a diatribe against the politics of envy – if you feel resentment at other people’s good fortune then the problem is your own. Those that become obsessed by it (like the hapless Ed Rooney) end up ruined, whereas Bueller’s sister manages to let go, and bag herself a smooch with Charlie Sheen in the process.

Bueller is wired for success despite his slacker attitude. Preternaturally self-confident, a wizard with technology, and from a comfortably middle-class background, he’ll no doubt end up making and losing millions in the 90s dot com bubble. The film notes the inadequacies of high school education (a mixture of dull rote-learning and horrific army-style exercise) and suggests that the ingenuity and creativity inherent in spinning your way through a day off is a better use of your time. Bueller’s father works in advertising and it looks like Bueller’s talent for bullshitting is inherited. A large detached house in the suburbs and a brood of incorrigible kids beckons.

Matthew Broderick does his best to make this shyster as lovable as possible. Perhaps having some experience of that European socialism Bueller dismisses so breezily I am somewhat immune to his charms, and find the film’s celebration of individualistic free-riding a bit distasteful. Part of the fantasy of this film is that its YOLO attitude never has negative consequences, when in fact civilisation is built on the ability to adhere to rules even if they don’t benefit you and to sacrifice today’s pleasures for future rewards. Bueller’s day off is a holiday from the world. It’s a break to enjoy the sights before the speed of life takes over again.

It’s telling that Hughes’s attempts to imbue the character with some sort of fellow-feeling ring false. Bueller volunteering to take the rap for his friend trashing his father’s car is supposed to be a heartfelt moment, but could just as well be a double bluff playing on Cameron’s emotional instability. You can’t escape the suspicion that everyone is a mark to him.

Hughes touches on some quite dark themes of depression and suicide with Cameron’s character, but you never get the sense that Bueller actually cares about him. His diagnosis that Cameron just needs more sexual experience in order to be able to assert himself is both sexist and wide off the mark. There's also a deeply weird moment where Cameron leering at Bueller’s girlfriend is framed as some sort of moment of personal growth. Cameron feels like a character from another film – someone with demons to exorcise who unfortunately has only Bueller and Hughes to help him.

It's a self-indulgent film, with expensive helicopter shots, an arty montage sequence in a gallery, and an over-the-top parade scene that feels like the film has momentarily turned into a musical. Although it is still a collection of parts, the focus on a single character who directly lectures his audience makes for a less disjointed film than something like The Breakfast Club. Ed Rooney is a cartoon villain, and his attempts to catch Bueller prefigures Hughes's script for Home Alone. The fact that such childishness sits alongside scenes in which Cameron and Sloane walk around Chicago admitting their existential terror at the prospect of the future makes this a weird hybrid – both a kids comedy and a teen drama. Much like Bueller's outrageous schemes, it just about manages to hang together.

The Breakfast Club

Kinda like Moby Dick if the ship was detention and the whale was an asshole teacher. Or like a retelling of the origin of the United States – the castoffs from the old world rebelling against their elders and writing a new constitution. The twist being that their new fellowship will collapse at the start of the following week.

If the film is supposed to represent America in microcosm, it's not a particularly diverse one when it comes to ethnicity or sexuality. There are however some broad brushstroke explorations of class, where delinquency is peeled back to reveal an abusive or uncaring family environment. That shouldn’t excuse the behaviour, which Molly Ringwald has written about here. Bender gets the hero shot at the end of the film, and he doesn’t deserve it.

Where Hughes is on stronger ground is how he shows the male characters burdened with a very oppressive view of masculinity, involving frequent instances of threats, fights and homophobia. Andrew’s long confession lays bear the emotional scars patriarchy can leave on teenage boys – his ‘old man’ almost belongs in the Old Testament with Abraham, Lot and the other patriarchs.

The film was shot in sequence, which is surprising as it feels like a collection of disparate scenes that have no follow through. Characters scream at each other in one moment and are thick as thieves the next. The pairing up at the end makes zero sense to the modern viewer, particularly Ringwald's character hooking up with the guy who has relentlessly harassed her for the last 8 hours. It’s bizarre, and goes to show that the film, and Hughes's sensibilities, have aged very badly indeed.