I’m going with a continuation of yesterday’s Bloggery, because the death of John Hughes has hit my generation very hard, and on the day after we’re getting more lists and more memories, including one particularly popular eulogy from the filmmaker’s pen pal, which is shedding some light onto Hughes’ reasons for leaving Hollywood.

One thing that I’m finding interesting about the reactions to Hughes’ death is that he’s yet another example of how, as David Poland wrote back in June, “death is the ultimate disinfectant.” Not that many people stopped loving his ’80s teen movies after the man stopped directing, but the world didn’t quite respect him as much after he focused on writing and producing such family fare as Baby’s Day Out, the Beethoven movies and some unnecessary remakes for Disney.

Hughes’ death may not be the huge media story that Michael Jackson’s was, but given his contribution toward the definition of the ’80s, his decline in the ’90s and his association with Macauley Culkin, it’s not a huge stretch for all those “first MJ, now…” comments going around. When you think of ’80s music, you likely think of MJ. Likewise, when you think of ’80s movies, you think of JH. At least we still have the most important ’80s TV icon. But we might want to say our prayers for Bill Cosby…

Check out the further tributes and such from the film blogosphere after the jump:

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If you want proof that John Hughes has still not been succeeded as teen movie king, take a look at the 2001 spoof Not Another Teen Movie, which references Hughes’ films more than any other, despite the fact that it’d been 14 years since the filmmaker had last given us one of his signature entries into the genre. Also see the marketing of last year’s American Teen, a documentary that was sold as a non-fiction version of The Breakfast Club, 23 years later.

There will likely never be another John Hughes, at least not in the way he defined a type of movie. And at the same time, as much as nearly every teen movie since his seminal six recognize his influence, few of today’s teen movies can even get away with or accomplish things his films did. It would be appropriate if we could name sixteen of these things present in Hughes’ early works that are absent from modern teen movies, but we’ve got half that number, and we’re hoping it’s enough to establish that his films were, for better or worse, of a certain time, despite the fact that they’re so timeless.
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John Hughes was probably my first favorite filmmaker, or at least the first I really knew by name and reputation. So I’m especially saddened by his death from heart attack today, at age 59. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off may no longer be my favorite movie of all time — actually attending high school somewhat ruined the teen mythology that exists in Hughes’ films for me — but it forever remains in my top ten list of titles I enjoy watching over and over again (even if I am critical of the musical number).

Because many of us film bloggers grew up religiously watching his movies, including those he scripted but did not direct, there’s a lot of shared memories and tributes popping up around the web this evening. Check out what people are saying about the legacy of the iconic filmmaker after the jump:

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I can think of no better poster child for celibacy than Parisian “provocateur” Catherine Breillat, the director of such erotic misfires as Fat Girl, Romance, and more recently, The Last Mistress, which stars another over-hyped “hottie” Asia Argento. Exiting the theater after a Breillat flick, I never want to have sex again. Ostensibly concerned with digging deep into the beating heart of female sexuality, Breillat creates characters that are writhing bundles of drama and pain, anger and confusion. There is no laughter, never any levity nor celebrations of desire at all – just academic intellectualization in lieu of visceral heat, cardboard cutout chemistry between actors, dire emotional consequences hidden in every fuck. The Breillat canon would make for a wonderful addition to those abstinence-only programs George W. loves so much.

Take for example this Breillat quote from the press notes for The Last Mistress (which the director adapted from the Jules Barbey d’Aurevilly19th-century novel): “But romance is dark, which was another reason for wanting to make this film; for the romanticism, the burning passion, the terrible suffering, but without perverting the sentiments. The heart of the story portrays an ideal that topples into disaster as soon as it is reached.” Sexy, huh?

It’s in this inevitable disaster that Asia Argento, chewing up scenery like the ice cream cone she furiously devours from her horse-drawn carriage, plays Vellini, a costumed Moorish version of the Ally Sheedy character in The Breakfast Club. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t find needy, mentally deranged people the least bit sexy. I can say with utmost certainty that if I was shot in a duel like Vellini’s lover Ryno was, and my lover thrust the surgeon out of the way in order to drink the blood from my wound, it would not turn me on in the least. (But then I also don’t find pout-lipped, A&F model types like lead actor Fu-ad Aît Aattou sexy either – so maybe it *is* just me.)

For even in the most candied costume dramas there has to be some emotional truth. It’s not that I can’t relate to the trials and tribulations of love. Like Vellini I’ve been a long-term mistress, romantically involved to the point of “terrible suffering,” experienced that unbearable pain that Anais Nin likens to walking over hot coals; she wondered if this were possible without getting burned. I also know that we’re all hedonists at heart – not unrepentant masochists like Breillat’s characters would have us believe – wouldn’t go through the torture, the living hell of love, if it weren’t for the overwhelming growth, the endorphin high of desire. The worst times with someone you deeply love are better than the best times with someone you are merely fond of.

But you wouldn’t know this from any Breillat film. Which is why I’m using The Last Mistress to inaugurate my own Breillat Awards – given to the top five un-sexy, sexy indie flicks. Consider The Last Mistress the grand prize winner; here are four runners-up, in no particular order:

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Defamer has opened up their closed comment system (presumably temporarily) so that the blog’s readers can post questions to legendarily reclusive 80s teen film auteur John Hughes. According to Stu VanAirsdale, the site is also looking for “tipsters, spies and industry moles” who can contact Hughes and pass the comment thread questions along. Apparently, that task is more formidable than it might sound: the L.A. Times‘ Patrick Goldstein, who apparently wasn’t able to get to Hughes whilst researching this story, credits Vince Vaughn as the “one person who made contact.” Here’s hoping Defamer’s Q & A challenge strikes a victory for citizen journalism. Subsequently, let’s also hope that if Hughes does deign to take a look at the questions, he’s not put off by the commenter who compares Hughes to Reverend Wright and begs him to “please stay retired forever.”

Semi-related: the new poster for the Sundance doc, American Teen.

We haven’t done an installment of The Micro Five in a couple of weeks, so let me give you a refresher: the basic idea is not to create a definitive (read: totally subjective) Top Five list, but to pick a super-specific topic and examine how five films handled it differently. You can read previous installments here, here, here and here.

This time out, we’re looking at musical numbers of the 80s. The Hollywood musical is thought in some quarters to have lost its way in the late 70s/early 80s (although recent reappraisals have been kinder to the era that produced curiosities like One From the Heart.) Still, the influence of MTV on all aspects of 80s culture (but especially youth culture) by the end of the decade led to an normalization of song and dance scenes (but especially dance scenes) in non-musicals. See my take on five numbers involving John Hughes, Spike Lee and Christopher Walken, after the jump.

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