...John Hughes’ movies were different. They were, above all, fun. Was there angst? I guess. Duckie seemed troubled. Cameron had some issues.* But it always seemed to me that the angst was not over the top, that even the characters seemed to understand that it was all just something they had to go through. The John Hughes message — if there was a message — was so blindingly obvious that you could not miss it. Don’t judge kids by their looks! Rich kids suck! But don’t judge them because some don’t suck! Don’t travel with shower salesmen! Don’t let Emilio Estevez smoke a joint because he will go dance crazy!
Read the rest of Joe's great post here.
And I agree with Dennis Perrin:
John Hughes died while strolling through Manhattan. Not to seem insensitive, but that's a great way to go -- at least to diehard New Yorkers like me. I'll be in the city in a couple of weeks, so if I croak while cruising Central Park or Ave. C (where the old East Village hangs on by a black-polished nail), know that I probably went with a smile on my face. Who wants to die in Michigan?
I used to joke (very morbidly) with my mom during my stepfather's illness that if I heard the news he did, I'd fly to New York, buy and put on that black, $1200 dress I once saw down in Soho (to die for), get my hair and nails done, then step out in front of a cab.
I told you it was morbid. But, seriously. Who wants to die in Ohio?
RIP John Hughes.