A Retrospective Look
Today was a tragic day for the cinema. I remember I was heading home to do some laundry, unwittingly trapped in the hostile quagmire of bumper to bumper traffic, when I heard some very disheartening news: one of Chicago's favorite sons, a filmmaker that rocked the cinematic foundations of an entire generation, one Mr. John Hughes, had died at age 59. Needless to say, it was a sullen fact for me to ponder in rush hour.
I won't spend time regurgitating the numerous ways Hughes has influenced the very fabric of our culture. It's been established, I'm sure. I will, however, say a few things about what his work meant to me. Ferris Bueller's Day Off is, as far as I'm concerned, the definitive coming-of-age story. The film covers such a wide variety of philosophical quandaries, yet it's so accessibly packaged.
One of the most interesting dichotomies the film sets up is the one between Ferris and Cameron. Despite being best friends, the two characters somehow find themselves at opposite ends of the existential spectrum. We have Ferris, calmly cruising through life on sheer charisma, and then we have Cameron, who seems to be overwhelmed by the various pressures of adolescence. What forms between these characters as the movie progresses is a beautiful synthesis of unbridled hope. Of course, Ferris Bueller's Day Off was just one of the many highlights in Hughes's prolific career. Unfortunately, I need to cut this short.
I'll close modestly, with something Hughes said in a conversation with Molly Ringwald in Seventeen Magazine: "My heroes were Dylan, John Lennon and Picasso, because they each moved their particular medium forward, and when they got to the point where they were comfortable, they always moved on." And now, as untimely as his death was, Hughes himself has moved on. Little did he know that his name would be amongst the heroes he admired so much, in the timeless ether of artistic genius.
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