THE SPIRIT OF THE RAVENS

Raise Ravens spirit of the beehive

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It’s been a while hasn’t it! Did you miss me? Since my last post I have been completely wrapped up in life and work. The result of this personal shift in my life is my absence from this space. However, I have not forgotten about you dear readers and I am happy to present one of my favorite essays on two of my favorite films; Raise Ravens and The Spirit of the Beehive. Enjoy below!

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Victor Erice’s critically acclaimed directorial debut El Espiritu de la Colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive) and Carlos Saura’s equally brilliant drama Cría Cuervos (Raise Ravens) not only represent two of the finest Spanish films of the seventies but also provide viewers with a bewitching and utterly mesmerizing portrait of the inner turmoil and beauty of childhood. Released during the final days of Francisco Franco’s dying dictatorship, El Espiritu de la Colmena and Cría Cuervos seamlessly blend fantasy and reality resulting in a more “mature” form of surrealism. It is through this blend that we as the audience witness the world through the eyes of a child, coincidentally the same child, actress Ana Torrent.

The dark-eyed beauty of Ana radiates with an unwavering wisdom and exudes the natural curiosity that one associates with adolescence. In El Espiritu de la Colmena the character of Ana (names were kept the same so the Ana Torrent who was six at the time would not be confused) becomes obsessed with finding and meeting a spirit while an older Torrent copes with the loss of her mother in Cría Cuervos. Death and depression are coupled with the social and political influences alive during the time of both auteurs. The beauty in each film is how the heavy subject matter is layered and even concealed under the dual portrayals of innocence and the loss of it. Although Ms. Torrent (much older now but still haunted by both roles) is no stranger to portraying a child struggling with understanding traumatic events, the two characters of Ana are similar yet significantly different.

Released in 1973, it is hard to believe El Espiritu de la Colmena was Victor Erice’s first feature. Visually stunning with a laconic script, Erice’s masterwork proves that image and action speak volumes. According to professor Paul Julian Smith author of the Criterion essay entitled Spanish Lessons, The spirit of the Beehive is a classic example of a specific type of filmmaking to emerge during the Franco regime. Smith elaborates by stating, “Like many repressive regimes, Francoism attempted to use cinema to change its negative image abroad and to create the impression that freedom of expression was permitted (1)”. Under the Franco rule filmmakers had to turn to clandestine methods to speak their minds or critique life under the totalitarian leader. “…This “Franco aesthetic,” a term used to describe artistically ambitious movies of this time that made use of fantasy and allegory. These characteristics, which remain so magical to modern audiences, were used in the period [the early seventies] as a form of indirect critique (Smith 2).”

As a member of the “modern audience” Smith refers to, it is easy for one to become lost in the slow almost pensive pacing and gorgeous cinematography by Luís Guadrado and forget that there is a message beneath the beauty and the darkness that permeates throughout. As stated before, the Franco aesthetic combines fantasy and allegory, two things that are strongly apparent in El Espiritu de la Colmena; another element that sets Erice’s film apart from others is its unique allusion to the horror genre.

The film tells the story of Ana, a young girl residing in the small Castilian village of Hoyuelos during the 1940s. The arrival of a traveling cinema changes Ana’s life after she and her sister Isabel (played by Isabel Tellería) view the film Frankenstein. Not being able to separate fact from fiction Ana asks her sister why the little girl and the monster in the film were killed. Isabel tricks Ana into believing that there is a spirit living nearby, as the film progresses, Ana becomes obsessed with coming face to face with said spirit. In one particular scene, Ana and Isabel are preparing for bed, Isabel is on the brink of sleep when Ana asks “Why did he kill the girl, and why did they kill him after that?” “Him” being Dr. Frankenstein’s monster. Isabel responds, “They didn’t kill him, and he didn’t kill the girl…everything in the movies is fake. It’s all a trick.” She then continues to tell Ana about how she has seen the monster herself and that he is a spirit.

Ana Torrent, who was only six at the time of filming, had trouble separating fact from fiction, just like her character for she was not acting but truly living the role. Erice has stated that he feared the young actress might have been scarred while making the film because she had to endure some frightening and upsetting moments at such a young age. Arguably, one of the most iconic moments in the film and the best example of the statement above is when Ana fulfills her quest and literally comes face to face with the spirit in question.

Near the end of the film Ana becomes increasingly disinterested in daily life and the people surrounding her. Her family, consisting of her father, Fernando, mother Teresa and older sister Isabel, are often left to their own devices and never appear in the same frame together. The lack of establishing shots and individual framing of the characters leave the audience somewhat lost and constantly curious, like our young protagonist. In an interview on the film with Linda Ehrlich she states that Fernando and Teresa are empty vessels and that even upon reading the screenplay “they are representatives of the adult Spaniard following Franco’s rise to power.” The pacing in El Espiritu de la Colmena begins to quicken when Ana runs away from home to find the spirit. The stillness and emptiness that runs through the parents ripple to life when their daughter goes missing near the end of the film. Cinematically they are still kept apart but their goal now shares a common thread, to locate Ana.

The setting and locations of The Spirit of the Beehive emulate the characters; the land outside of the village is barren and nearly deserted. The remaining buildings are nothing more than hollow shells of their former selves, devoid of any activity. Ana walks alone in the woods away from any signs of life, it is dark and the forest is alive with the sounds of nocturnal life. We follow Ana as she walks alone on the river bank, she settles at the edge and peers into the water starring at her reflection. The ripples change and distort her face until her reflection morphs into the monster that has possessed Ana’s mind from the start. Erice’s Frankenstein monster walks out from the dense forest and straight towards Ana whose doe eyes gaze upon him. She does not run, scream nor flinch as he draws near. She simply stares at the creature she been searching for.

Early versions of the script are both more explicit and more political than the final film. Originally, the story had a frame narrative in which the adult Ana explained in voice-over the mysteries that she could not fathom as a child… (Smith 3). Like the above there are more mysteries throughout El Espiritu de la Colmena that Ana could not grasp and the use of a voice-over would have spoiled them. The reason Erice’s film is so authentic in its portrayal of the mind of a child and why it continues to capture audiences till this day is its ability to unapologetically immerse the audience in Ana’s life. There is no need for explanation, voice-overs or even a complete understanding of the historical context the film layers underneath each frame. In a way we are like Ana struggling to grasp the mysteries El Espiritu de la Colmena presents us with but being so in awe of them we have no choice but to stay with each character and search for the monster our own monsters.

Unlike the character of Ana in Erice’s El Espiritu de la Colmena, Carlos Saura’s Ana has grown up. One might say that Cría Cuervos or Rise Ravens acts as a companion film to Erice’s film. Also starring Ana Torrent (Raise Ravens is her second feature), Cría Cuervos directed by Carlos Saura is hailed as a political and psychological masterpiece and has striking similarities to its predecessor. “…shot in the summer of 1975, as Spanish dictator Francisco Franco lay dying, and premiered in Madrid’s Conde Duque Theatre, on January 26, 1976, forty years after the civil war began.” (Smith 2007). Like El Espiritu de la Colmena and other Spanish films of the seventies, Francisco Franco’s reign comes into play once again. Cría Cuervos was made during a pivotal time in history and according to Paul Julian Smith “The film is flanked by two decisive events: the assassination of Franco’s nominated successor, Carrero Blanco, in 1973, and the first democratic elections, in 1978.”

The first lines of Cría Cuervos are hushed whispers spoken in the gloomy dark of a home; “I love you, I love you” is said but the speakers are not on screen. Slowly little Ana makes her way down the stairs, her white nightgown illuminating the dark. Off screen two people are making love, as the scene progresses Ana hears her philandering father die in the act and watches stoically as the woman involved rushes out of the house. When Ana discovers her father (who is later revealed during the wake to have been a in the military) he is sprawled out on the bed, his eyes open in the face of death. She climbs on the bed and proceeds to stroke his hair, and then washes out the glass of milk resting on the nightstand, ignorant of her father’s death, or just unfazed. Through flashbacks we see Ana’s father flirting with the maid “The stories I could tell you about your father”, and talking down to the mother. After the glass is washed and placed with the others Ana moves to the fridge; a woman walks into the static frame and watches her, she asks why she is up so late. This woman is Ana’s mother and she is dead.

Like El Espiritu de la Colmena, Cría Cuervos also infuses surrealistic elements into the narrative without calling any attention to them. It is only later in the film do we learn that Ana’s mother has passed, leaving Ana and her siblings motherless. Smith puts it best when he states “…Saura shows the intimacy with which the living and the dead can cohabit, most especially when, as is so often the case in his cinema, fragile psyches are frozen in time by trauma. ” A Trauma linked to politics and repression of the era as well as the fragile mental state of children, in this case Ana, who seems to be most susceptive to the supernatural.

The first viewing of Cría Cuervos may leave the average viewer a bit confused for several reasons; not only do Ana’s dead realities frequent the film, but an adult Ana speaks to us as well. Ana herself, only an older version, explains some of the films mysteries and breaks the fourth wall by speaking directly to the audience and holding our gaze. Also, the same woman, actress Geraldine Chaplin, plays older Ana as well as the deceased mother. An interesting thing to note about Saura’s decision to keep the casting for both characters the same is that he does not make a huge effort to help the audience differentiate between the two.

It is said that fantasy and reality collide at its best in the opening of the film but there are moments throughout Cría Cuervos that are much stronger and even heartbreaking. One such instance is when Ana is in bed after having a brief encounter with her aunt who has taken in Ana and her siblings. She lies in bed and looks towards the doorframe as if expecting someone to enter her room or walk by. Her wish is granted when her mother strolls by the open door, she walks by a few times, occasionally stopping to look at her daughter, before finally entering the room. When she does, she stays with Ana and tells her a bedtime story called “little Almond.” The camera remains in a close up of Ana for the remainder of the story then slowly pushes back reveling that her mother is not there.

Traumatized, Ana cries out to her mother but only attracts the attention of her aunt Paulina, who, in turn, tried to comfort Ana the same way her mother did, by telling her the story of “Little Almond.” Ana says she wishes she were dead and wishes death on her aunt as well. Ana and her siblings are surrounded by so much death but it appears to affect Ana the most. Another point in the film where Ana begins to grow and tap into emotions that is very mature for her age is when she is outside with her grandmother. She stops pushing her wheelchair and looks up; on the roof of a building standing amidst the noise of the city is she. Ana looks down at herself then jumps off the building, floating above the city. This outer body experience puts the audience in the mindset of the troubled child and allows us to linger like Ana does in the sky, on how disturbing it really is. The title of the film itself stems from a rather gory Spanish proverb, “Raise ravens and they’ll peck out your eyes.”

Although Saura’s film is full of rich allegory and dark subject matter, cinematically Cría Cuervos is not a dark film. Majority of the movie is shot during the day and there are several exteriors, yet there is still a strong sense of loss and longing. There are also several auditory refrains throughout the film; “Three pieces of music are compulsively repeated in Cría cuervos: a muted classical piano piece by the Catalan composer Federico Mompou, which was once played by the mother; “¡Hay, Maricruz!” a traditional copla performed by Imperio Argentina (an early supporter of the regime), here played for the grandmother; and “Porque te vas” (Because You’re Leaving), a pop song of the period sung by the chirpy Jeanette, the only record Ana seems to own” (Smith 2007). These songs almost identify each character and embody their presence, for example; the first song played is the song of the mother “¡Hay, Maricruz!” a beautiful somber melody that it is played while her husband is sleeping with another woman.

Both Carlos Saura’s film Cría cuervos and Victor Erice’s El Espiritu de la Colmena are two beautiful examples of the growing pains attached to coming of age films. Within them nothing is sugar coated or spoon fed to the audience or the young characters interacting within the worlds that directors envisioned. Surrealistic elements blend with reality creating a bittersweet harmony that is not easily forgotten or ignored.

WORKS CITED

Raise Ravens.” Dir. Carlos Saura. Ana Torrent, Geraldine Chaplin, and Florinda Chico. 1976. Film.
Smith, Paul Julian. “The Spirit of the Beehive: Spanish Lessons.” 18 Sept. 2006. Web. 06 Mar. 2012. <http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/447-the-spirit-of-the-beehive-spanish-lessons>.
Smith, Paul Julian. “Cría Cuervos…The Past is not Past.” 13 Aug. 2007. Web. 06 Mar. 2012.
< http://www.criterion.com/current/posts/527-cria-cuervos-the-past-is-not-past>
“The Spirit of the Beehive.” Dir. Victor Erice. Ana Torrent, Fernando Fernán Gómez, and Teresa Gimpera. 1973. Film.

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Another paper down! This paper was written in 2012 and as usual has not been altered. Soon I will be running out of old college work to share but that means I will be forced to write more essays and maybe even brief reviews on my favorite films. Stayed tuned and thank you for stopping by!

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WHITE FLIGHT & STEPFORD WIVES

white-flight

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Well cinefriends October has come to an end, but the thrills and chills don’t have to stop there! White Flight and Stepford Wives: A look at the underbelly of suburbia, a cinema studies paper I wrote in the fall of 2011, explores the very real attitudes and motives of the past that led to some of the most popular stories in horror films of the future. Enjoy!

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In the 1975 film The Stepford Wives based on a novel of the same name by Ira Levin we meet Joanna Eberhart: a photographer and mother of two who moves out of New York city with her family and settles in the quiet suburbs of Stepford Connecticut. It is here the family believes their problems will dissipate with a healthy dose of fresh air and solitude, but under the Pleasantville like charm and seemingly perfect façade their lies a dangerous undercurrent. The perpetual fear of a homogenous society and loss or lack of individuality is a theme that has been explored in many films, particularly those in the horror and science fiction genres. The irony of the suburbs within both genres is that it is too good to be true; these films present the area as being two-faced, a utopian fantasy with dystopian levels. Yet the average white family moving out of the city and into the idyllic “burbs” is not a fictitious genre trope; during the 1940s and 50s thousands of American families moved out of the city, desiring to escape the mass influx of immigrants and the growing ethnic mix of the urban environment. This mass migration, known “White Flight” has given birth to some of the most memorable and iconic films we know and love today.

“White Flight” or the “flight of the middle class” (a more accurate term) is a term describing the mass departure of the newfound Caucasian middle class from the city to the suburbs. This “flight” took off due to the passing of the G.I. Bill, a bill that gave rise to the American middle class and provided vocational education for veterans returning from World War II. With its passing veterans or G.I.s were now able to attend college and start training in a specific field of study. This bill was passed in 1944 and with that knowledge one can gain a better understanding of the “Baby Boom” that took place the following year. With the influx of veterans now established in their new careers it is only natural for many of them to desire a family. This generation of “Baby Boomers” (1945-1961/62) spiked not only the fertility rates that had dropped during the depression but the economy as well, including the motion picture industry. Naturally the cities that the veterans were returning to did not resemble the “picturesque” communities of the suburbs they would eventually move into, picturesque meaning all white. A reasonable case can be made that the suburban flight of whites, which occurred immediately after World War II, resulted in part from racial motivations (Frey 426). Laura Pulido, author of Rethinking Environmental Racism: White Privilege and Urban Development in Southern California explores environmental and spatial forms of racism. Although the paper specifically uses Southern California as case study it does make a good point; “whites have secured relatively cleaner environments by moving away from older industrial cores via suburbanization” (12). This self-segregation represents the drastic reaction to racial integration within an urban environment that peaked during the 1950s, creating the 50s housewife that would later be satirized in The Stepford Wives.

The suburban appeal is apparent; the setting is far from the dangers of the city, there is more land making it an idea location to raise a large family, there are little to no immigrants (or any ethnic group of any kind) and everything appears to be in order. It is a place of “wide lawns and narrow minds” according to Hemingway, one that is synonymous with the word boring, but in recent years the artistic portrayal of the suburbs has taken on a more sinister tone. In the national public radio (NPR) interview with director Todd Field (Little Children, 2006) by Neda Ulaby she states that “in American fiction, TV and film, suburbia has long stood as shorthand for repression”. It is even apparent in music, Greenday’s music video for their single entitled Jesus of Suburbia shows a young punk who has a dysfunctional relationship with his mother and spends most of his time loitering around convenient stores. Unhappiness, lies, and hidden agendas have become suburban staples and tend to cross the border into a cliché. That is why the “white flight” from the city makes the perfect backdrop for horror or science fiction films; the “flight” itself was a form of alienation, an act on the American dream that, either consciously or subconsciously opening the door to a warped perspective.

One film, or rather opening sequence that best illustrates this is David Lynch’s 1986 film Blue Velvet. In the opening scene we are introduced to an idyllic 1950s suburb; a man who was watering his lawn suddenly suffers a heart attack and falls, from there the camera travels onto the lawn and sinks below the grass, reveling the insects that are essentially ripping each other apart. An obvious metaphor representing the clandestine discord that festers below the sunny and pleasant exterior the suburbs prides itself on possessing. There is also the 2005 film Hide and Seek whose basic plot is after what appears to be the suicide of her mother a young girl named Emily moves with her father to a quiet neighborhood in upstate New York. It is believed that the move from the city will ease Emily’s mind but it does the opposite and proves to be more dangerous than the city she grew up in. History professor Matt Lassiter states that the notion of perfect suburban blandness may give us a safe way to talk about difficult things (Ulaby). In the case of films like The Stepford Wives that blandness represents is a sign of conformity.  The fear of being one and the same dates back to the original film Invasion of the Body Snatchers and the Twilight Zone episode entitled The Number 12 Looks Just Like You. No monsters lurk within the closets of these stories because the real fear is the fear of being replaced. That is precisely why the original cinematic adaptation of The Stepford Wives is the perfect example of the suburban nightmare.

In both the novel and the film audiences are aligned with the character of Joanna Eberhart; a photographer and mother of two. We learn that she and her family are the newest residents of Stepford CT and that they moved from New York to feel “safe” and start anew. Stepford is everything a middle class white suburban area set out to be; clean, safe, friendly, perfect, yet the longer Joanna remains in Stepford the more sinister it becomes. Joanna’s husband joins a men’s only society and begins to spend all of his time with them and Joanna begins to notice that the wives of the men of Stepford are a little too good to be true. The notion that Stepford would be safer than New York is quickly shattered when Joanna’s fears are confirmed by the zombie-esque nature of the wives. As the film unfolds we learn that Joanna is not the only one who believes something is wrong, her new friend Bobbie thinks something is off as well. In one scene one of the Stepford wives repeats “I’ll just die if I don’t get this recipe” over and over at a party, her expression a permanent mask of pleasantness. Joanna soon discovers that the meetings her husband has been attending at the Men’s club are the leaders of a conspiracy and are replacing their wives with robotic versions of themselves in the form of the perfect 50s housewife.

In one of the films two terrifying scenes Joanna visits her friend Bobbie to see if she is looking after her children only to discover through stabbing her that she is no longer her open minded, witty friend but a narrow and rigid wife whose sole purpose is to please her husband. It may sound a bit silly but the way The Stepford Wives is presented is a brilliant commentary on suburbanization. Sadly in the end Joanna is introduced to her robot counterpart and we are led to believe that she kills her as well. The pair is identical; one would never know which Joanna is the real one if it were not for the unfinished eyes on the robot version. They are pitch black and devoid of any soul, Joanna is just another poor resident to loose her individuality to the suburbs becoming a shallow, repressed housewife, but being forced to like it.

It is the insects killing each other in Blue Velvet, aliens taking over unsuspecting victims in Invasion of the Body Snatchers and the perfect 50s housewives in the suburbs of Stepford. It is the picturesque eeriness of it all, the place that is too perfect and too good to be true. Where something is wrong but you cannot quite put your finger on it.

WORKS CITED

Frey, William H. Central city white flight: Racial and nonracial causes. American Sociological Review (1979): 425-448.
Pulido, Laura. Rethinking environmental racism: White privilege and urban development in Southern California. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 90.1 (2000): 12-40.
Ulaby,Neda. Popular Culture’s Evolving View of the Suburbs. Weekend Edition Saturday. 7 Oct. 2006. Radio.

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That’s it for October! I really enjoy sharing my work and look forward to the cinematic adventures of next month, thank you for reading!!

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TEENS ON SCREEN

Teensmoodboard
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Hello Cinema guys and dolls! You may have noticed a new category today: essays! Part of the reason I started this blog was to have a proper place for the cinema studies essays I wrote in college. I plan on posting an essay a month and each one will be themed. Since september usually marks the time when everyone heads back to school I thought Teens On Screen, a paper covering “youth films” specifically the works of John Hughes would be perfect. Enjoy!

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The fascination with teenage misfits, rebels and outcasts is one that is familiar to cinema. Often portrayed as Caucasian middle class youth residing in the suburbs, Hollywood has subjected audiences to the plight of the American teenager for several years now. With films like Mean Girls, Heathers, and Clueless to television shows such as Glee, and Skins (UK) teenage angst is here to stay. Dennis Lim’s New York Times article entitled “Creating an Adolescence for the Ages” states “The teenage misfit has been a central figure in youth movies since James Dean, who sparked an outbreak of juvenile delinquency amid a wave of films that regarded teenagers mainly as a minority group or a social problem.” Teenagers are more often than not criticized for everything they already are: Immature, inexperienced and hormonal. Yet these qualities are essential for the growing pains that permeate throughout the ever-popular coming of age genre and are what make teenagers in both youth films and reality so unique.

One director who has embraced the issues associated with adolescence perhaps more than any other and continues to influence the genre today is the late John Hughes. With classic films such as Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club, one can argue that Hughes himself started the genre of the Teen Film, or at least perfected it. The films of John Hughes would set the standard for many “youth films” of today. The dialogue is witty and memorable, begging to be quoted for years to come and the film itself is often the first time a new star or Hollywood darling appears on screen. “John Hughes’s underdog fables, among them the ’80s classics ”The Breakfast Club” and ”Pretty in Pink,” marked a turning point by exploring the inner lives of teenagers, emphasizing class and social hierarchies and promoting a buoyant everyone’s-an-outsider ethos…”(Lim). This ethos is still apparent in the youth films of today as well as those that appeared after early Hughes films. One such film set the set the stage for teen angst in the eighties was Sixteen Candles.

Marking John Hughes directorial debut and starring Molly Ringwald (who would become a Hughes favorite) Sixteen Candles is the story of Samantha “Sam” Baker who has just turned sixteen years of age. Her “sweet sixteenth” is anything but as she struggles to survive the challenging and ultimately embarrassing day. The beauty of Sixteen Candles and films that would later star a group of young actors commonly known as the “Brat Pack” is the reliability. As states in the book “You Couldn’t Ignore Me If You Tried: The Brat Pack, John Hughes, and Their Impact on a Generation” by Susannah Gora, Sixteen Candles “would set Hughes apart, in an age when other filmmakers were quick to portray teens as vapid, horny, pimpled caricatures…(10).” Unlike the slasher films of the eighties that did just that, Hughes would present the adolescent experience as a three-dimensional one and not overlook the pain, embarrassment, and melodrama that follows. “To a large degree screen teenagers have always embodied the romance of the outsider” (Lim 7) and Hughes would soon became the voice of a generation who desperately needed one, most certainly one as loud and prominent as Hughes would become. Famed film critic Roger Ebert would later describe the director as “the philosopher of adolescence” (Gora 10).

Perhaps this is because Hughes himself was a bit of an outcast during his high school years as Gora points out, “Hughes is often portrayed as having been an outsider in high school. There’s some truth to that-he certainly was different from anyone else in his school, and he wasn’t part of the truly popular crowd- (13).” Surviving high school and being apart of or wanting a way into the “in crowd” has become an essential genre convention for youth films. In the two thousand and four film Mean Girls one of the characters draws a diagram for the main character Cady Heron (Lindsay Lohan) who is new to the high school. The drawing explains where everyone sits in the cafeteria, but what it really does is show the new girl the social hierarchy established by her peers. The popular girls, jocks, geeks and weirdos are all social groups existing within a larger one inharmoniously. Through separation and labels Cady and other teens in films with similar scenes are able to make a crucial choice… beat them or join in.

Changing oneself to fit into a group is another teen film trope that is apparent in many movies. A perfect example of a youth film that breaks the invisible walls of high school social groups is the nineteen eighty-five John Hughes film entitled The Breakfast Club. Once again featuring Molly Ringwald and the “Brat Pack” The breakfast club is a coming of age tale about five teenagers all representing different stereotypes, are forced to spend a morning together in detention. It is there that the “jock”, the “nerd”, the “basket case”, the “popular girl” and the “rebel” interact for the first and perhaps the last time. In a good teen film the characters, setting and dialogue should reflect the settings, personalities and vernacular of the youth during that time but it should also display the issues. Ned Tanen comments on the film by stating “When those kids are being dropped off that day at detention in The Breakfast Club, you get right to what this movie was about, and what this generation was about: middle-class suburban kids trying to keep it together” (Gora 67).

Hughes acknowledged the problems that teenagers faced on a daily basis and showed that even though many did not come from a place of poverty their lives were not perfect. As the film progresses the group moves upstairs and out of boredom begin to reveal their secrets to one another. In one memorable scene Claire, the popular girl, displays her special talent to the others, which consists of being able to apply lipstick without her hands. Everyone delights in her skill except Bender, representing the rebel. He mocks her in his monologue stating, “My image of you is totally blown.” before divulging his turbulent home life. As tensions continue to rise the jock asks in dismay if they are doomed to become like their parents to which the “basket case” says its inevitable.

Gora points out in her book that teens of the eighties were in essence a generation struggling with identity and belonging. “The 1960s and ‘70s teenagers changed the world-and all the 1980s teens had to do was live in it” (66). This struggle for identity and need for acceptance may explain why fitting in is still such a huge part of the teenage experience. As stated before separation and labels grouped teens together and kept the social hierarchy of high school society in tact. Roz Kaveney, author of Teen Dreams: Reading Teen Film from Heathers to Veronica Mars claims “Hughes placed class firmly if crudely on the agenda in all of these films…”(29). Near the end of the breakfast club the “popular girl” gives the “basket case” a make over, an “entirely superficial and entirely reductive” act according to Kaveney (22). In the teen scene looking better often times equals social acceptance.

Character after character the audience learns that a pretty face masks an ugly heart and that heart often rests within the popular girl. She seems to have everything; the perfect car, skin and hair, boyfriend and friends who will answer to every call and supply every need. If you defy her she will make your life a living hell, if you befriend her watch your back. There are countless youth films that feature the pretty yet manipulative leader of the pack who every girl wanted to be. In many films the unpopular girl idolizes the popular one and dreams of having the seemingly perfect life she does. It is then that the otherwise invisible girl realizes that she must not try to beat them, but join them. It is here the full transformation makeover is cued. The “makeover” has become so much of a staple in these films that they are almost expected. The superficial act of “making over” the pretty but plain girl becomes a visual crossing over for the protagonist representing her change and assimilation. If teenagers during this time and arguably today struggle so much with identity, why not assume the identity of someone else? We have seen in short stories and other works mainly in the science fiction genre, what happens when individuality is lost. It is quite a stretch to compare a high school clique to the pod people of Invasion of the Body Snatchers but in some cases they function the same way.

In Hughes next film Pretty in Pink, class and identity are two very important themes. In the film Ringwald plays Andie, a poor girl who sets her sights on Blane, a good-looking rich kid or “Richie”. Because of Andie’s social status she is very self-conscious and even embarrassed of where she comes from. Kaveney comments on identity and status by pointing out the character that really has something to loose, surprisingly it is not poor Andie but “Richie” Blane. “Blane is genuinely attracted to Andie and has genuine feelings for her, but he has not the strength to persist in the relationship when he is threatened with social death by Steff and their clique…” (32). By sacrificing his own happiness to not risk social suicide speaks volumes about what his priorities are.

Andie on the other hand comes to represent individuality, staying true to herself and style throughout the film. “Andie becomes the embodiment of grace under pressure” (Bernstein 77) and in many ways she has to be. Pretty in Pink comes to a climax when Andie prepares for the one event that will forever be remembered by a teen, and make or break you in a night. That event is the prom. Due to her social background and class Andie cannot afford a fancy prom dress so she uses her friends and resources to make her own, solidifying her non conformity and uniqueness. Her dress becomes “…less a garment than a statement: a cool, pink, fuck you, a sexy suit of armor deflecting the stares and sneers she knows will come her way when she walks into prom…alone!” (Bernstein 77).

In some ways we can learn from characters like Andie and the other Hughes girls as well as guys. The cultural impact that they made by living out their lives onscreen changed the way teenagers were viewed by society and forced adults of the generation to wake up and pay attention. The affects of films like Pretty in Pink, and The Breakfast Club live on today in both film and television, creating a post Hughes high school homage.

WORKS CITED

Bernstein, Jonathan. ‪Pretty In Pink: The Golden Age of Teenage Movies. New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 1997.
Gora, Susannah. ‪You Couldn’t Ignore Me If You Tried: The Brat Pack, John Hughes, and Their Impact on a Generation.
New York: Crown Publishers, 2010.

Kaveney, Roz. Teen Dreams: Reading Teen Film and Television from ‘Heathers’ to ‘Veronica Mars’ New York: I.B. Tauris & Co Ltd, 2006.
Lim, Dennis. “Creating An Adolescence For The Ages.” New York Times (2011): OmniFile Full Text Mega (H.W. Wilson). Web. 22 May 2012.
Mean Girls. Dir. Mark Walters. Perf. Lindsay Lohan, Jonathan Bennett, and Rachael McAdams. Paramount Pictures, 2004. Film.

Pretty in Pink. Dir. John Hughes. Perf. Molly Ringwald, Jon Cryer, and Harry Dean Stanton. Paramount Pictures, 1986. Film.
Sixteen Candles. Dir. John Hughes. Perf. Molly Ringwald, Anthony Michael Hall and Justin Henry. Universal Pictures, 1984. Film.
The Breakfast Club. Dir. John Hughes. Perf. Molly Ringwald, Emilio Estevez, and Judd Nelson. Universal Studios, 1985. Film.

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Phew! You made it to the end of six pages worth of work, thanks for sticking it out! This paper was written in 2012 and has not been altered, that way you and I can see my writing grow and progress. If this format doesn’t work, is too long or needs more pictures to break up the text please let me know. I would love to hear what you think!

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