The Breakfast Club: The Club to Join, 30 Years Later

I may be in the minority but I’ve never really been a big fan of The Breakfast Club, but only since our class discussion on Thursday have I begun to understand why -- largely, the film appears to strike an offensive against the wealthy and against class-distinction; and yet the acquisition of, and intermingling within, the upper class is the ultimate reward for these students. At first I thought this hypocrisy was antithetical, but since reading Anthony C. Bleach’s “Postfeminist Cliques? Class, Postfeminism, and the Molly Ringwald- John Hughes Films” I’m convinced there is a deliberately neo-conservative promotion, particularly a rebranding of feminine “liberation.” According to Bleach this new stigmatization, possible in a post-feminist society, can be observed by popular culture hijacking the tenets of feminism and warping them from the notion of empowerment to the qualities of self-indulgence and narcissism.

This allows for vehicles like Hughes’ movies to reformat feminism in a way “that sanctions ‘individualist, acquisitive, and transformative’ values and behaviors, as well as in the way that it ‘participates in the ideological and economic normalization of new patterns of exclusion and demographic propriety in the United States.” In other words, The Breakfast Club claims that women, and more accurately the individual, achieve empowerment through consumption and individualism. Additionally, while I realize that there needs to be some sort of denominator to rely on, the fact that feminist tenets (“liberation, agency, and desire”) can be so easily categorized, discerned, and manipulated seems to be indicative of post-feminist discourse itself.

However, my gripes are confined to The Breakfast Club (because I haven’t seen Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink) and not with John Hughes as a writer/director. This is primarily because of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, which is easily one of my all time favorites and definitely the one movie that I compel myself to watch every time it’s on television if I happen to glimpse a scene while channel-surfing. I’m sure that Ferris finds itself in some of the same post-feminist, neo-conservative, white-suburbian ruts  that the reading delineates in some of Hughes’ other movies, but I’m usually more focused on the dynamic between Ferris and Cameron (my favorite Hughes’ character) anyways.

Now that I’ve given my obligatory Ferris plug, back to The Breakfast Club; or more interestingly (this time around), the essay. I found myself in agreement with this reading for nearly its entire length -- the exception being a few alternative ideas that stuck me (mostly with that ambiguous ending) which I’ll get to shortly. I thought this essay was one of the most fascinating readings that we’ve looked at yet because it provides a comprehensive summary and analysis of the Reagan-era eighties entirely. It also demonstrates how the eighties have informed today’s society, right along with films like The Breakfast Club (look at the massive following that the film still has thirty years later). It details supply-side Reaganomics and its principles: “growth is good, the entrepreneur is a ‘hero,’ ‘fair government’ is limited government because individuals” can make everyone benefit from their financial gain and because “individuals ‘almost always can solve problems better than government can,’ [as] ‘competition… breeds creativity’.” Furthermore, Bleach goes on to say that these policies have eclipsed economics and permeated “ideological, social, and technological” mindsets for Americans. The impoverished man as a “leech” on society is a part of contemporary discourse, spawned by these early 80s mentalities.

Suddenly, I’ve realized that I’ve participated in this same mindset, that I have marginalized feminism’s previous accomplishments and discarded them as being self-indulgent because I think that there are greater societal concerns. Occasionally when I hear someone focus only on something's effect on women where there are so many other aspects that are relevant to human nature as a whole, I might think "oh boy, more feminist extremism." But that thought process just makes me part of the system! This essay was revelatory by describing this adherence as consistent with postfeminism and I'm contributing myself to an individualistic society, and whether that is ideal or not, I didn’t even realize it (which is the frightening consequence).

Given how declarative of social status The Breakfast Club is by the opening scene alone (as detailed by the essay and discussed by all of us in class); seeing as though there are explicit measures against the upper class as Molly Ringwald’s character, the wealthiest of the detention attendants, comes under frequent assault; and because the movie does quite blatantly demonstrate, in contradictory fashion (following the film’s attack on the wealthy), that upper-class is the desired goal of the masses, it’s pretty safe to conclude that the movie champions this individualistic and acquisitive society that the essay lays out. Now I’m left wondering where Hughes’ role in this construction seems to lie (and it might be worth examining Hughes’ background to find it). It’s obvious that he is undermining his offensive against the upper-class by the end of his films, but is he obviously supporting Reagan-era policy or making that portrayal so obvious that he is satirizing it? Or does it not matter because regardless of the filmmaker’s intentions the movie speaks for itself? This last option is probably the case because even if he were satirizing this individualistic value, he is not doing it explicitly enough as his film condones the behavior rather than condemns it.

It’s fun -- and frightening -- to think that Hughes might just be more concerned with the romance than the social constructs that he has crafted. There is (though small) the chance that he’s just using class distinction as a pliable and relatable landscape to tell his story as class disparity is an age-old reservoir for conflict. He may just be trying to say that romance, especially of the happily-ever-after kind, transcends class differences, that it can bond them or circumvent them, and that it is blissfully unaware of the social constraints that it implores like individualism and acquisition. However, the basket-case must be made to look like a princess to achieve romance, and from a post-feminist perspective, “Claire’s feminism is ‘taken into account,’ only to demonstrate its totalizing force: ... all… march to the beat of her drum.”

Bleacher’s assertion that everyone marches to Claire’s beat brings me to my last point, an alternative idea of mine that I mentioned early, and more of a question for blog discussion than a thought-out commentary on what I’ve previously discussed. Did anyone else find Bender to lead the beat of this “march” through the entire film? He is harsh, he is sardonic, and at times supposedly apathetic, but I also found him to have a penchant for mentorship. Instead of a criminal, he plays more of a brotherly, perhaps even fatherly role, training these other detention inmates to see through his own “lower-class” perspective, and consequently see that being “upper class” isn’t the end goal of everything. This would have large ramifications for Bleacher’s essay: instead of him ascending to Molly’s ranks, the romantic kiss they share at the end is a token of his own success, having brought her down to his level to witness the fruitlessness of her consumerism. That said, this is still highly individualistic -- just at the other end of the spectrum.

Eagerly Accommodating Susan

Coming into Desperately Seeking Susan right off of Purple Rain, I, like a few others who have not seen Desperately Seeking Susan, had expected the film to be Madonna’s take on the Artist’s journey (shaped after her own life and complete with her own concert scenes) in the same manner as Prince’s film. I was delighted to find that I was wrong. This movie was funny, conventional, and entertaining in a way that was free of guilty pleasure.

An argument could be made that Desperately Seeking Susan does provide Madonna’s representation of the Artist archetype, but the film isn’t really interested in developing that narrative. She is not out to hone her craft (though perhaps she has just mastered it) nor is she looking to resolve any creative issues, and her closest proximity to the Artist’s character arc is only her tendency to trailblaze new styles. Jane Miller’s article “Madonna” offers a more accurate archetypal description of the pop star as the Black Madonna. I found this article to be a bit disjointed (a very solid analysis but not exactly cohesive as it seemed to condense a few too many things with insufficient connection) but the article did raise several interesting observations, chief among them the role of archetypes and the creative playground that they foster for the viewer. Miller elaborates, quoting Henri Matisse, that the Black Madonna gives "an enclosed area of very reduced proportions ... solely by the play of colors and lines, the dimensions of infinity." Miller asserts that Madonna, faithful to her namesake, maintains this definition of the Black Madonna archetype and then she connects its function to certain qualities of poetry. Miller describes certain poetry as being highly interpretive for each individual but typically having an emotional direction that is nearly universal. In this way Madonna's persona can can be interpreted by individuals differently, but she is simultaneously forwarding a universal cause, in this case the tenets of third-wave feminism. Miller argues, “Eventually, subliminally, the culture, I believe, feels the effects of these poetic goings-on: a logo, or sign, for example, which the audience slips behind or sees through to get to another layer or message.”

Though I agree with the parallels that Miller draws between poetry and the power of Madonna's dark femininity, and while I know that religious signifiers are imperative to Madonna’s subversive routine, I disagree with Miller's decision to pursue her description of Madonna with a detailed, rather religious, background of the Black Madonna and the statue “visited by thousands of pilgrims.” I don’t think that religious reverence towards the pop star is inaccurate because many do idolize her, I just find it too emblematic and harmful towards Madonna’s intentions. Yes, in reality, Madonna fills the role of the mother figure, or the caretaker, or the religious endower of exploratory opportunities, but I think her intentions are more in line with her role as Susan in Desperately Seeking Susan. The film is interested in grounding such a lofty icon to an average person’s playing field. Madonna, especially as a secondary character in the movie, is not a figure for the viewer to model themselves afterwards or to religiously follow but an excerpt of a way of life in which the viewer may choose to join and coexist -- more sisterly than motherly.

The film also answers Miller's one qualm and qualification about poetic justice, that often its "irony [is] used to excuse life rather than reveal it.” This I think is where the film picks up the heavy-lifting. Madonna herself may not be able to reveal third-wave feminism entirely because she is such an icon that her popularity will just excuse it.  The viewer’s revelation needs to come from consensus and open-appreciation. Enter: Desperately Seeking Susan, the vehicle for third-wave feminism. As I previously mentioned, Madonna plays a role that is more subdued than her typical performance. Her style remains the same, but she is relegated to being a second-string character, instead serving as more of a tool for the character Roberta to convert and develop into a woman enjoying her freedoms associated with third-wave feminism -- like materialism or freedoms of sexuality. Since the film displays such an icon among the mundane, or perhaps since "Susan's" style is made to appear as the more alluring and more necessary behavior, there is the sense that Madonna's behavior is perfectly fine as the norm.

This is made all the more apparent by the men's positive reception to the appearance and behavior that Susan demonstrates in the film. Jim desperately seeks it across the nation and is well accustomed to Madonna's feminism. Dez never bats an eye at Roberta's replication of Susan, and he's glad to be gone with his ex-girlfriend who looks masculine in a second-wave feminist manner. Gary, as a conservative stereotype in a ready position to combat any change to the traditional housewife, hardly fights Roberta's transformation; in fact, he (short-sightedly) seems bored with Roberta's adherence to tradition, he is intrigued and subservient to Susan's attitude, and he is already engaged in an affair -- he, and thus even the conservative types (for argument's sake, the supposed average), is ready for change. Actually, affairs in general are treated with nonchalance and little consequence within this movie, providing further evidence that the "average" and the "norm" should have fewer issues with sexual freedom on all fronts.

Overall, this film spends very little time on presenting two conflicting views which might offer choice for the viewer. It travels a potentially more effective route by taking Madonna's style for granted, or for necessity.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Revolution!

And so, with a mere introduction from Purple Rain, the revolution of product licensing began.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t begin with Purple Rain as it was probably a pretty common business procedure by the time of the film’s release, but the film definitely epitomized the full potential of synergetic partnerships that so many other pairings of film and album have since sought --and usually failed -- to replicate. As R. Serge Denisoff and George Plasketes detail in their article, “Synergy in 1980s Films and Music,” synergy is more a myth too stubborn to die than a formula for success with its seemingly lottery-like qualities. They assert that “the multitude of failures had been overshadowed by synergy successes in the corporate consciousness such as Top Gun and Dirty Dancing” and a number of other films that they support with an exhaustive list of synergies that succeeded and of others that crumbled.

Even thirty years after Purple Rain, licensed products are still as common when big films are released. Soundtracks and video games and companion-novels and t-shirts and toys and too many other products to list are things that we know all too well in a world of consumerism, predicated by successful spin-offs like Purple Rain (which is essentially a spin-off as it came out a month or more afterwards and the album was undoubtedly the partnership’s greater agenda). Then again, perhaps Purple Rain isn’t the best example to compare to today’s brand licensing, as the dominance of music in this process is something that is intrinsic to the “eighties.” Soundtracks today seem like more of an afterthought. With the exception of an occasional Bond flick, we hardly have any movies with catchy themes songs any longer (what’s up with that anyway?). But I’m getting off track.

I guess what I’m trying to say here, or at least tangentially work my way toward (there, I did it again), is that there is a collaborative objective to Purple Rain (film/album) other than its synergetic business goal. Denisoff and Plasketes make it clear that there is no knowing if a partnership is going to be successful, and they imply that synergy is a foolish practice if you can’t afford to bank your resources on a risky venture. So what makes a film like Purple Rain actually succeed? I have no idea. Smarter business-minds than I, have tried and failed to figure it out. But I think it has something to do with a unanimous effort between the two mediums towards a purpose that is not money-related. The film and the music must appease two very different audiences, or at least extrapolate the preferences of one audience on to their less favorable medium. By this I mean that Purple Rain captures the sensations experienced at a live concert, perhaps euphoria, and transcribes it onto a feature film so that both products make a unified, aesthetically hedonistic experience.

I probably just defined music videos, so let me point out that Purple Rain seems unique in that it anthropomorphizes emotion. Prince, and his many sexualized scenes and movements, do not merely appear erotic, they seem to be eroticism incarnate. Similarly, the atmosphere of the film is very sensory. It is sticky and intangible and incomprehensible. These are sensations that are stirred and experienced in real concerts, and so the concert scenes are prolonged so that they feel familiar. The other parts of this film, the “plot” scenes, are quite melodramatic as they are representations of emotion in its purest element too. We get humor and frustration and eroticism and sadness, and they are experienced, not discerned. These scenes could just as easily have had their sound and words revoked while Prince’s music played over their visualization (like a music video), and we still would have anticipated the same emotions. That’s why Prince’s irrational switches from sexual tenderness to misogyny is present in the film: not because he’s here to promote or condemn his actions but because emotions are murky experiences with no clear explanation.

Because this representation of emotion seems like an intended goal of the film, I tend to disagree with Purple Rain exemplifying postmodernity because I think that it blends other elements of traditional intent. It is obviously postmodern in some manners as the observation that I made in the last paragraph was aesthetically focused, and as we discussed at length with Blade Runner, that is a famous quality of postmodernity. Additionally, it’s historical background is postmodern in many ways. The film can hardly be scrutinized formally as it partnered with an album to tell it story, and it does portray a character that blurs The Kid and Prince, and viewers are never not aware of these connection. The fact that two different mediums are working together to tell one story -- the fact that they’re “synergizing” -- is, in and of itself, conceptually postmodern.

But I don’t think the movie is as deliberately artificial as some make it out to be; and I don’t find it to be contrarian with passionate and emotional, technically-sound music (attributes that are applied to non-postmodern music). Purple Rain also has the sincerity that videos like “Video Killed the Radio Star” lack. As for its technicality, just look at the scene in which Prince finds his father’s music -- technical, quantifiable music -- and melds it into his own work. If the movie had been interested in showing that all produced music was just spontaneous sparks of inspiration it would have just ended the matter with the line from The Kid’s father when his son asks him where his piano piece had originated from (something like “It’s all up here” as he points to his head or heart). But that isn’t the case. Sheets of music spill from a knocked shelf when The Kid wrecks the basement in a frustrated flurry and that is narrative assertion that seems relatively traditional.

Okay, so my argument still sounds like its detailing postmodernity and I’m just contradicting myself because my description of the movie’s postmodern elements outweigh the ones that I countered with. Perhaps the frequent Devil’s Advocate in me is just trying to be adversarial because, let’s face it, this movie is too aesthetically focused to be anything but postmodern. I suppose what I’m trying to say, then, is that this movie/album is a different form of postmodernity than we have discussed. And really, its rather crude of me to confine postmodernity to one definition anyway; the condition prides itself on not being clear-cut in the first place. Purple Rain just doesn’t have the ostensible aimlessness or the irony that many other postmodern pieces that I’ve examined have had. The construction and presentation of the film are postmodern, but its purposefulness seems rather traditional.

While the film and the album surely teamed up and synergized for financial gain -- and because brand licensing leads to cool, androgynous Prince action figures -- I think that it is the extra degree of intended passion and sensory objective that unified the two mediums to make this project so much more successful than others.