The 80s to a 2000s Girl
/I was sitting at dinner recently and I made a comment about how I spent my teen years, ages 13-18, in my bedroom avoiding people and watching movies. One of the people at this dinner said, “That explains so much.” Now, I know what he meant by it and I know he said “jokingly”. You know those people who laugh at the end of an insulting sentence to make it seem like it was a joke? I’m sure you’ve met a couple of those in your life.
He meant it because I’m not one for sharing my emotions and I’m not a very social person. Keep in mind, this guy only knows me in one context and has absolutely no idea what I’m like in my personal life. And yet, I took his words and internalized them as I often do when someone makes a flip remark geared towards me.
As a teenager, I never felt quite right anywhere. I was out of place at my Catholic all girls high school where they were talking about going drinking in the woods, clothes, the mall, and the guys they were hooking up with. My neighborhood friends, who I’ve known since I was 7 years old, were always there for me but I still felt out of place because they all seemed cooler, smarter, and more mature than I was at the time. Hindsight, of course, is 20/20 and the truth is no one had any idea what the hell they were doing in their teen years and everyone was too terrified to mention it.
So, I went to my room. Where I escaped to my movies and books. I’m pretty sure the first time I saw The Breakfast Club was on TBS where the word “Flip” was used to cover up the cursing and basically made the movie unwatchable. Regardless, I was hooked. I started watching every 80s movie I could get my hands on and continued to watch them over and over. Especially John Hughes’ movies. Then someone mentioned the term “Brat Pack” and I started researching all of the actors who fell into this category and began watching their films.
I was in love. With the scripts, the actors, the soundtracks, all of it. Friendly reminder, this was around 2004-2006. I should’ve been fawning over Leonardo DiCaprio and Orlando Bloom (and I was sometimes) but my heart belonged to Andrew McCarthy, Judd Nelson, Rob Lowe, and Emilio Estevez. St. Elmo’s Fire was the greatest movie I had ever seen (much to the horror of my movie buff father).
I felt a special connection with the character of Kevin in St. Elmo’s Fire, played wonderfully by Andrew McCarthy. He wanted to be a writer, he was sarcastic and cynical, he gave off this air of not caring when he cared more deeply than anyone else. As a child, I thought being an actor was a great career choice and genuinely wanted it but my crippling fear of being in front of other people put an end to that real quick. Instead, I found where I was comfortable, behind a keyboard. Writing and pouring every emotion I have into words I could never quite bring myself to say.
I don’t remember the exact circumstances but a friend of mine, Ben, when we were in college met Andrew McCarthy and asked him for his autograph to give to me. It’s still one of my most prized possessions and something I hold on to, to remember how the Brat Pack were my best friends for a long period of my life. When I heard he was writing a book, I immediately pre-ordered it (a signed copy obviously).
Today I read Andrew McCarthy’s book, brat: an 80s story. And once again, I felt this connection to a person I never met. In the first chapter he writes about his previous book, “More specifically still, it became a book about how I would come to terms with two very disparate notions that resided firmly inside me—namely, a strong yearning for solitude and an equally strong yet seemingly incompatible desire for a deep and intimate loving connection with another human being.” Sure Andrew, just pull out one of the deepest secrets I keep close to my chest and write it for the whole world! It’s quite possibly the hardest aspect of life I struggle with and I have to fight against my instinct to hide away every single day. It was nice hearing I wasn’t the only one.
Throughout the book he talks about fame and his struggles with insecurity and addiction during the 80s. I was born on the tail end of ’89 and yet I still classify the 80s as my favorite decade for film which is why I devour any books from actors who worked during that time. Andrew wanted to be known for his work, he wanted to be great at his job, but all the fame and attention accompanying it was difficult to deal with. I relate to this on such a deep level. If anyone throws a compliment my way, I feel pride but then instantly look at the ground and wish for it to swallow me whole so people won’t look at me.
It’s difficult to want to be known for something yet be terrified of the praise and feel the need to self-sabotage instead. I think it’s something a lot of people struggle with but once again, not something being spoken about on a regular basis.
I have every line of Andrew’s from St. Elmo’s Fire memorized. This is my favorite one, “Love. You know what love is? Love is an illusion created by lawyer types like yourself to perpetuate another illusion called marriage to create the reality of divorce and then the illusionary need for divorce lawyers.” I’ll admit being exposed to this type of cynicism when I was 15 years old didn’t exactly help my social skills. It’s still a damn good line.
It’s interesting reading how actors feel about their films. I’ve known for years the ending to Pretty in Pink was not the original ending. As I said, I’m a super 80s movie fan and I knew the original script has Duckie and Andie together. Andrew talks about reading the script for the first time on his way to film it and having an immediate adverse reaction to the ending. Luckily, the test audience felt the same way and they had to reshoot it (thank god for the fans).
It was interesting to learn John Hughes wanted Andrew for Some Kind of Wonderful which is my second favorite John Hughes movie. Andrew was smart enough not to take it since he’s right in saying it’s basically Pretty in Pink with the genders reversed. I think I love it so much because Mary Stuart Masterson was my hero tomboy figure from the 80s, when I was growing up in the 2000s and the girls on TV were getting skinnier and skinnier and harder and harder to live up to.
Reading Andrew’s book brought back the nostalgia of my teens. He explains this perfectly when he writes, “And it’s not just the work: maybe now, more importantly, it is the memory of the work that’s so valuable to people. Because in the memory of those movies exists a touchstone of youth, of when life was all ahead, when the future was a blank slate, when anything was possible.”
Yes, I spent a good deal of my teen years in my room watching movies made twenty years previously and some people might say it made me anti-social. Or say I should have been out being a “real teenager”, whatever the hell that means. But in my room, with those movies, with those scripts, with those deep feelings of being seen for the first time, that’s when I realized my words could make an impact. My words mattered. My feelings mattered.
The “Brat Pack” was originally a derogatory term thrown at a bunch of young actors to make them seem like spoiled jerks. To me, in the early 2000s, they were the people I relied on when nothing else seemed to make sense. For that, I am eternally grateful to Andrew McCarthy, John Hughes, and all the other members of 80s cinema who made me feel important.
