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In the interview, I asked him if he thought teen-agers were looked at differently than when he was that age. Jesus X my tools. Mia stripped Bikini. Advertisement - Molly ringwald panty Reading Below. On the other hand, she was basically traded for a pair of underwear. The actors cast in teen roles tended to be much older than their characters—they Molly ringwald panty to be, since the films were so frequently exploitative. Sign up for Entertainment Insider by AOL to get the hottest pop culture news delivered straight to your inbox! Your name or email address: Do you already have an account? What to Read Next.
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Three decades removed from the experience of making The Breakfast ClubRingwald even finds its crowd-pleasing romance between John and Claire difficult to root for now. Forgot your username or password? View photos. I remember seeing this years ago, taped it on VHS and Molly ringwald panty that bit over and over! Yahoo TV. Chat with x Hamster Live girls now! Skin Podcast Mr. She also smoked in a topless girl-on-top boff with her remarkably mature chest pillows tossing in the breeze. Toggle navigation. What to Read Next. Jennifer Aniston Friends Nips 3She's so cool, in fact, she reminds us of another Domination female mistress parental figure who Molly ringwald panty in "Pretty in Pink": The punker-turned-yacht rocker Iona, played by Annie Potts.
Writing in the New Yorker , the actor who was 16 when she starred in the high school drama in , describes rewatching the film with her daughter and reflecting on some of the scenes in the age of MeToo.
- There is no shame in sitting through sentimental teen fodder such as Sixteen Candles , Pretty in Pink , or The Breakfast Club
- The scene ended up being shot by an older actress because Ringwald at 16 was still a minor.
While his films are still regarded as the gold standard for teen movies in terms of how they balance comedy, drama, and character complexity, as the decades have passed, not everything about them has aged well.
Coming out of the National Lampoon school of comedy, there was still a residue of crassness that clung, no matter how much I protested. John squirmed uncomfortably. Ringwald and her mother apparently had less success persuading Hughes to abandon an underwear-based scene for The Breakfast Club.
That scene stayed, though. Three decades removed from the experience of making The Breakfast Club , Ringwald even finds its crowd-pleasing romance between John and Claire difficult to root for now. As she writes:. Claire acts dismissively toward him, and, in a pivotal scene near the end, she predicts that at school on Monday morning, even though the group has bonded, things will return, socially, to the status quo.
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Please Sign In Username or e-mail address. Kate Winslet Panty Flashing , What to Read Next. Show Comments. Claire acts dismissively toward him, and, in a pivotal scene near the end, she predicts that at school on Monday morning, even though the group has bonded, things will return, socially, to the status quo.
Molly ringwald panty. 15 Times 'Spider-Man: Homecoming' Mimicked John Hughes Movies (Photos)
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For this edition, I participated in an interview about the movie, as did other people close to the production. So I relented, thinking perhaps that it would make for a sweet if unconventional mother-daughter bonding moment. At one point in the film, the bad-boy character, John Bender, ducks under the table where my character, Claire, is sitting, to hide from a teacher. Maybe I just chickened out. But I kept thinking about that scene.
I thought about it again this past fall, after a number of women came forward with sexual-assault accusations against the producer Harvey Weinstein , and the MeToo movement gathered steam. If attitudes toward female subjugation are systemic, and I believe that they are, it stands to reason that the art we consume and sanction plays some part in reinforcing those same attitudes. I made three movies with John Hughes; when they were released, they made enough of a cultural impact to land me on the cover of Time magazine and to get Hughes hailed as a genius.
His critical reputation has only grown since he died, in , at the age of fifty-nine. There is still so much that I love in them, but lately I have felt the need to examine the role that these movies have played in our cultural life: where they came from, and what they might mean now.
It can be hard to remember how scarce art for and about teen-agers was before John Hughes arrived. Young-adult novels had not yet exploded as a genre.
All the teens I knew would rather have died than watch one. The films had the whiff of sanctimony, the dialogue was obviously written by adults, the music was corny. Portrayals of teen-agers in movies were even worse.
The actors cast in teen roles tended to be much older than their characters—they had to be, since the films were so frequently exploitative. And then Hughes came along. Hughes, who grew up in Michigan and Illinois, got work, after dropping out of college, writing ad copy in Chicago. The job brought him frequently to New York, where he started hanging around the offices of the humor magazine National Lampoon.
He told me later that, over a July 4th weekend, while looking at headshots of actors to consider for the movie, he found mine, and decided to write another movie around the character he imagined that girl to be. No one in Hollywood was writing about the minutiae of high school, and certainly not from a female point of view. According to one study, since the late nineteen-forties, in the top-grossing family movies, girl characters have been outnumbered by boys three to one—and that ratio has not improved.
I had what could be called a symbiotic relationship with John during the first two of those films. Coming out of the National Lampoon school of comedy, there was still a residue of crassness that clung, no matter how much I protested. Later in the film, after Samantha agrees to help the Geek by loaning her underwear to him, she has a heartwarming scene with her father.
John squirmed uncomfortably. That scene stayed, though. Claire acts dismissively toward him, and, in a pivotal scene near the end, she predicts that at school on Monday morning, even though the group has bonded, things will return, socially, to the status quo. He never apologizes for any of it, but, nevertheless, he gets the girl in the end.
Thinking about that scene, I became curious how the actress who played Caroline, Haviland Morris, felt about the character she portrayed. So I sent her an e-mail. We met for coffee, and after we had filled each other in on all the intervening years, I asked her about it. Haviland, I was surprised to learn, does not have the same issues with the scene as I do. In her mind, Caroline bears some responsibility for what happens, because of how drunk she gets at the party.
I shared the story with Haviland, and she listened politely, nodding. Haviland, like me, has children, and so I decided to frame the question hypothetically, mother to mother, to see if it changed her point of view. Absolutely, positively, it stays in your pants until invited by someone who is willing and consensually able to invite you to remove it.
After our coffee, I responded to an e-mail from Haviland to thank her for agreeing to talk to me. Later that night, I received another note. On the other hand, she was basically traded for a pair of underwear. Ah, John Hughes. Looking for insight into that darkness, I decided to read some of his early writing for National Lampoon. I bought an old issue of the magazine on eBay, and found the other stories, all from the late seventies and early eighties, online.
They contain many of the same themes he explored in his films, but with none of the humanity. Yes, it was a different time, as people say. Still, I was taken aback by the scope of the ugliness.
The latter story ends with him having to use the money he saved for new skis on getting an abortion. When I knew him, he never expressed an interest in doing drugs of any kind, including alcohol—with the exception of cigarettes, which he smoked constantly.
Films that I am proud of in so many ways. Films that, like his earlier writing, though to a much lesser extent, could also be considered racist, misogynistic, and, at times, homophobic. Leaving a party not long ago, I was stopped by Emil Wilbekin, a gay, African-American friend of a friend, who wanted to tell me just that. A week or so after the party, I asked my friend to put me in touch with him.
In an e-mail, Wilbekin, a journalist who created an organization called Native Son, devoted to empowering gay black men, expanded upon what he had said to me as I had left the party.
And yet embracing them entirely feels hypocritical. And yet, and yet. How are we meant to feel about art that we both love and oppose? What if we are in the unusual position of having helped create it?
Erasing history is a dangerous road when it comes to art—change is essential, but so, too, is remembering the past, in all of its transgression and barbarism, so that we may properly gauge how far we have come, and also how far we still need to go.
While researching this piece, I came across an article that was published in Seventeen magazine, in , for which I interviewed John. It was the only time I did so. I pointed out that he had already done a lot of movies about suburbia, and asked him whether he felt that he should move on as his idols had.
Hughes refused, and the film was never made, though there could have been other circumstances I was not aware of. In the interview, I asked him if he thought teen-agers were looked at differently than when he was that age. We were able to initiate change, because we had such vast numbers. We were part of the Baby Boom, and when we moved, everything moved with us.
John wanted people to take teens seriously, and people did. The films are still taught in schools because good teachers want their students to know that what they feel and say is important; that if they talk, adults and peers will listen. The conversations about them will change, and they should. From the United States to Iran, students led social movements that are changing the course of history.