RIP John Hughes
I remember the first time I watched Ferris Bueller and the second and the third and so on and so on. I remember liking Mia Sara's jacket and Cameron Fry's delivery. I remember going to the Art Institue of Chicago, years later, and feeling excited because it had been in that film. I will always think of Ferris when I hear Twist and Shout. One of my best friends named her second born child Ferris and I always thought that was very cool. And the Breakfast Club. 'Answer the question, Clare.' I wanted to dance like Molly Ringwald long before I realised she wasn't actually a very cool dancer. I modelled my look on Ally Sheedy (a character actually called Alison - double wow) And the lifelong crush that was born when I saw Eric Stolz in Some Kind of Wonderful. 'Then I'm 18, then I'm 19, when does my life belong to me?'
I feel stupid being so sad today. I feel beyond blue. I am sad that he died, but when I get right down to it, selfishly I think I am sad that I am no longer a teenager, that my heart is no longer open enough, or naive enough, to believe that a filmmaker is speaking directly to me. Because that's how it felt with John.