Because
we seem to live in a society where everything that we once loved must now have
some kind of toxic problem, the films of John Hughes are being viewed with a
more critical eye these days. Because
they have yet to find any sign that Hughes was anything but a gentleman to any
of the actors and people he worked with when he was making his iconic movies,
the world has gone to the second line of attack: that the movies he made in the
1980s didn’t meet the standards of this very moment when it comes to sexuality
and racism.
To
be clear, no work of art from the past is designed this way: there are works of
movies and TV of the last few years that people are turning on with a critical
eye simply because the Overton Window of what is acceptable by any single
aspect of society changes every five minutes. With Hughes, as opposed to
Rowling, one does so because of the art rather than the artist. The fact that
the artist has been dead for more than a decade and can not defend these
charges is easier for certain circles; the fact that he was a white male easier
still.
But
it does not change the fact that Hughes in a very few films over a very short
period of time, clearly had his finger on the Zeitgeist of the youth in the
1980s and 1990s. That they might seem
cliched now does not change the fact how ground breaking they were at the time
to the previous generation, or that he did not realize certain universal
themes, particularly when it comes to high school.
Much
has been written and no doubt remains to be written about Ferris Bueller’s
Day Off, the landmark comedy which launched Matthew Broderick to the
superstardom he has yet to leave. What I
want to discuss in relation to education, however, are two smaller scenes that
don’t involve Broderick at all but speak volumes to the high school experience
then and now.
One
of the most iconic scenes in film history is the one where Ben Stein, Bueller
high school economics professor, is teaching a class and droning on about
economic theories that would be over the heads of an advanced post-grad
class. The camera constantly shows the
glazed over eyes of the students and Stein occasionally pausing his lecture for
questions going: “Anyone? Anyone?”
Stein
was, for those who might only know him as a TV personality, was an economist
before he went into Hollywood. Hughes cast Stein, not just because of his
ability to do a monotone but because of his depth of knowledge. Stein has the
appearance of the worst kind of teacher we’ve all had at some point in our
educational career. He’s the kind of teacher where his classes are entirely
lectures of subjects we can’t comprehend and are hoping his eye never stops on
us.
What’s
equally universe is the absolute silence during this lecture. Now to be clear,
Hughes could have just as easily set this in any other kind of class: English
literature, calculus, American history. In a sense, it does matter because the
student’s attitude is a universal one in any school classroom before
college. I speak from experience. No
matter what class you’re taking, no matter what grade you’re in, no one wants
to raise their hand and answer a question. Because in any school, no response
is the right one, even the correct one. Say the wrong answer, you look like an idiot
in front of your peers and the teacher. Say the right answer, your teacher may
praise you but you will be labeled a nerd or know at all at best. And your teacher might humiliate you if you’re
wrong or just as likely unintentionally.
The
whole reason that we see this particular class in the movie is to give sympathy
to Ferris. Why on earth would anyone want to go to class if this is what they
had to look forward to every day? That is why we spent so long rooting for
Ferris, even though its clear watching the movie, that he’s something close to
a sociopath. Because no student wants to
be at school if they have the choice. This brings me to the second point in a
scene that is almost never talked about in the film.
Early
in the film Mr. Mooney (Jeffrey Jones) calls Mrs. Bueller to inform her that
her son has been skipping school. He tells her that he has been absent nine
times. This comes as a complete shock to
Mrs. Bueller.
Let’s
deconstruct what that means. Ferris has clearly not faked illness that often;
even his clearly moronic parents would have caught on had he done this on nine
previous occasions. This means that on
several other occasions Ferris left his house saying he was going to school and
simply never showed up.
Now
one could dismiss this as the simple blindness of the Bueller parents to their
favorite child. I would like to think, however, that Hughes is speaking to a
universal theme about parenting that no parent will ever admit. We don’t know
why Ferris the favored child in the Bueller household. Perhaps its because he
is a good student (though I’m inclined to think he is crafty rather than
smart). More directly implied is that he does not get into trouble. The
translation is clear compared to his sister: his parents don’t have to
interrupt their jobs to deal with him.
And for decades, that has been the extent of
so much parenting when it comes to their children from the moment they drop
them at kindergarten until the date they graduate high school. I don’t know if
Hughes was being this subtle in his messaging when he wrote Ferris Bueller, but
he was well tapped into the mind of the average teenager. And what he knew very
well was that during the 1980s and probably until today, the average parent’s
philosophy towards their child’s educational experience as: ‘out of sight, out
of mind.”
Think
about it: if you’ve been forced to stay after school because of a disciplinary
problem and your parents are called in, they are always irritated. How much of
irritation is out of concern for their child and how much is it because their
own routines have been disrupted?
Ferris is apparently a good enough student that his teachers don’t need
to call them in for conferences (or perhaps he’s using his computer to adjust
his grades) and he’s a slacker, but not a disrupter. This has always been a
universal theme for so many school experiences: the loudest voices get dealt
with and the ones who just fail quietly or don’t bother to show up are lesser problems
if they are considered such at all.
Everything
that involves Mooney in the movie is due to the fact that Ferris has decided to
deliberately flaunt his authority. If Matthew Broderick had just called Mia
Sara and Alan Ruck the night before and convinced them to play hooky, Mooney
would have ignored the whole thing. Perhaps he would have placed calls to
everyone’s parents the next day but he would just as likely gone about his business. No Ferris decides to humiliate
him very publicly in front of his school and his secretary and make him seem
like a stuffed shirt rather than a humble civil servant.
Now
when I watched this first at the age of fourteen, it was clear Ferris Bueller
was something of a monster. On his day off, he has helped wreck his best
friend’s father’s car and probably done damage to his relationship with his
father. There is a very good chance he
has done a lot to wreck his mother and father’s career for the considerable
future. And lord know what happens to Mooney the next day: he’s clearly been
humiliated in front of the student body; for all we know, he gets fired. And Ferris will likely not suffer a single
consequence for his actions and for all we know do something very similar in a
week. He shows no sign of remorse for what he has done at any point; he is
completely and utterly selfish.
But
the reason for the universal appeal of the movie has nothing to do with that.
Ferris tells us early in the movie that ‘Life moves pretty fast.” That’s
particularly true when you’re a teenager.
And look at what Ferris has to face in his normal day. Stultifying
lectures from his professors. A principal who clearly has made him his mortal
enemy. Probably no respect from most of
his fellow students given his attitude, they probably think he’s a prick. Going
to high school – or any school at all – might be life. But it’s hard to argue that
you’re truly living it. (I’ll define what I mean in a future article.)
That’s
why we approve of Ferris. He mocks every aspect of the adult pretention of life
which is, in a sense, just high school in a different form. He and friends get
to watch the Cubs at Wrigley Field. They have lunch at a fancy restaurant.
Ferris gets to sing ‘Twist and Shout’ to a roaring crowd of people. What
possible part of the educational experience can match that? Even if Bueller had
gotten caught by Mooney and punished by his parents, the average viewer would
have said it was totally worth it.
And
as much as the parents are clueless at the end of the film – even though there
are clearly signs that what’s happening – their obliviousness is also a
universal experience, certainly at the time. When your parents ask you: “How was school
today?” they rarely want to know the truth is. They certainly don’t want to
know the details of the lecture you couldn’t comprehend the next day. They are
not looking so much for information but confirmation: you went to school, you
gathered knowledge, you’re here now. As long as their world and yours did not
collide, they could not give a damn about what actually happened.
That
is the fundamental truth about education that Hughes came close to approaching
if he did not say out loud in Ferris Bueller: school is not so much for
the children, but the adults. In the next article, I’m going to detail how
Covid revealed this in all its ugly glory – for everybody.
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