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Maybe I just chickened out.īut I kept thinking about that scene. She expressed no curiosity in anything sexual, so I decided to follow her lead, and discuss what seemed to resonate with her more. We kept watching, and, despite my best intentions to give context to the uncomfortable bits, I didn’t elaborate on what might have gone on under the table. I was quick to point out to my daughter that the person in the underwear wasn’t really me, though that clarification seemed inconsequential. While there, he takes the opportunity to peek under Claire’s skirt and, though the audience doesn’t see, it is implied that he touches her inappropriately. 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. My friend was right: my daughter didn’t really seem to register most of the sex stuff, though she did audibly gasp when she thought I had showed my underwear. It’s stranger still-surreal, even-watching it with your child when she is much closer in age to that version of yourself than you are. It’s a strange experience, watching a younger, more innocent version of yourself onscreen. So I relented, thinking perhaps that it would make for a sweet if unconventional mother-daughter bonding moment. A writer-director friend assured me that kids tend to filter out what they don’t understand, and I figured that it would be better if I were there to answer the uncomfortable questions. But my daughter insisted that her friends had already seen it, and she said she didn’t want to watch it for the first time in front of other people. We recorded a conversation about it for the radio show “This American Life.” I’ll be the first to admit that ten is far too young for a viewing of “The Breakfast Club,” a movie about five high-school students who befriend one other during a Saturday detention session, with plenty of cursing, sex talk, and a now-famous scene of the students smoking pot. I don’t make a habit of revisiting films I’ve made, but this was not the first time I’d returned to this one: a few years back, I watched it with my daughter, who was ten at the time.
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For this edition, I participated in an interview about the movie, as did other people close to the production. Photograph from Universal Pictures / EverettĮarlier this year, the Criterion Collection, which is “dedicated to gathering the greatest films from around the world,” released a restored version of “ The Breakfast Club,” a film written and directed by John Hughes that I acted in, more than three decades ago. It’s hard for me to understand how John Hughes (in glasses) was able to write with so much sensitivity, and also have such a glaring blind spot.