apart from anthony michael hall’s embarrassing lengthy impression of a black guy, this movie still holds most of its original charm. kelly lebrock somehow doesnt seem nearly as hot as i remembered, but i love the wackiness that ensues whenever the theme song plays. also, why cant current pg-13 movies have kids say shit all the time? also, tits.
seriously though, probably john hughes’ silliest outing, certainly does not hint of the genius of ferris bueller or hold up to the sublimity of sixteen candles. the breakfast club? meh. i never really got it.