“How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?”
By way of preview to some and reminder to others, our summer break films (and their Pitches) will be less erudite and serious than the ones during the school year. (For more details, check out our most recent post.)
With those parameters in mind, when I thought of films to begin our summer Film Lit Pitches, it just had to be Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
That the film’s primary appeal centers on its relatability seems like very low-hanging analytical fruit. We’ve all—for sure—daydreamed about what an ideal ditch day would look and sound and feel like. And as is the case for nearly all John Hughes films, it’s funny and full of heart.
“If anybody needs a day off, it’s Cameron.”
What gives the film true staying power and heart, though, is Cameron’s arc. As my revered colleague Justin Brown has pointed out, the film is certainly open to a reading parallel to the one we discussed in the A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood Pitch: if Fred Rogers can be an antagonist to Lloyd Vogel, then Ferris Bueller can be an antagonist to Cameron Frye.
The parallel breaks down eventually, once we realize that Ferris is not nearly as “evolved” as Fred Rogers is. But the point remains that Ferris shows no significant growth, and certainly serves as a vehicle to Cameron’s. In that light (and parallel to another film to be pitched sooner rather than later, The Shawshank Redemption) this film, at bottom, is Cameron’s story.
We get a sense early on that his family life is replete with sincere struggles. Ferris’ cavalier explanations, museum analogies, and diamond creation riffs do not diminish that our guy Cameron carries a lot of pain with him. He wears the effects of his family trauma on his sweater sleeve. (Sidebar: former students will confirm that unundertstood sports references are a hallmark of my teaching. With regards to that last sentence, to them, I say: still got it.)
And so, if we grant that there is some middle ground between Ferris’ selfish intentions and his stated ones—that is, if we believe that it’s the case neither that Ferris cares nothing about Cameron’s problems nor that he cares only about Cameron’s problems—then there are some interesting “attack or defend” moments that could inspire some intriguing discussions.
(While I’m here, and not to sound too much like a school administration apologist, here: this time around, I have to say, I had newfound sympathy for poor Mr. Rooney. He’s a flawed man, sure; and yet, as someone who struggles every year to maintain the attendance and attention of Seniors in May, I can see a defensible logic in wanting to make an example of Ferris.)
“I gotta take a stand. I put up with everything. mY old man pushes me around. I never say anything.”
The “You killed the car” scene is flat-out wonderful, and perhaps the best evidence in the film of just how good John Hughes is at his craft. On a structural level, I love how the car’s stakes start high and gradually escalate: Cameron is first aghast at the very idea of taking it out; then petrified at the possibility that it might incur damage at the parking garage; then apoplectic at the mileage reveal; then empowered by the dents he causes. At that moment—though the audience knows there’s one more ferrari shoe to drop—he’s been to the brink, and come back. He has unloaded all his rage and emerged ready to confront his father.
At that point, Cameron has done the worst thing he can imagine, taken as direct a shot at his father as he thinks possible. Ferris and Sloane watch in horror and awe. And then, it gets many more steps worse. His refusal to back down in light of the new stakes demonstrates that his growth is endearingly real.
Haters will say that the music to end the scene is cheesy. And they’re not wrong. And I don’t care.
Alan Ruck is amazing in the film generally and that scene especially. His ability to convey genuine teenage angst makes the scene that makes the move timelessly worthwhile work.
“It’s a little childish and stupid, but then so is high school.”
Of course, the movie works on so many other levels as well. It’s a beautiful love song to Chicago. It’s a romance that is more complicated than it might appear at first. It’s a story of sibling rivalry. It’s a teen revenge fantasy that sets the standard for hijinks that by turns are fun to watch and usually come close to respecting our suspensions of disbelief.
(I feel like a hater for mentioning this point, because everyone loves the parade scene, and the “Twist and Shout” segment is fun as hell. But, I mean, that’s the one con that I can’t talk myself into buying. Having said that, I think the point, especially by that point in the movie, is that no one’s really questioning much, anyway.)
I have to say, too: until you’ve taught, you have no idea how painfully funny and relatable the scenes in the high school classrooms are.
“You’re still here?”
I’ll close by saying that this was the last movie we watched in the spring semester of Film Lit 2023. (We had finished our course work the week before.) And, I’m excited to say: I timed the ending just right. So, we see the perfectly executed scene of Mr. Rooney getting on the bus, a fade to black, and then this iconic (and often mimicked) post-credits scene. Two seconds. And then the bell rings.
One of the crowning achievements of my teaching career.
“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
See you June 14th, when we discuss—that’s right!—Pacific Rim (2013).