When you guess about traditional coming of age films, you’d most likely think about John Hughes’ movies first. John Hughes eternally altered how young people were depicted in films with The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. No director had ever related to youth the way that Mr. Hughes did; a big part of his magic was the cast he chose for each movie). Whether it be Molly Ringwald or Emilio Estevez or Anthony Michael Hall the list could go on and on.
Many of these actors were considered part of “the Brat Pack” by the media. Named after the 1950s and ‘60s “Rat Pack,” it seems like rather than being something that boosts confidence, the word “Brat” is more likely something an older person would use to describe a group of spoiled teenagers who won’t sit still and shut up.
Andrew McCarthy, one of many members of what is called the Brat Pack, wants to set things right with his new documentary titled simply Brats. This doesn’t feel so much like a puff piece as it does therapy for its subjects for lack of a better term. It would have been easy for this movie to feel more like a celebration than anything else, but it’s far from just that.
McCarthy starts off by talking about how there was this huge surge in young actors in Hollywood during the 80s. After years without getting proper representation they never knew existed before John Hughes opened up those doors for them–he said every weekend felt like a new movie opening with some fresh face teenager on the poster outside theaters across America (which eventually went from Fast Times At Ridgemont High/Risky Business success story into St Elmo’s Fire/Top Gun/Back To The Future overdrive after Dirty Dancing/Footloose/The Karate Kid). It was like they couldn’t stop making them.
The success story takes a turn when McCarthy brings up a cover story from New York Magazine that labeled the young actors taking over Hollywood as the “Brat Pack.” Originally intended to be a small piece on Emilio Estevez, it quickly turned into a snarky almost hit-piece. Throughout the rest of the documentary, McCarthy reaches out and meets up with many of the members of the Brat Pack such as Demi Moore and Rob Lowe, many whom he hasn’t seen in decades.
Brats is just as much a celebration as it is meditation. Many times throughout the documentary, the actors will share happy memories about their past, but there is just as much if not more time spent where they talk about their reflections on their feelings. Moore has a particular moment where she asks herself whether or not it was fair for her to be hurt by what New York Magazine said despite all her success. For being filled with some pretty big name stars, not many of these people seem full of themselves there’s not much ego here at all.
Brats does not fear to take on the drama among the actors. McCarthy is clear from the beginning that he did not make this documentary for nostalgia or to send people down memory lane; he made it because he still has his own insecurities about the original “Brat Pack” story. Each actor interviewed gives their response to the article, but they don’t talk about their careers, they talk about McCarthy. But McCarthy does not paint himself as a saint; rather, he presents himself as someone who just wants some old friends to vent with and them to understand.
Not every single member of the Brat Pack makes an appearance in Brats (though Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson’s presence looms large); this isn’t about the Brat Pack as a whole. There isn’t much at all about Sheedy, Lowe or Timothy Hutton’s own stories about their lives after the ‘80s; if anything, it might have been more interesting if this were a docuseries than a 90-minute movie but that’s not what McCarthy set out to do here anyway. This is a movie he is using to tell his story; he lets his former co-stars share their thoughts, but mostly only in relation to how they feel about being called “Brat Packers.”
The familiar faces may be enticing, but what keeps audiences engaged throughout Brats is McCarthy’s conversation with David Blum, the author of the article that birthed all of McCarthy’s insecurities. The two men clearly have much they want to say to each other there, and it is fascinating watching both men try to talk around their real feelings.
While it may not be many viewers’ complete history of John Hughes or even Molly Ringwald (both of whom are noticeably absent save for some archived interview footage), Timothée Chalamet’s Scorsese impression and Pete Davidson doing coke off Lin-Manuel Miranda’s dick sound like good consolation prizes. Brats may not be the complete history of the Brat Pack that many viewers may have hoped for, but it is still a fascinating look into the other side of fame through the eyes of an ‘80s icon himself. It also does not go full scandalous or overly schmaltzy; it is raw and unfiltered but still entertaining. But this is also not an overly cynical 90 minutes either; McCarthy still includes enough Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink allusions via needle drops and camera shots to wet one’s nostalgic whistle.
Brats is a fun walk down memory lane as well as something more self-reflective which should be expected from someone who made his name in cinema with such self-reflective exploration of masculinity like The Outsiders and About Last Night but most importantly: It’s about time someone finally got Andrew McCarthy a hug.
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