Okay, I have to begin this post with an important note: I fucking love The Breakfast Club. I watched it for the first time when I was in the eighth grade, and nine years later, it's still my favourite movie of all time. There aren't very many people I've liked for nine years, let alone movies.
But holy shit, does this movie ever have a fucked-up view of how love works.
The movie tells the story of what happens when five teenagers from five different cartoonishly 80's high school cliques end up trapped in the library together for Saturday detention. The five of them are tasked with writing an essay that explains just who they think they are - an assignment that sounds more like something a street gang would give to initiates than a high school principal would give to five clearly disturbed teenagers - and the kids spend the day doing absolutely everything but writing their essays. Despite the movie's assertions that classifying people by cheap labels is wrong, no one but me and the movie's cast actually remembers the kids' names - they're just called the Princess, the Athlete, the Brain, the Basket Case, and the Criminal, labels that make me resent my own high school for not having more creative social cliques.
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But holy shit, does this movie ever have a fucked-up view of how love works.
No, I know for a fact that you don't.
The movie tells the story of what happens when five teenagers from five different cartoonishly 80's high school cliques end up trapped in the library together for Saturday detention. The five of them are tasked with writing an essay that explains just who they think they are - an assignment that sounds more like something a street gang would give to initiates than a high school principal would give to five clearly disturbed teenagers - and the kids spend the day doing absolutely everything but writing their essays. Despite the movie's assertions that classifying people by cheap labels is wrong, no one but me and the movie's cast actually remembers the kids' names - they're just called the Princess, the Athlete, the Brain, the Basket Case, and the Criminal, labels that make me resent my own high school for not having more creative social cliques.