I try not to shed tears over celebrity passings because let's face it, I don't know these people. I feel sort of strange about the whole thing. I didn't know John Hughes, of course, but his movies reflected so clearly the best parts (and worst) about being a teenager. All the hope and drama and narcissism glimpsed through a tender eye.

I feel an acute sense of sadness over the death of the man who made the anguish a little better because somewhere at the end of the road we might find our Jake Ryan standing by a red Porsche saying, "Yeah, you." Or maybe even Blaine opining, "I always believed in you. I just didn't believe in me." We could be Andie, independent and strong willed, or Watts, adorable and cool as hell. For a teenage girl, every dream could come true via Mr. Hughes. We didn't have to be simpering and helpless or the homecoming queen to get the guy.

I've been reminiscing a lot about the teen years lately and what Robert Smith (and say, Jim Morrison) were to me in music, John Hughes was to me in film. There's a huge sense of something lost here, but it's great to know that some of the best parts of him are a room away on DVD.

I couldn't tell a better tale about John Huges than Alison Byrne Fields who was pen pals with him for two years during the 80s. It's an amazing read with great insight into a man who, for all his heart, was a bit elusive.

Fellow Velocity blogger Erin Keane did a nice post about him, as well.

Labels: alison byrne fields, film, john hughes