Brats - Review

Rating: 4 out of 5

ANDREW McCarthy’s documentary on the legacy of the Brat Pack serves as both an enjoyably nostalgic trip down memory lane for some of the movies that influenced my youth, as well as a probing analysis of the dangers of labels.

Taken as the former, it offers affectionate insights into the impact of some of the 80s lost seminal movies: most notably The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (both directed by John Hughes) as well as Pretty in Pink and St Elmo’s Fire.

Two of those films, in particular, had a big influence on me. First and foremost, The Breakfast Club for its compassionate take on teenage insecurity and outsiders, which boasted some genuinely moving moments, as well as some laugh out loud ones. And a killer soundtrack, driven by Simple Minds’ iconic Don’t You Forget About Me.

It had characters you could easily identify - both from a personal perspective but also from a school playground one. I guess everyone aspired to the rebellion of Judd Nelson’s John Bender. But I instinctively knew I had more in common with the shy geekiness of Anthony Michael Hall’s Brian Johnson.

The film endures today, with even my 14-year-old son counting it among his all-time favourites. He related to its themes. And even recommended it to - and watched it with - a friend, who was similarly impressed.

And then there was St Elmo’s Fire, which boasted a group of friends you would have yearned to hang out with, all experiencing grown up life (and love) for the first time in a messy, uncertain way. It does, admittedly, feel pretty dated now… but as the documentary concludes, there may not have been shows like Friends were it not for its existence, and there were still characters you could identify parts of yourself in (again, I saw elements of myself in the characters of both Emilio Estevez and Andrew McCarthy, whilst swooning for Demi Moore).

Revisiting those films, and the feelings they triggered, is part of the delight of Brats.

But there’s something more serious and probing that’s also worth exploring around psychology and the damage done by words.

The term ‘Brat Pack’ was widely used by cinema fans at the time these films were coming out. It loosely defined a collective of actors that differed according to whoever used it: hence, while names like Estevez or McCarthy were almost always included in it, others such as Tom Cruise or John Ritter were not.

But its impact hit hard on those who did feel a part of it, McCarthy particularly - or were directly named in the article that kick-started the whole thing.

The article in question was written by David Blum, for the New Yorker, following time he spent in the company of some of them. The documentary reveals the origins of the term and what compelled him to write it, also featuring an interview between McCarthy and Blum over whether the journalist felt any guilt.

And it’s one of the film’s most intriguing moments - revealing an arrogance and hubris in Blum even when faced with the hurt it caused (personified by the person sat right in front of him). It effectively puts the lie to the age-old maxim of "sticks and stones", even though Blum actually uses it. Words can forever hurt you.

Yet there are also intriguing debates about the power of those words and their ability to inflict psychological damage and even trauma that resonate into all walks of life.

For McCarthy, especially, the term 'Brat Pack' was stigmatising. It affected his career and his self-esteem. He struggled to get past it. His Breakfast Club co-star Estevez also conceded as much, confirming that he had asked not to do a film with McCarthy for fear of the stigma it carried.

For the perception it gave of the actors involved was negative (its origins do, after all, stem from the dictionary definition of a badly behaved, even spoilt, child). And that’s equally true of other media manipulated portrayals of certain groups of people - whether it pertains to the current ‘debates’ or portrayal of disability and of migration and nationality. Using negative terminology has a lasting and damaging effect.

Words have the power to become toxic and corrosive. They are powerful.

And yet the documentary does also question the notion of who really holds the power. When Demi Moore is asked about her views, she agrees that the term initially left her feeling chastened. But it also empowered her to rise above it and prove the doubters wrong. A diverse career, often at the top of the so-called Hollywood tree, proves she achieved that.

Hence, she is able to counter with a different way of looking at the label. She asserts that McCarthy actually has more power than he thinks - he can choose to let the term harm him, thereby giving the term more power. Or he can choose to rise above, keeping the power himself.

Yet to my mind, the question of power is equally about perception. For someone who has managed to stay positive and rise above it, like Moore, then it’s easy to move forward and to move on. Yet for those who are more fragile, who may suffer from things like RSD (rejection sensitivity disorder) or don’t get the breaks they deserve (as luck also plays a part), then moving on isn’t as easy and the term (or words) have lasting damage (and therefore more power).

And while some people do indeed continue to argue that ignoring such click bait terminology or misinformed journalism is the best way of starving it of oxygen, that would be also ignoring the fact that those words are in widely read publications and are already shaping wider perception. To not challenge is also damaging and perhaps even letting a lie become truth.

One of Brats’ consistently engaging elements is just how different each member of the so-called pack took to the term. Though all were clearly annoyed by it, some - like Rob Lowe - have chosen to find the positives. Yet Ally Sheedy seems to sit more with McCarthy.

The answers it provides aren’t conclusive. But the film does succeed in kick-starting a wider debate.

And it’s full of fascinating insight too. Revelations around the making of key films, such as the disastrous test screening for Pretty in Pink or the fact that Moore had to have a sober coach on set with her during the filming of St Elmo’s Fire, are like manner from heaven for fans.

While the camaraderie that clearly exists between the actors, even though not many of them actually hung out much during the days of the pack, is undeniable. They hold each other - and the early years of making movies together - with deep affection and there is an infectious quality to their hang-outs during the interviews that McCarthy conducts.

It's also interesting to get the views of other insiders... the producers and agents - all offering different spins and intepretations.

Hence, while consistently probing and thought-provoking, Brats is also celebratory and nicely nostalgic. It’ll also leave you wanting to revisit most of the movies it dwells on.