Whether we choose to admit it or not, popular culture in cinema influences the way we live our lives. Movies teach us how to behave, think, act, love, inspire, hate, dress, consume, and fight. I’ll be the first to confess that I thought I knew the Tao of Jeet Kun Do after watching Fists of Fury. The sad reality was that I tried to show off my spin kick in the mirror and almost broke my toe when I misgauged my depth perception and caught the corner of the wall. Think that’s cute? Yeah, it happened when I was 21. I’m not saying we should blame motion pictures for our stupidity. After all, I gave up an exciting career in mayonnaise to pursue my dream of making movies. And if I had to generalize Hollywood filmmaking, I would say that the process is rife with rumors, backstabbing, and greed, but the finished product has good intentions and an overall positive message – hence the term, “Hollywood Ending.” But, there are certain films that stand alone. Films that polarize instead of unite. Films that are so inherently evil – they reflect not only how shallow we can be, but they rewrite our code of conduct.
As a child of the 80’s, I would be a fool to ignore or not draw a giant graph linking teen pregnancies to Rod Stewart riding bareback on a charcoal stallion while wearing a $300 dinner jacket with leopard print and chugging a quart of semen from the Holy Grail. I mean, that video was in heavy rotation on MTV for a few years. But, that wasn’t our big mistake. I say “our” because every generation has its faux pas. What I’m talking about is more than an “oopsie”. It is perhaps the gravest error in mankind. It’s the reason elementary school kids smoke weed. It explains why Wednesday’s child would bludgeon a deaf mute for a bag of Fritos. It’s THE excuse for teens to be Aaron Burr instead of Raymond Burr. It’s Duckie from Pretty in Pink.
It doesn’t matter if you haven’t seen the film. Duckie has leaked into the subconscious of this and future generations. In short, Duckie is in love with Andie, a poor girl who looks anything but. Unfortunately, Andie has fallen for Blane, a rich guy with stereotypical rich, asshole friends. Duckie is one of those nerdy, romantic types who would take a bullet for the girl of his dreams. But, he is also genuine and sincere to his detriment. And he spends the bulk of the movie wearing his heart on his sleeve and stepping in front of emotional trains for Andie, while she looks right past him to see if the cute rich boy is really checking her out. In the end, Duckie has no choice but to step aside and let Andie have her way.
Here’s the deal. We’re all aware that men have been suckers for women since Eve told Adam it was cool to put his mouth on a glass dick. But, Duckie’s sexual ambiguity – see gay hair and bolo ties – blurs the gender line. This film isn’t a simple prince charming story. It’s about the underappreciation of good people in favor of fulfilling selfish desires. Just because Blane turned out to be a decent guy, doesn’t mean Andie made the ethical choice. She’s poor. Blane is rich. Her choice was primal. Duckie is merely the loyal confidant that gets her from point A to B at his expense. Without Duckie, the journey from A to B doesn’t exist. But, for some reason, it’s okay for the characters in the film and audiences to discredit his contributions and punch him in the nuts while his dream gets bent over a rail at a Whitesnake concert. Side note: I blame test audiences because Andie and Duckie end up together in the original cut of the film.
In closing, I don’t walk away from the film feeling like 1. he truly likes himself and 2. he isn’t a total pussy covered in tire treads the size of Molly Ringwald’s feet. Duckie (and John Hughes) are personally responsible for my role in life when boy meets girl. I am forever the middle man. Ask any number of “nice” guys and girls, and they’ll share a similar belief. “I’m the guy/girl who never gets the guy/girl. I’m the guy/girl who gets to hear, ‘If only he/she was more like you.’” Sure, there have been billions of incidents in world history and several stories and films that illustrate and elevate this notion to a matter of fact. But, let me ask you this. Ask anyone born after 1976 what movie comes to mind when they think of boxing. ROCKY. Duckie is OUR Rocky. He’s the bronze symbol at the crest of a boundless staircase of an epic library where only lovelorn fools go to read about the intricacies of relationships before going home to single-serving dinners and Air Supply on vinyl. His moment in the sun comes only when he steps aside instead of standing his ground. And kids today are sick of it. They don’t know how to handle being a “Duckie”. So, they look to other movies for the answer. Can’t Buy Me Love? Bullshit. Fifty bucks and a top hat gets you a blowjob. XXX? Fast and the Furious? Shit yeah. Packin’ heat gets you a bitchin’ bike, a big-tittied blond, and a pack of Rolos.
Now, why do I blame Jon Cryer for ruining my life? Because no one wants to be a Duckie, some kids get pissed at the drop of a hat and think “well, time to bring hand grenades to school.” The ensuing media coverage preempts my favorite rerun of Dawson’s Creek – which inevitably sends me into a dark place where I blame Jon Cryer for all the problems in the world and feel the need to post long-winded diatribes such as this. Plus, Two and a Half Men is so bad, it actually makes me long for another Paul Reiser sitcom.
