DIRECTOR HAS AN OFF DAY IN 'DAY OFF'
By PATRICK GOLDSTEIN
If teen-agers didn't already exist, John Hughes would have
had to invent them. He has lovingly created all sorts of teen
archetypes: geeky anarchists (usually played by Anthony
Michael Hall), adorable princesses (Molly Ringwald's
specialty), even Angst-ridden loners (Judd Nelson in "The
Breakfast Club").
This time out, Hollywood's most adept chronicler of
adolescent dreams has constructed the mythic teen-ager,
Ferris Bueller (Matthew Broderick). Too savvy for his
parents, too cool for school and an absolute terror when it
comes to restaurant maitre d's, this giddy scamp is the hero
of Hughes' latest movie, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (San
Diego area theaters).
The film's hook is a tantalizing fantasy for adults as well
as kids: What if you could fool your parents and teachers (or
for that matter, your boss) into thinking you were sick,
earning yourself a 24-hour free ride from the boredom and
responsibilities of real life?
But this time Hughes miscalculates badly, making his hero so
smug and invincible that he doesn't give us any chance to
root for him. What should've been a joyful romp turns into a
stale, sour-edged celebration of the New Conformist, an
affluent, technology-addled cherub without a rebellious whim
in his brain. This is the new teen banality in all its
spoiled splendor -- it's "Risky Business" without any of the
irony (though with an unsettlingly similar plot device
involving a fancy car).
It's easy to understand why Ferris wants out of school.
Seeing his classmates' blank, uncomprehending faces, you
wonder which cult they've joined -- their economics teacher
can't even find anyone who's heard of the Great Depression.
With enough high technology in his bedroom to supply a chain
of Radio Shacks, Ferris effortlessly hoodwinks his dim-witted
parents into believing he's home sick when he's actually out
on the town. With similar ease, he grabs his neurotic pal
Cameron (Alan Ruck), liberates his girlfriend Sloane (Mia
Sara) from school and the trio roar off in Cameron's dad's
prized Ferrari. His suspicions aroused, Ferris' arch-nemesis,
Ed Rooney, the school's frazzled dean of students (Jeffrey
Jones), sets off in hot pursuit.
It's sad to see such promising material fizzle out so
quickly, especially with a great wacko like Mr. Rooney on
hand. With his bug eyes, beak nose and cartoon mustache --
and often filmed in grotesque close-up -- he's a jittery loon
who looks as though he's been hijacked from a Federal Express
commercial. (He's so concerned with appearances that when he
rushes headlong down the school corridors, he skids to a halt
in front of each classroom, takes a few mincing steps by the
windows, then zooms off again.)
Hughes seems to view Rooney as an updated Inspector Clouseau
(perhaps Wil E. Coyote too), even having Ira Newborn mimic
the "Pink Panther" score when the hapless dean dogs Ferris'
trail. It's a marvelous comic invention, but a grievous
dramatic error. We find ourselves sympathizing more with the
bumbling Mr. Rooney than with Ferris, who desperately needs a
worthy opponent to make his antics seem less strained and
frivolous.
The other major disappointment is Ferris' actual spin around
the town -- little more than a dull Chicago travelogue,
something the kids could've done any Saturday, enlivened only
by such an implausible fantasy scene that you wonder if
Hughes just threw in a few pages of script left over from
another movie. Since none of Ferris' exploits ever have any
real drama or consequences, it's easy to lose interest --
there's no passion here, no sense that these kids need to
prove themselves or fight back against the zombielike
confines of high school.
Hughes' attempts to inject a few serious notes into the film
are also flops, especially a belabored subplot involving
Cameron's strained relations with his dad (whom we never
see). A homely guy who seems scared of his own shadow,
Cameron is the character Hughes normally identifies with
most; you get the feeling that Ferris' escapades are largely
intended to free him from his inhibitions. However, their
relationship is so muddled that Ferris' attempts to revive
Cameron's spirits seem empty gestures. It's also hard to
sympathize with Cameron's complaints about his dad's
obsession with his car, especially after seeing a huge
close-up of Sloane's Cartier watch and Ferris' mountain of
stereo equipment.
When it comes down to it, it's hard to care about kids who
have everything but (as they themselves say in the film) are
interested in nothing. It's also a measure of "Ferris' "
wrongheaded spirit that the funniest characters in the movie
are the adults -- Jones' beady-eyed Mr. Rooney, Edie McClurg
as his ditzy secretary and a bedraggled economics teacher,
played with deliciously droll comic timing by conservative
columnist Ben Stein.
As Ferris, Broderick has a sly, choirboy innocence and a
goofy, almost girlish swagger -- he glides around corners as
if strapped onto a hydrofoil. But all of the charm in the
world can't make you fall in love with Ferris. He gets his
way and he gets his girl, but Hughes has sculpted him as such
an annoyingly complacent smoothie that he never comes close
to winning our hearts.
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