Fix: ’80s nostalgia, John Hughes, Hollywood behind-the-scenes
Platforms: Hulu
Hulu Summary:
Feature documentary Brats follows Andrew McCarthy reuniting with and interviewing fellow Brat Packers to answer: What did it mean to be part of the Brat Pack?
FYA Summary:
When I was in high school, there was nothing I wanted more than to be Molly Ringwald in a John Hughes movie. (Okay, well, maybe I also wanted a boyfriend but see, if I was Molly, I could have Jake Ryan so it’s all perfectly logical.) Molly got to pal around with Ally Sheedy and Annie Potts; she got to clown around with Jon Cryer and Anthony Michael Hall; and of course, she got to swoon around Judd Nelson and Andrew McCarthy James Spader. Once I heard the term “Brat Pack,” it made the fantasy that much more tantalizing. Like, these people were all friends! They went out and partied together! They had Hollywood on its knees, and they were just so freaking cool.
At least, that’s the image I had in my mind. Turns out, that wasn’t the reality! (Sorry, teenage Sarah.) In Brats, Andrew McCarthy seeks to make peace with the label of the Brat Pack and the impact it had on his career by seeking out and interviewing his old castmates about their memories and perspectives on their ’80s heyday. Spoiler alert: my dream girl Molly does not make an appearance.
Familiar Faces:
Demi Moore, Andrew McCarthy
In spite of his best efforts, this movie is mostly about Andrew McCarthy. When the Brat Pack label was coined by a New York Magazine writer in 1985, his career was irrevocably altered, and not, in his mind, in a good way. He believes that the industry never took him seriously after that, and this baggage seems to have grown heavier the longer he’s lugged it around. Since the Brat Pack were never actually friends, he hasn’t spoken to any of them in 25 or 30 years, and he’s seeking to find catharsis in reliving the shared experience with his fellow actors. The problem—or, as I would call it, the most interesting thing about the documentary—is that no one seems as hung up on it as he does. Whether that’s because some of them achieved greater success in the years afterward (Rob Lowe) or because they’ve clearly had a lot of therapy (Demi Moore), isn’t something the film addresses, though there is one moment when McCarthy admits to the whole thing being “humbling.” At any rate, it’s fun to see folks like Emilio Estevez, who typically shuns the spotlight, and Ally Sheedy, who still seems like someone I would adore being friends with. And the best part? Most of the interviews are inside their houses! (Demi’s is the nicest, IMO.)
Couch-Sharing Capability: No Need To Invite the Pack
If Brats had more ’80s footage of the actors at premieres and parties (which I wish it did), or if the actors shared more juicy stories and memories of being on set together (which I wish they did), I could see this being more of a slumber party movie. But the energy is pretty subdued, and there’s only one* or two reveals that made me wish my high school bestie was next to me so we could freak out together.
*The most satisfying for me was a convo that McCarthy has about the changed ending of Pretty In Pink with its director, Howard Deutch, and why his wig was so bad. (It is SO bad, y’all.)
Recommended Level of Inebriation: Half a Six Pack
As you may have guessed, this isn’t hard-hitting content, nor is the narrative difficult to follow, so I recommend pairing the film with some alcohol. Because if you do drink, I guarantee you will want some booze in hand when you see the footage of James Spader and McCarthy drunk at the Pretty In Pink after-party. Cheers to THAT.
Use of Your Streaming Subscription: Not So Action-Packed
I wanted Brats to scratch my high school itch of being a part of the Brat Pack, of getting a glimpse into that world and that very specific time in Hollywood. Andrew McCarthy wanted Brats to help him process and consequently get over being a part of the Brat Pack. Ultimately, I don’t think either of us got our wish, but at least we’ll always have the “St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)” music video.
