John Hughes, 1950-2009

I can't ever recall a string of celebrity deaths quite like this one. Yesterday, the celebrated writer and director John Hughes died suddenly of a heart attack at age 59.

Even if you haven't seen his movies, you've probably heard of them. Sixteen Candles. Pretty in Pink. The Breakfast Club. Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Uncle Buck. Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. And many more.

I was a little young to catch the brunt of Hughes-mania. I came to his films later, in the mid-to-late-90s. As a result, I always wondered a few things about them. For example:

• If Cameron's problem is that he lets his dad walk all over him, then why is his solution to let Ferris Bueller walk all over him?
• Why does the goth girl in the Breakfast Club need to be conformist to be happy? Why couldn't the cheerleader have decided to stop acting so normal, and put on black lipstick?
• What is with the unconscionably racist portrayal of Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles? It's the most offensive Chinese stereotyping since Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Still, as a stand-in for universal teen angst, no one has ever had quite the cachet of John Hughes (maybe Cameron Crowe comes closest). Even though some aspects of his films are dated at this point, he still gets at the essential truth of being a teenager: You're trying to figure out who you are, and everybody else has a different idea of what that should be. Hughes didn't condescend to his characters, presenting them as thoughtful young people with real hopes and dreams. Even his burnouts, like Bender in Breakfast Club, weren't cookie-cutter.

So here's to you, John Hughes. Hope there's a market for teenaged comedies in heaven.