Yes, another RIP. I skipped Merce Cunningham’s because I thought I would get a reputation. You see, self consciousness has been on a high, lately, due to my creative writing (this endless chapter 3) and the fact that, this week, two people greeted me with ‘hey, I was showing your blog to my wife…’ I have emo tendencies, but this does not mean that I need to drive my 4 new readers (friends + wives) away. So I am keeping my RIPs to a minimum but, boy, this story about John Hughes made me want to say something. He was not my favourite director. I grew up in the 80s, yes, but not in the UK, which meant that I never saw the Breakfast Club. More importantly, John Hughes made my husband’s favourite film (’Planes, Trains and Automobiles’), which he shared with me, which we learned by heart together and through which I fell in love with him. We have this running joke that he is the Neal Page of our relationship and I proudly fit Del Griffith’s shoes (’Well, you think what you want about me; I’m not changing. I like… I like me. My wife likes me. My customers like me. ‘Cause I’m the real article. What you see is what you get.’)
It was sad to read in the post I linked to above, how John Hughes thought Hollywood killed John Candy (who reminds me of my funny uncle a lot, and I like them both). It is probably true and I applaud Hughes’ decision to abandon his film career in the name of principles, for the future of his kids. There should be more people around who take these difficult decisions because life, as he now knows, is only one, and it goes away pretty quickly. There should also be more people around who write letters and maintain a private correspondence, people who read, listen, consider and reply, like John Berger did to Belen. Off to find my Basildon Bond. I know it is still procrastination from that damned chapter 3, but at least it is more worthwhile than playing Solitaire. Anyone up for bringing letter writing back into fashion?