As a movie-loving teen in the 1980s, it is inconceivable that I would not know who the Brat Pack were. The group of young turk actors and actresses who were dominating a new wave of youth-oriented film from the comedies of John Hughes to the more dramatic stories of young adults just entering the world like in St. Elmo’s Fire were seemingly everywhere – from the big screen to advertising, magazine profiles and guests on both daytime and late-night talk shows. They were inescapable even as, or perhaps even because, their films not only spoke to a generation, but captured what it was like to be a member of that generation at that moment, being ready to give us that shot of nostalgia whenever we needed it as we grew older.
But while it was a sobriquet that seemed to catch on with the public and helped elevate their profile and propel their career, many of the actors lumped into that group found it be a double-edged sword. The term was coined by New York Magazine writer David Blum, who was doing a 1985 profile on this loose knit group of rising stars and after spending a night out on the town with some of them, described the group as “a roving band of famous young stars on the prowl for parties, women, and a good time.” Later in his piece, Blum noted that these pretty faces may have shortcutted their way to stardom. “What distinguishes these young actors from generations past is that most of them have skipped the one step toward success that was required of the generation of Marlon Brando and James Dean, and even that of Robert De Niro and Al Pacino: years of acting study.” While many thought that the profile was not the most flattering, it was long forgotten while the Brat Pack moniker remained.
Brats is directed by one of those young actors, Andrew McCarthy of Mannequin, Less Than Zero and a number of other late 80s films, now thirty years past the heyday of his acting career and trying to see if he has some perspective on the whole phenomenon and how it shaped his career and life. MacCarthy reaches out to a number of his former contemporaries, and his various meetups with them very much feel, in part, like the work of the travel writer that MacCarthy has transitioned into. It is interesting how the various actors have managed to stay in touch with some of their contemporaries but not others. Although MacCarthy and Estevez worked together on St. Elmo’s Fire, they haven’t seen each other in the three decades since that film’s premiere. Rob Lowe proves to be tricky to commit to a chat in front of cameras while Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson passed on participating in the documentary at all.
But like a lot of things spawning from the 1980s, Brats does have at least a slight air of self-indulgence about it. MacCarthy certainly seems to be trying to use these other actors as a sounding board as he works to reconcile his own feelings about the decade. But in a way, that makes sense that he does, for only this small select group can truly relate to the things he went through when he found himself suddenly thrust into the public spotlight at a time when he might not have been the most mature to handle it. Many feel grateful for the that time and were glad that they were able to use that to further their own individual careers. A chat with social scientist Malcolm Gladwell helps MacCarthy see the group of emblematic of the societal changes going on around Generation X at the time. As MacCarthy learns to achieve some peace with the turbulence that sometimes came with that Brat Pat tag, perhaps those of us who grew up seeing ourselves in the characters that those actors portrayed can find ways to reconcile with any demons we may have left over from then.
