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Ferris Bueller's Day Off  "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." So runs the mantra of the John Hughes 1986 classic, Ferris Bueller's Day Off. For many years the master of the empathic teen comedy, Ferris is arguably Hughes' magnum opus, a masterful film that taps into every teenagers' (and more than a few adults') desire for imperium in the face of a rule-laden world.
Matthew Broderick plays the wiser-than-his-years Ferris, a smart, manipulative High School senior with an assortment of interesting philosophies. Initially he appears to be a genuine child of Reagan era America, materialistic and self-centered. Despite being surrounded by things his parents have no doubt bought in an attempt to placate him, he still hankers after what he really wanted, a car.
Having already skived nine days off from the current semester, Ferris decides he needs one last day to better himself. In order to do so without arousing suspicion, he deploys an increasingly elaborate array of schema in order to convince, first his family, and then his school, that he is genuinely ill. One of only two people who isn't fooled by his various ruses is Ferris' rule-abiding sister Jeanie. She resents his audacity, considering it unfair that he can constantly get away with skipping school while she can't. Rather than acknowledging this as her own failure, she sets out to make sure Ferris gets the comeuppance he deserves.
Also out to foil Ferris is by-the-book egomaniac Edward R. Rooney, Dean of Students (played with almost salacious glee by Jeffrey Jones). Sceptical as to the validity of Ferris' illness, Rooney is determined to catch Ferris playing truant and seems prepared to go to any lengths to prove it.
Meanwhile, in order to make the most of his day off, car-less Ferris enlists the reluctant help of troubled friend Cameron (Alan Ruck). Cameron is also off sick, although it's all in the mind, hypochondria to attract attention from his combative parents. He also just happens to have access to his Father's vintage Ferrari, the same vehicle Ferris wants to borrow to help bale girlfriend Sloane (the lovely Mia Sara) out of the English Lit class from hell. After a close call with Rooney, the coup is completed and the trio make for downtown Chicago to experience everything the metropolis has to offer.
The performances in this film are a real treat, the interplay between Broderick and Ruck in particular a real pleasure to watch. It comes as no surprise to learn that the two appeared in theatrical productions together before being cast in Ferris. They carry the comedy effortlessly but there is also a real chemistry in the dramatic scenes they share together. Jones also shines. He portrays his character with enough sniveling contempt that you never really feel sorry for him despite the bombardment he is subjected to in the second half of the film. He also has a real knack for body comedy, taking on the slapstick moments with real gusto.
Naturally it helps that they are all delivering lines and actions from such a sharp script. Hughes talent for writing acute, naturalistic dialogue lifts this film above many of its contemporaries, particularly as it boasts such a wealth of interesting comic creations. Many of these characters appear on screen in throw-away moments but make such an impact that they leave an enduring impression.
Some of these incidental characters teeter on the edge of caricature (see the old lady with bouffant hair, unable to see above the wheel of her car) but most have enough identifiable traits to ground them in reality. Grace, Rooney's subservient secretary (Edie McClurg) is a stand out example. She clearly lives in a peculiar world of her own, sniffing correctional fluid, storing pencils in her hair and taking Rooney's euphemisms literally. However, it's apparent that she is far more in touch with the student body than authoritarian Rooney. This helps to lift her above mere comic foil and serves to highlight Rooney's ignorance, setting him up for his eventual humiliation.
As with all Hughes films, there is a moral heart beating beneath the comedic ribcage. On the surface, Ferris' little excursion appears to be an excuse to make Cameron play gooseberry while he skulks around Chicago getting off with his girlfriend. As it transpires, the whole day has been a setup to teach Cameron what it is to be rid of loathing and self-doubt and be truly free. This condensed voyage of self-discovery leads to one of the films most affecting scenes where, inside the Chicago Art Institute, Cameron gazes thoughtfully at a painting by Seurat. As he does so, the camera alternates between ever more extreme close-ups of him and the picture. This is Cameron's epiphany where he realises that, much like the picture, the closer he scrutinises his life, the less he actually sees. With help from Ferris he begins to understand that it is not too late to do something about this.
Admittedly, all the clichés of the 80's teen genre are here: the cool car, the gorgeous girl, the dysfunctional friend, the disapproving authority figure. What lifts Ferris Bueller's Day Off above others is that Hughes has contrived plot as a device of character rather than vice versa. So many movies of this era simply charge along, laying the jokes on thick, without really allowing the audience time to get to know the characters. Hughes has achieved an impressive feat by striking a balance between all these elements, and also creating satisfying arcs for his main protagonists.
There is so much I haven't had a chance to talk about; I could wax lyrical all day about why you should revisit this movie. It's ripe with endless, eminently quotable dialogue, comedy moments and amusing references (look out for one of the best Star Wars homage's in cinema) and the soundtrack alone is worth the price of admission. So come on, fake a stomach cramp, lick you palms, convince your boss you're ill and take time out to re-watch this marvelous, guilty pleasure.
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