Ferris Bueller's Day Off

The 1980s produced a small handful of perfect films. I don’t mean perfectly 80s, not films so hilariously dated that they clearly couldn’t have been made at any other time. I’m not talking about 1984’s Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo.

By perfect, I mean the film still effectively does exactly what it’s supposed to do despite the number of years since its original release. A perfect horror movie still creeps you out. A drama still emotionally involves you. And perhaps most difficult of all, a perfect comedy still makes you laugh.

This isn’t a comprehensive list by any means, but some of the perfect films that come to mind from the 1980s are in no particular order: Ghostbusters, Back to the Future, Die Hard, Steven Spielberg’s underappreciated ghost love story Always, and, of course, John Hughes’ 1986 masterpiece Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

This month marks the 30th anniversary of Ferris Bueller’s theatrical release, and more than a generation after it made its debut, it still does everything it’s supposed to do. Ferris, of course, is played by a young Matthew Broderick at the height of his powers as the ultimate avatar of puckish youth. His character is that guy – the mythical golden boy for whom everything works out. He does what he wants, gets away with everything, and yet is so charming and amiable, you can’t resent him for his good luck.

The movie takes place over the course of one perfect blue sky day in suburban Chicago when Ferris just can’t bring himself to go to school. It’s too nice outside and too close to the end of the school year. So he decides to skip and have an adventure in the city, despite already having missed so much class that technically, he should have to do summer school to make up for it. His bitter, vengeful principal, Mr. Rooney, becomes determined to catch him in his lies about being too sick to attend, and so the film becomes the dual narrative of Ferris’s adventures in Chicago with his best friend, Cameron, and his girlfriend, Sloan, and Rooney’s efforts to catch them.

Hughes knew that contrast is a huge component of humor. Matthew Broderick’s breezy innocence and charm creates a wonderful fizzy friction with the rat-like polyester presence of Jeffrey Jones’s Principal Rooney as well as the sad-sack hypochondria of his friend Cameron. Not to mention what it adds to the most enjoyable conflict of the whole film, Ferris’s battle with his ultra-responsible, schoolmarmish older sister, Jeannie played by Jennifer Grey. I would argue that Jeannie is actually the unsung hero of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. She goes through the greatest transformation and is at the center of some of the funniest, most unexpected moments.

As I said, my definition for perfect is that every element of the movie still functions as intended. Thirty years later, Ferris’s fourth-wall breaking addresses to the audience still feel as off the cuff and conspiratorial as ever. The slow motion shot of the parking lot attendants sailing over a jump to the Star Wars theme song in Cameron’s stolen Ferrari is still epic and glorious. The sequence of Ferris and his friends at the Art Institute of the Chicago remains sweet and surprisingly affecting. Of course, the “Twist and Shout” parade sequence is a fantastic combination of image, sound, and editing that builds to to the point of practically being an ecstatic, religious experience. Still. And Ferris’s race home through backyards and living rooms in an effort to not get caught is still an expertly shot and edited bit of filmmaking.

Yes, each individual component of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off still works, but the film is greater than the sum of its parts. It’s a bright, light-on-its-feet hymn to youth and not letting the weight of the world stop you from adventure. It is, in short, perfect.