It wasn’t something I was going to address here, but since Meg and Jessica of Desperately Seeking the `80s are devoting two episodes to it, I thought I might as well weigh in, as well.
The topic, of course, is “Brats,” the new(ish) documentary by Andrew McCarthy that seemingly seeks to reconcile the revered actor/author/director’s roiling misgivings about being branded, during his `80s heyday, a member of the celebrated “Hollywood Brat Pack,” a term somewhat unimaginatively coined by New York Magazine journalist David Blum. As floridly expressed throughout the film, McCarthy feels that the tenacious tag ultimately undermined his credibility as an actor, painted him (and his amorphous cabal of famous peers) as undeserving upstarts and torpedoed the promise of a longer, more expansive career. In this documentary, he strives to find empathy among his contemporaries and … in a thinly veiled way … exact a bit of revenge on Blum.
As you may have gleaned from the tone of that description, I didn’t really think too much of “Brats.” Frankly, I found it insufferably self-indulgent and lazy. The burdensome umbrage that McCarthy has been practically fondling since :::gasp, shock, horror::: being tarred a “brat” has practically rendered him incapable of entertaining any other possible perspectives on the matter.
As he flailingly reaches out to peers like Ally Sheedy, Emilio Estevez, Rob Lowe and Demi Moore, he somewhat laboriously tries to goad them into validating his persecution complex, but none of them really take the bait. The whole segment with Emilio evokes an uncomfortable “let’s wrap this up” vibe. Similarly, Sheedy, Lowe and Moore politely indulge McCarthy, but each fellow Brat Packer seems to stop short of corroborating his take on the whole thing. I also think each other those actors, unlike McCarthy, is acutely aware of the uncomfortable dichotomy of lamenting perceived slights and vocational ruin while sitting at the poolside bar of a palatial home. Kind of a bad look, that.
But McCarthy presses on. Unable to land choice targets like Molly Ringwald and the elusive Judd Nelson (probably the Brat Pack alumnus most likely to resonate with McCarthy’s premise), the director goes after Blum, showing up at the scribe’s home to put him on the spot for birthing the albatross that’s hung from McCarthy’s neck for the last forty years. This whole scene seems a bit stiltedly performative – culminating with a not-especially-convincing hug – and comes across like an unsuccessful ambush. Suffice to say … spoiler alert, by the way… Blum doesn’t really apologize.
By the end of the piece, while McCarthy sort of dresses up proceedings to suggest that he’s resolved a few issues, one doesn’t really come away with any grand revelation. He fields a final phone call allegedly from Judd Nelson, but the viewer gets no insight into what is imparted. The credits roll.
So yeah, I kinda wanted my hour and 32 minutes back, after that.
Let’s clear up a few things, shall we? Firstly, McCarthy should thank his lucky goddamn stars to have been fortunate enough to bask in the serendipity of that particular moment of pop culture, and I’m sure tens of thousands of actors of the same generation would have killed to have accomplished as much. He’s a veritable household name that, comparatively speaking, has done pretty well for himself. Not to sound callous, but, fuckin’ get over it, Andrew!
Secondly, McCarthy seems to weather the term “brat” as a pejorative that cuts his very soul, diminishing his talent and mocking his youth, when – let’s face it – it was simply a lazy and not especially clever allusion to the Rat Pack ala Frank Sinatra, Joey Bishop, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. In fact, beyond the fact that “brat” rhymes with “rat,” the two respective “packs” don’t really have that much in common. It was a lucky play on words by Blum that simply stuck, not some sort of grand, Machiavellian scheme to vanquish anyone’s career. Again … do please get over it.
Two voices you don’t hear from in “Brats” include the aforementioned Molly Ringwald and, to my mind, a much more prominent member of the Brat Pack, that being Anthony Michael Hall. Both of these actors have appeared on podcasts -- specifically Marc Maron’s WTF podcast and Dana Carvey & David Spade's Fly on the Wall -- in recent weeks, and harbor significantly different feelings about the whole experience. Hear those respective episodes here and here.
As for “Brats”? I wouldn’t call it essential in the slightest.
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