Brats

There's been chatter online about the new documentary on Hulu called Brats led by 1980s teen heartthrob Andrew McCarthy. Centered around his time in Hollywood amongst a group of young thespians called the Brat Pack with members including Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, Emilio Estevez, Ally Sheedy, Molly Ringwald and pretty much anyone you can remember in a John Hughes' film, the documentary is a wayward look at a bygone era and lots of navel-gazing. Despite mixed reviews, I decided to have a go at watching Brats and didn't find the show as lacking as others stated online, but it's not like we're talking about Steinbeck, you know? 

Here's the thing, I was one of the pimply teenagers those films were made for, though I wasn't quite in the Sixteen Candles era, my time was more like the latter Pretty in Pink timeframe. Things really did change that fast--fashion, speech, makeup, hair, books, music . . . those subtle yet serious changes did not fly past my own scrutiny behind ugly, plastic, prescription frames. I knew very well that what was being shown on the big screen wasn't exactly real-to-life, only a small percentage of it. Growing up in a small town meant that we were behind on everything, so often the styles in a movie or popular magazine didn't appear for another year at least, but I also knew that most of society was behind as well. I knew that a movie was meant to show a style or thought process as an idea, and that the themes of the character's miserable existence could never exactly match the full truth. 

My truth.

I saw Pretty in Pink at a local mall with a group of various aqua-netted puerile angst-ridden primordials and enjoyed it. When Andy, played by Molly Ringwald, walks into a shabby bungalow and chats with her scruffy alcoholic father, it was to make me feel sympathy, I knew. But I didn't. I didn't want that style, it was too close of a look at what my life was. No. I just wanted her cool vintage earrings and thrift-store room with no older sister bitching at me all while my catholic mother was downstairs in a depression over the divorce. Andy was supposed to be "poor" a "loser." But she was cool. And had her own room.

She was . . . a brat. I knew it, we all knew it. 

The job she had was cool--the boy she liked was cool. I'd had a crush on Andrew McCarthy ever since tearfully begging my mother to rent St Elmo's Fire from the local Kroger at age 13. Those big, sometimes crazy, mostly intense and deep eyes of his made the film watchable. That hair, and sweet twisted smile . . . we rented it a second time on my babysitting cash.

After seeing Pretty in Pink at the mall, I went out and had my auburn hair cut like Molly Ringwald's--once again, at the mall--our colosseum of expression and hot gummy bears. Leaving the salon with earlobe-length red locks, bangs teased like Albert Einstein with too much hairspray, I decided it was NOT a good idea to look like Molly Ringwald after all. Andrew McCarthy would never go out with me, even if James Spader stuck a million dollars of blow up his left nostril. 

But still, a girl could dream.

I mean, like Andy, I lived in a single-parent house due to divorce and had a cult-church loser father who loved to hit us in the name of Satan. Got Andy one-upped on that one for sympathy. But still, it made me an instant outsider. So I did understand her plight. What I didn't get yet desperately wanted was how all the boys loved and fought over her. Let's face it, that part was pure Disney mixed with Twilight. 

Those movies were the salve of our teenage, dysfunctional American dream. And we loved them exactly for that.

So, they can pontificate all day about how shitty it was to be so cut down and squared by being called a "Brat"--but wasn't that what they were selling after all? They were brats. Hey, Andrew McCarthy, you guys were brats.

Life is hard, kids. Unlike those characters in the films we absorbed throughout the decade like buttered popcorn, we just had to ignore it and act cool. No ripping posters off walls, no lip sinking Otis Redding to our doomed romance. We just grabbed our Trapper Keeper, put a chin up against the cheap waft of fake Georgio Armani body spray and slicked on another layer of Lip Smackers.

The 80s weren't a particularly deep period of time. It was shallow as heck, but the music was cool. We had Friday Night Videos, neon tank tops and jelly bracelets in every color. But we didn't think too much. Nope. 

That was the 90s. 

The Beatles in India

https://unsplash.com/photos/dyPFnxxUhYk?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

Last night I watched the documentary The Beatles and India which describes the band’s time with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi that stretched from the London Hilton Hotel to a retreat in Wales and then across to India. A string of other well-known figures in England and beyond were part of the entourage of seekers who followed along, but The Beatles clearly were used to advertise and confirm the Maharishi's burgeoning influence as well as the transcendental movement as a whole. The film is well done, highlighting a specific event that changed each member of The Beatles forever.  

Not a lot has been known about that time as much of it steeped in the mystical experiment which was to be kept sacred, but the film does a good job of not only providing details of what the Maharishi thought of each Beatle, but where they slept and meditated, as well as moments that provided songs in the conclusive ‘While Album,’ which we all know was heavily influenced by events of that time. We also get a soundbite from an unearthed interview with George Harrison where he explains the frustrations of being famous when all he wanted to do was travel and blend in like any human. He was on a spiritual journey and wanted no part of the press ruining for him. 

Sadly, in a short span of time The Beatles went from child-like devotion to bitter rebellion with the TM movement, and well, the Maharishi. To be fair to him, he gave them a gift they desperately needed—a way to break from addictions—including toxic people and situations. They were heavily into LSD and some members had begun to dabble in heroin, so meeting the Maharishi was a healthy alternative. TM in general is meant to teach self-dependence, to go within without seeking outside authority.  In a few years’ time, the music scene would lose both Hendrix and Joplin to drugs, and you can only guess Lennon would have followed suit . . . if not for TM and the Maharishi. Think of it, the world would have never heard “Imagine.”

The Maharishi himself, a childlike joyous creature, was human and people forget that. He had a test as we all do at some point in our human existence, and he failed momentarily. It would be hard to be around the brightest and all that fame, and not fail at least a little. Yet it is said that he provided them with a great tool—to elevate and go within. To deal with life on a simple basis. To be organic and clean, and vulnerable. That’s a beautiful gift. As far as I know, the Maharishi went on to serve many in the same humble way, without failure. Did he proposition Prudence Farrow (Dear Prudence) or was it all a lie? Without a yes or no, because none of us where there and the movie does not provide an answer, I think it’s fair to say that anyone who followed the Maharishi to India was there for some-thing. Was he unethical? Certainly not on the level of a Jim Jones—which is how many psychopathic cults end up. I don’t think he was anything near that level of cult. It was a movement and a teachable era. It was healthy for The Beatles to be part of it, and also to end their association. If TM teaches you anything, it should be how to think for yourself.

I loved how The Beatles and India showed how much they learned and how the process affected many. Sadly, manager Brian Epstein died within that process, but the experience can still be felt. Two vignettes in particular which I find touching: John going up in a helicopter with the Maharishi (hoping to get “the answer”) and being shown that the people in the valley would wish for them to crash because they were poor and someone like John crashing into their world would equate a falling star coming to earth. John said to the Maharishi, “If you don’t move your ass on the seat, their prayers will be answered.” Typical John. Another time, a young woman was shivering inside the group during a nighttime gathering and sweet George offered to share his shawl to keep her warm. She expressed great sorrow in having said no to him. What could have been?

We all know the events, but we do not know the fine details. The Beatles and India does a good job at providing the answer.

If you are a die-hard Beatles fan or even a lukewarm lover of the band, give it a watch. It's well done and shows an important part of rock and roll history.