Is John Hughes the J.D. Salinger of Chicago?

Over at Vanity Fair, we learn that even after his time directing some of the most iconic films of the last 30 years,  John Hughes kept writing and writing. Reading these stories, and having seen all of his films a few times each, I can’t think of another writer or artist that understood the teenage mind like Hughes other than possibly J.D. Salinger.

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Weekend Bites: Truman and Harry, David Byrne on Kindle, good friends-bad novels, Naked Lunch at 50, and more.

I always said Truman Capote knew the boy wizard, and nobody believed me. So I guess I shouldn’t buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking because “unfortunately, that will probably send even more Meryl Streep wannabes straight to bookstores looking for food porn. And they will be sold bibles.”  Bummer (Slate) David Byrne: Kindle DRM means “you are f*cked” (Thanks Boing Boing) Two A.V. Chicago writers ask if Ferris Bueller was true to it’s Chicago backdrop Jens Lekman will play […]

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Molly on John

By Jason Diamond I guess this could have been a bite, but honestly, I shed one or two tears reading this one. Maybe it was simply because the thought of Michael Anthony Hall and Molly Ringwald talking on the phone in 2009 is some sort of weird, comforting thought (don’t ask me why), but Molly’s op-ed pieces on the death of her “mentor”, was a great one. Especially for her dropping the memory of seeing Junior Wells in Chicago, and […]

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Weekend bites: Letters from John Hughes, continued Pynchon mania, Norman Mailor with his pants down, pop culture and the prez

The late John Hughes had a pen pal. Everybody is weighing in on Inherent Vice, and now, Three Guys One Book gives us a Youtube trailer to add to Pynchon Mania. Karen O (Yeah Yeah Yeah’s) did some music for the upcoming Where the Wild Things Are soundtrack. The Rumpus shares some good advice from the late Budd Schulberg. At the New Museum, Norman Mailer is caught with his pants down, sort of, and it’s not pretty. Judy Garland was […]

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The Hughes Letters

At 4:54PM yesterday, I simultaneously got news via text that simply read “Hughes is Dead.” This would have seemed like some cruel joke, but as soon as I realized what I was reading, and from whom, I felt a cold chill go up my spine. For the last few years, the mutual friend and I had been trading back and fourth e-mails concerning John Hughes, and films based around the North Shore of Chicago for a project I’d been working on. […]

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