In his most recent blog entry, John! had the following words of wisdom [along with a fun flashback] for us all.
Go back into the annals of beloved ’80s films, and you’d be hard pressed to find a movie closer to the hearts of thirty-somethings than The Goonies. I’ll spare you the synopsis, as you most likely already know it, but if you don’t, no need to worry – you’ve seen 20 other movies like it in its time. The template: nerdy but affable underdog(s) suffer unrelenting ridicule by jocks in varsity letter jackets but ultimately have their comeuppance, usually stealing a smoking hot girlfriend or two in the process.
In the case of The Goonies, a band of awkward, socially outcast kids set off to find a buried treasure, narrowly averting almost certain death and outrunning, among others, a popular high school jock named Troy. Troy is one of the classic cinematic archetypes of the 1980s; the jock. He’s good looking, rocks a period-relative badass Mustang convertible, and he’s a total prick. All we can do from the moment Troy enters the frame is to wait with baited breath to see Troy lose and the Goonies win.
And in that end, back in 1985 when the underdogs had their day, (and their bag of jewels), and the final credits rolled and we called our parents for a ride home, we realized something fantastic: It’s true, we weren’t Troy. But for the first time, thanks to The Goonies, we no longer wanted to be Troy. It was okay to be us, thank you very much.
Cut to present day.
What happened to the better part of a generation that once walked out of their local theater rooting for the Mikeys and Chunks and Datas of the world? They’ve turned into Troys. Troys who can’t accept the differences in others and condemn the things they don’t understand. Finger-pointing, shit-talking Troys.
Ask yourself: with whom do you identify more these days, Troy or the Goonies? And if you’re reading this and you happen to be an Internet shit-talker, could it be because you think I’m Troy? Because honest to God, I’ve always fancied myself a Goonie; the underdog who toppled over the narrow-minded naysayers and walked away with a treasure.
So maybe this whole thing is one big misunderstanding and it turns out we don’t need to go down as a generation remembered as having spent the ’00s wearing our asses like hats after all. Maybe it will turn out that we needed a little time to figure out that in the end we’re all just a bunch of Goonies.
Yes! I AM A GOONIE [to exactly noone’s surprise] Look! Just one more thing John & I have in common. I’m a Goonie. He’s a Goonie. Coincidence? I say destiny.
Beware of booty traps. You mean boobie traps? That’s what I said, booty traps. God, these guys!