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20 Feb

And, like the clown chasing me in my nightmares, it’s massive, pink, and has a mild obsession with the Youth in America.

That’s right, I had never seen Club…until this last weekend.

These kids are here for a finite stretch of incarceration. They could sit in silence, as they do for a stretch of the opening, refusing to interact and remaining on the separate islands.

But for teenagers, without the benefit of time and experience under their belts, eight hours might as well be an eternity.

These issues don’t evaporate when they leave that library.

While in the three insufferable asses (because, let’s be real, everyone in that play is terrible) drive each other insane because they have nothing better to do, here, the five puncture each other’s bubbles out of sheer necessity. It’s no mistake that the teacher spends the second half of the film utterly absent, drinking beers with the janitor and lamenting the changing young.

More than once during the proceedings I was reminded of (PRETENSION ALERT) Satre’s , the existential tale of three people trapped in a hotel room for all eternity.I assumed shenanigans and antics and montages and boobies, you know, stuff from the 80s.What I discovered, on that harshly hungover Sunday morning, was something deeply touching.We have the nerd (Anthony Michael “Not Michael C.” Hall), the popular girl (an iconoclastic Molly Ringwald), an awkwardly puffy-haired and eyebrow-bleached wrestler-jock with a good heart (Emilio Estevez), a crazy chick (Ally Sheedy) and the most trying-too-hard badass since Rock Hudson married that lady that one time (Judd Nelson).Under the eye of a bored teacher (Paul Gleason, RIP) these kids begin their day as five separate and parallel entities, content to operate and survive in their own tiny bubbles of social awkwardness and ineptitude.