"I find that screen kissing wears very thin very quickly"
About this Quote
Screen kissing, to John Hughes, is the cinematic equivalent of chewing gum after the flavor’s gone: a gesture that pretends to be climactic while often doing the lazy work of character. Hughes built a career on the moments just before the kiss and just after it - the charged silences, the humiliations, the tiny acts of bravery that make desire feel earned. So when he says it “wears very thin very quickly,” he’s taking aim at an entire studio reflex: when in doubt, press faces together and call it romance.
The intent is practical and aesthetic. A kiss is a shortcut directors lean on because it reads instantly and sells easily. Hughes is arguing that it stops reading the second it becomes expected. Once you’ve seen two attractive people meet in the middle, the movie still has to answer the harder questions: Do they actually understand each other? Will they choose each other when it costs something? Screen kissing can’t carry that weight for long.
The subtext is almost puritanical, but in a storyteller’s way. Hughes isn’t anti-sex; he’s anti-fake intimacy. He’s skeptical of choreography posing as emotion, of bodies doing what scripts haven’t properly set up. In his best films, chemistry is verbal, social, and psychological - more cafeteria politics than candlelight.
Context matters: the 1980s teen-romance machine, where the kiss became a mandated product feature. Hughes, the era’s patron saint of adolescent interiority, is warning that the camera can’t manufacture feeling; it can only catch the consequences of it.
The intent is practical and aesthetic. A kiss is a shortcut directors lean on because it reads instantly and sells easily. Hughes is arguing that it stops reading the second it becomes expected. Once you’ve seen two attractive people meet in the middle, the movie still has to answer the harder questions: Do they actually understand each other? Will they choose each other when it costs something? Screen kissing can’t carry that weight for long.
The subtext is almost puritanical, but in a storyteller’s way. Hughes isn’t anti-sex; he’s anti-fake intimacy. He’s skeptical of choreography posing as emotion, of bodies doing what scripts haven’t properly set up. In his best films, chemistry is verbal, social, and psychological - more cafeteria politics than candlelight.
Context matters: the 1980s teen-romance machine, where the kiss became a mandated product feature. Hughes, the era’s patron saint of adolescent interiority, is warning that the camera can’t manufacture feeling; it can only catch the consequences of it.
Quote Details
| Topic | Long-Distance Relationship |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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