Waiting for the next big thing

The problem is the Next Big Thing just isn't coming. You can apply this to really anything - art, poetry, fiction, music, especially music. But it's movies I'm thinking of now. I'm an eighties kid. Grew up with eighties and I'm damn happy about that. I love the eighties. Loved pretty much the entire decade as a teenager. I love the nostalgic thoughts those times give me still. Problem is, I want more.

But there is no more. There can't be another Bull Durham. There will not be another John Hughes. Cusack is older and makes generally lame movies now. The cool kids that shaped my fragile upbringing for better and worse are now middle age dads and soccer moms. It's pathetic. And I'm not getting any younger either. But I do want and almost expect more greatness from film that I just cannot find. I am aware of good films, great ones even. But it's not enough. It's not the same. Even with the age of Say Anything and Ferris and Breakfast Club and Field of Dreams - eighties films all - they still ring true and show beauty and truth and passion and move me to tears. Am I a nancyboy for stating such? Sure, I guess I am. But those films meant something and they mean something still. I'm still waiting for my next soliloquy from Crash while ironing, Annie busting in the front door. I'm still waiting for Dobler to tell me what he's not looking for in a career. I'm dying for another tough girl drummer with bangs and black gloves.

But they've all gone away. They've aged and they've died. Those who could have given more and should have given more have moved on. I may sound bitter because I am. I'm an eighties kid and expect to be entertained. Thank God the cable networks play some of these classics on an annoyingly semi-regular basis.