Follows a group of high school students growing up in southern California, based on the real-life adventures chronicled by Cameron Crowe. Stacy Hamilton and Mark Ratner are looking for a love interest, and are helped along by their older classmates, Linda Barrett and Mike Damone, respectively. The center of the film is held by Jeff Spicoli, a perpetually stoned surfer dude who faces off with the resolute Mr. Hand, who is convinced that everyone is on dope. Written by
Rick Gregory <[email protected]>
When Spicoli and Jefferson's little brother are taking Jefferson's car for a drive, Spicoli weaves through traffic. it is clear that the "traffic" is moving extremely slowly to allow the stunt driver to manoeuvre the car cleanly through the nighttime traffic. See more »
All throughout the decade of pencil-thin neckties and Pat Benatar look-alikes, various films came along that served to embody the times. "Valley Girl" (which introduced us to Nicholas Cage) and "Secret Admirer" were just a drop in the proverbial bucket. Amy Heckerling's "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" was the textbook definition of life as a teenager in the eighties and remains so to this day. The story was brought to life in a very unique way that hasn't been duplicated since:
There was no actual plot to speak of. This was just...High School.
It's a film about a group of kids looking for love, status, or a good buzz. The film was nothing more than that, and it didn't pretend to be more. In addition, Cameron Crowe's script made you *care* about what these kids went through as if their individual situations were happening to us (as they may very well have). It's almost a crime that a sequel was never made, although a mediocre TV series was spawned. Armed with a cast of characters that struck a chord with all of us (primarily because we knew someone in High School who acted just like them), and a soundtrack that reeked of the Mark Goodman-J.J. Jackson era of MTV, this film stands as a perfect portrait of a decade a lot of us say we'd like to forget....shortly before brushing the dust off an old Night Ranger cassette and indulging in a guilty pleasure.
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