Brats

A lightly-indulgent passion project that leaves us wanting so much more.

That one man’s offhand pun could be another man’s life-long pain is an affecting reminder of the ease with which we can hurt others and the difficulty of letting go.

What elevates all of this from navel-gazing bitterness is McCarthy’s increasing awareness that, much as he may have wished otherwise, he really was part of a cultural moment.

Three words coined four decades ago might appear to be a flimsy framework for a documentary but Brats uses a deceptively light touch to both indulge movie-star memories and start a sharp conversation about purpose and self-belief.

The documentary is still a lovely hit of nostalgia, peppered with clips and interviews (Ally Sheedy is sweet, Jon Cryer is funny, Timothy Hutton talks about bees) and includes insights from various contributors as to why the films were so potent.

Watching it, I felt something quite different from what McCarthy, now 61, intended: a shimmering nostalgia for the once-great power of magazines.

Brats is a reminder old wounds can calcify and scab over turning into the foundation for something all the more beautiful.

Brats is part documentary film part therapy project that evolves into a compelling humanization of a former movie star.

Brats is exactly what you want it to be. A no holds look at one of the most interesting peer groups in pop culture and a deep dive into what it was actually like to be in it as well as where it all went wrong.

A story that needed a personal touch and as McCarthy probes Blum for an apology, you can’t help but be invested in his journey for closure, while also being impressed by the responses from his fellow mature thespians, once portrayed as callow youths.