Pretty in Pink

[Pretty in Pink] has a storyline as old as cinema itself, but is testament to his uncanny ability to capture what it’s like to be 16 and in love.

The film looks like nothing so much as a very shrewd compendium of what the market requires. Pretty In Pink is a teenage version of those wrong side of the tracks romances of some 30 years ago, impeccably dressed in mid-eighties clobber.

Neither author Hughes nor director Howard Deutch can stop the needle getting stuck in a too-familiar groove.

... in the end "Pretty in Pink" is as fraudulent as the junk it's supposed to transcend.

As irresistibly sweet as cotton candy.

First-Timer Howard Deutch is a nice surprise too. His precise, unexploitative direction is sympathetic to the awkward pauses in teen talk, to the mopery of first love, to the suicidal bravado of words spoken in heat.

There is strong work among the supporting players: while Ringwald and McCarthy are amiable enough, other performers around them constantly threaten to steal the limelight.

The fond memories of Pretty in Pink were genuinely earned.

Sports such a bland narrative it seems the equivalent of unseasoned potatoes. Yes, Ringwald is watchable and her sequences with Harry Dean Stanton do move towards the requisite poignancy we expect.

There are certainly funny moments and one completely out-of-place Ferris Bueller-esque breakage of the fourth wall, but otherwise Pretty in Pink is quite serious about its business.