Cinematic exposition is a tricky thing. When we watch movies, we’re being plunked into a story already in progress. And unless you’re watching some outré arthouse film allowed to play by its own rules, there’s a finite amount of time for the director to communicate the essential building blocks of their story that are necessary for the viewer’s enjoyment. Done right, narrative exposition will tell an audience everything that they need to know about a character, while leaving just enough room for curiosity to take hold. Done wrong — or rather, clunkily — and the viewer can be removed from the story in a second flat, all too aware that they’re being spoon-fed a collection of character traits meant to tell, not show.
“Pretty in Pink,” released in theaters 40 years ago this week, exemplifies an ideal marriage of the two. Its opening sequence is both graceful and conspicuous; its exposition is entirely legible, yet so very charming that its plainness doesn’t matter one bit. John Hughes — who wrote the film’s screenplay but deferred direction to his collaborator, Howard Deutch — had a way of making even the obvious seem natural. As a writer, Hughes was gifted with a heavy hand and a soft touch. His early characters were consistently archetypal, plucked from the average high school experience. Scripts were packed with bad-boy rebels, spoiled teen queens and uncool misfits of all kinds. Hughes also keenly understood that, because these personalities were so familiar, his characters wouldn’t stand out to viewers unless they pushed their paradigm. These had to feel like real people with stereotypical flair, teenagers who were boxed into a category simply because that’s what high school social politics demand. And in just three minutes of exposition, Hughes and Deutch nimbly convey that Molly Ringwald’s Andie Walsh is both your conventional artsy wallflower and a singularly special young woman.
