Andrew McCarthy Struggles to Land Interviews With His Fellow Brat Packers in ‘Brats’ — And His Vulnerability In These Moments Is Admirable

If you didn’t grow up watching Brat Pack movies, Andrew McCarthy’s new documentary Brats—now streaming on Hulu—likely won’t interest you at first glance. But there is one aspect that this slightly-too-young-for-it-millennial was drawn to, and that’s McCarthy’s raw, honest vulnerability as a documentarian struggling to land interviews.

McCarthy—who directed the film as an extension of his 2021 memoir, Brat: An ’80s Story—spends the movie speaking to, among other people, a few of his former “Brat Pack” co-stars, aka the once-young actors known for their popular teen ’80s movies. (For McCarthy, those movies included St. Elmo’s Fire, Pretty in Pink, Less than Zero, and Weekend at Bernie’s.) And almost all of those conversations center on the label “Brat Pack”—first coined by a 1985 New York Magazine article—which, apparently, offended McCarthy and many of his peers.

Over the course of 92 minutes, it’s tiring to listen to McCarthy stress the same points—that he felt the article derailed his career, that “brat” was an unfair term with negative connotations, that the journalist was mean-spirited—over and over again. The first half of the film is filled with folks who agree with McCarthy. Gen X may be surprised to hear that the term “Brat Pack”—which most now considered a positive, nostalgic term of endearment—was considered disastrous by many of its members. Everyone from Emilio Estevez, to Ally Sheedy, to talent managers and film producers, echo McCarthy’s sentiment that this New York Magazine cover-story was at best insulting, and at worst life-ruining.

But about half-way through the film, the vibe shifts. McCarthy, in an unusual move for both a documentarian and a celebrity, admits his subjects/famous former co-stars aren’t returning his calls. And then, finally, things start to get interesting.

“I came out here to LA this weekend to try to talk to some of the gang, and they’ve proven to be a bit elusive,” McCarthy tells the camera, as he drives his car down the streets of Los Angeles. “Judd [Nelson] is at some undisclosed location and not available, and Rob [Lowe] suddenly was in Orlando.”

He continues, with a note of undeniable frustration, “I told my wife I was going to make a movie about talking to the Brat Pack, she said that it would probably be very good for my humility. And now I understand what she’s talking about. I’m not sure I like it.”

Then he sighs. “What a shit show, huh?”

At first glance, this moment is uncomfortable and depressing to watch. It certainly doesn’t make McCarthy—who was scoring invites to the hottest Hollywood parties in his 20s—look very good. He can’t get even an hour of his old friends’ time?

But the longer I sat with this scene, the more I came to respect McCarthy’s decision to include it. After all, as the film’s director, he could have easily edited his film in a way that made it seem like, actually, he can call up Rob Lowe and Demi Moore whenever he wants. It’s a bold and vulnerable choice to be honest with his audience about the fact quite a few Brat Pack members didn’t want to talk to him—like Molly Ringwald, who is perhaps the quintessential ’80s teen actor, and McCarthy’s costar from Pretty in Pink. But she never appears in the film.

“I, of course, asked Molly if she would like to speak, and she’d said she’d think about it, but that she’d like to just keep moving forward,” McCarthy tells Jon Cryer in the movie.

But she never does appear. Neither does Judd Nelson, though McCarthy teases his participation by answering a phone call in the film’s final scene, and exclaiming, “Judd!?” (Cue the clip of Nelson from the end of The Breakfast Club, pumping his fist in the air.)

At one point in the movie, McCarthy tells the camera, “When we first started this, I thought the biggest problem was going to be getting everyone to say yes, because I know there’s still such post-traumatic stress associated with it, for some of the gang.” As it turns out, he was right.

But, eventually, McCarthy does speak to Brat Pack members Rob Lowe (after trying him four times, he says) and Demi Moore in the second half of the film. Both Lowe and Moore are a breath of fresh air—politely but firmly suggesting to McCarthy that the Brat Pack label is only a bad thing if McCarthy makes it a bad thing.

It’s hard to know if McCarthy really hears their words. When he finally confronts the author of that New York Magazine article, David Blum, McCarthy can’t seem to physically resists asking, “Do you think you could have been kinder?” just before he leaves. Even now, in a recent interview with Decider, McCarthy rejects the label.

It’s not the satisfying narrative of personal growth that McCarthy might have gotten if he’d handed the directorial reigns over to someone else. But though he might not be willing to change his mind, he is at least willing to be open, honest, and vulnerable for the camera. Even if the end result doesn’t quite work, you can’t help but respect him for that.