The Breakfast Club, Greenwich Picturehouse, Greenwich
180 Greenwich High Road
by Hashley Brown
"Yes it's true... this man has no dick."
This line of Dr Peter Venkman's has echoed through my head ever since that Sunday morning, when sat too close to the screen, bleary eyed like the sticky-fingered 7 year old of my youth, I greedily consumed a blockbuster before lunchtime. The comic genius of Bill Murray et al was sadly lost on the prepubescent Hashley - but not this time, as accompanied by a whole cinema full of equally nostalgic 80s children, I chortled and whooped as Venkman, Spengler and Stantz strutted around a ghoul infested NYC.
Herein lies the genius of The Breakfast Club.
Sadly, at the Greenwich leg of what has become a national roadshow for people who once owned Transformers pyjamas, this cinematic genius extends not to the edible side of the proceedings. How glorious could it have been had they dreamed a little bigger, and one really could dine sumptuously before indulging in that most wonderful treat of going to the cinema in the morning (in stark defiance of my mother imploring me to make the most of the daylight). As it was, we wolfed down mediocre pastries and coffee at the bar, and my breakfasting heart sank. What a travesty to be punning on a film! and a meal! at a cinema! in the morning! ... and not coming up with the breakfasty goods.
They could at least have offered us marshmallows.