Sometimes, something just sticks with you. We all have them in various aspects of our lives. For example, I’ve listened to a lot of music in my 42 years on this planet. There’s a wide range that I’d say I like, from the Beach Boys to Dmitri Shostakovich; Nirvana to Guys and Dolls. Yet, no matter how many new things I hear, there are songs/artists that I’ve never grown tired of. I first heard Glenn Miller’s music when I was 17 years old. It was undoubtedly In the Mood. I didn’t known what swing music was, and away from the piano, I didn’t play an instrument. Yet, not long thereafter, I was picking up a trombone, and I had added Pennsylvania 6-500, A String of Pearls, and Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree to my newly favorite songs. Since then, I’ve listened to countless other musicians, and found many I’ve liked. But to this day, when a Glenn Miller tune comes up randomly on my i-tunes, it’s cause for me to stop. When I first came to Miller, it was the familiar fast-templed swingers that caught my interest. Today, it’s all about how those ballads seem to so perfectly match the era in which Glenn Miller made his mark: all the uncertainty, bittersweetness, melancholy of the Second World War. I don’t listen to Glenn Miller an length, but should, say, Moonlight Becomes You come on my i-tunes, I’m reminded all over again why I fell in love with his music. It’s no far stretch of the imagination to say that I wouldn’t be a band director today (a career I’ve been doing for 18 years now), if I hadn’t first come under the Miller spell.

Glenn Miller is just one example of this phenomenon; the much loved artifact from somewhere in your path, that just somehow gets its hook into you and never really seems to let go. You don’t have to encounter it everyday; in some cases, it may be years between appearances. But no matter how much time has passed, when you experience this “something” again, it all comes back to you. It’s hard to explain, because perhaps this “something” impacts you in a way that’s personal. Maybe there’s an emotional connection, perhaps you are reminded of where you were or what you were going through in life when you first encounter it. No matter the time passed, you’re always reminded why this “thing” speaks to you. In some cases, maybe you come away with an even deeper appreciation than you had before.

In addition to the afore-discussed Glenn Miller, a few books have a way of doing that for me. There are three books that I re-read on a regular basis: The Great Gatsby, The Wind in the Willows, and Around the World in 80 Days. It’s hard to say why; all three are radically different. America in the 1920s; pre-World War I rural England where animals function right alongside humans; and a Frenchman’s vision of calculating British gentleman, taking a wager of global proportions. Each speaks to me differently. With Gatsby, no matter the fact that I know how it will end, I still envy Jay. For one brief spectacular moment, what a life he led. Despite knowing the outcome, I always start reading with the hope that maybe this time, it will go different. Maybe this is the time he gets away. Of course, the print doesn’t change, but that speaks to Gatsby (or should I say, Fitzgerald) that he sinks into me so. With Wind in the Willows, it is the undeniable appeal of Mr. Toad. If Gatsby is what I dream of being, Mr. Toad is who I probably really am. There’s probably not another creation in literature who rings so true to me, with his periodic obsessions, going “all in” with passion, until something else strikes his fancy. If you don’t believe me, ask my wife about my current mania for World War I aviation. The words “biplane,” “Fokker” and “Richthofen” have become parts of the everyday vernacular. Any bets on what the next mania will be? As for Around the World in 80 Days? Well, it’s just one of the first books I ever read, and it’s never lost its appeal. Though we can circle the globe in a matter of hours, something about Phileas Fogg’s journey, frozen uniquely in 1872, has undeniable romance. So exotic, from atop elephant in the jungles of India to roaring across the American prairie in a sail barge; what I wouldn’t have given to have been there with Fogg and Company. What a way to see the world as it was during the height of the Pax Brittanica, in the accompaniment of a dashing English gentleman with money to burn, a resourceful, enterprising French valet, a beautiful Indian princess, and a determined but misguided Scotland Yard detective. Who wouldn’t want to be part of that? For those reasons, those three works continually find themselves back in my literary schedule, every four years or so.

The reason I bring this up is, today I saw a film that meets these qualifications for me, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It was showing today, as part of its 30th anniversary. I don’t recall the first time I saw Ferris. I remember my Uncle Tony seeing it in the theatre and talking about how it was a fantasy. I think I must have rented it or saw it a friend’s some time later. At some point, though, I realized Ferris Bueller was a movie that just spoke to me. What Around the World in 80 Days is to me as a book, Ferris is the cinematic equivalent. They actually have more than a little bit of similarity. But there’s also a Gatsby appeal for me. As much as Phileas Fogg’s journey is compelling, I don’t think I ever wanted to BE him. After all, who is he? We never really find out. Just an idle London gentleman with a vast amount of money to burn. Ferris Bueller, on the other hand, is like Jay Gatsby. Both function a bit outside what is normal. Okay, in Gatsby’s case, more than bit; he is a criminal. But yet, as Nick Caraway reminds us, “Gatsby turned out alright in the end.” He may have been a self-made criminal, he may have bene delusional, but as he’s presented, he may have been a decent guy underneath it all. While he does use Nick to get to Daisy, I always got the impression he actually does like and appreciates him. Ferris, lest we forget, also does not play by the rules. He is cutting school. He is lying to his parents. Yet, you always come away that Ferris is a good human being. Yes, there is the playboy suave that, like Gatsby, makes you long to be him. But just as I believe Gatsby actually cared for Nick, we see that, despite using him for his [spectacular] car and for his aid in helping spring Sloane from school, Ferris does indeed care about Cameron. Gatsby and Ferris, both rule-breakers who underneath the swagger and bravado, are actually loyal and likable.

Maybe that’s why I love Ferris Bueller’s Day Off so much; it actually combines the elements of The Great Gatsby and Around the World in 80 Days that I treasure, and puts them together in its own narrative. The journey throughout Chicago and the race home = Phileas Foggs’ globe-trot in 80 days. Ferris, meanwhile, is a Gatsby-type creation. As he, Sloane and Cameron ride the Ferrari into the City on Lakeshore Drive, on a beautiful spring day, how can you not be reminded of Nick Caraway’s thoughts, as he and Gatsby drove into Manhattan in that wondrous car. “Anything could happen….even Gatsby could happen.” And just as The Great Gatsby couldn’t happen in any place but New York, Ferris Bueller is indelibly situated in the Windy City. Another reason I love it so. Chicago really is a magical place, and the late John Hughes said Ferris was a love letter to his city. From the afore-mentioned Lake Shore Drive to the Sears Tower, Wrigley Field to the Art Institute, Chicago is not just the setting for Ferris, it is a character in film. The city has its own role to play. In both works, the characters have to go into the City for much of the drama to happen. Think about it; while Gatsby, Nick, and the Buchanans live out on Long Island, and it’s the locale of all the famous parties, it’s away from there where so much occurs. Caraway goes with both Tom and Gatsby into the city. It’s where he meet Meyer Wolfsheim. The showdown at the Plaza Hotel is in the city. The death of Myrtle Wilson, while not in Manhattan, is in the Valley of the Ashes on the way back to West Egg/East Egg. That death is part of the events that will prevent Gatsby from ever achieving his dream of making Daisy his own. But first the characters had to go into the City for that take to take place. It is upon returning to Long Island that they all have to now deal with the consequences. For the Buchanans, it is to patch things together somehow and move on. For Gatsby, it is unclear if he is accepted that his dream can no longer be, or is he still holding out hope. For George Wilson, it is to seek vengeance. And for Nick, to pick up the pieces, try to find closure and then move on. The characters took the fall-out from the Plaza showdown back to Long Island, and let the ramifications play out there.

Ferris functions in a similar way. While Jeannie and Mr. Rooney are based in the suburbs, our main trio escape into downtown, where everything is different. Look at all the questions are protagonists have about themselves when they being their escapade. Ferris is unsure of where his relationship with Sloane is going, with him going to graduate and she with another year left in school. He suggests marriage, when they are at the Board of Trade. Though he makes some jokes about the idea, it’s not entirely certain that he isn’t sincere about the idea. Sloane, however, finds all of it preposterous, and Cameron uses his own family experience, to show why it’s a truly bad notion. Cameron, as we all know, has plenty of issues. But through the experiences of looking down on the world from the top of the Sears Tower, questioning one’s existence through the works of art in the Art Institute (particularly Cameron, with Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte), and the shock of the extra mileage on the car, the characters are transformed. By the time they have returned to the suburbs, Cameron is now prepared to stand up for himself, Ferris feels confident in the former’s ability to do so, and in her last moment in the film, Sloane states with affection, “He’s going to marry me.” Obviously, Cameron’s transformation is more significant than Ferris’, but then his issues were more significant from the start. We don’t know what that conversation between the Frys will be, and we don’t know what the immediate future for Ferris and Sloane looks like. But in both cases, a trip to the City and back has transformed all of their futures, just like it did for Gatsby and company.

And let’s not forget how different an experience the City is for the characters. The high school student body is uncomfortably white. Every student, be they in Ben Stein’s economics class or canvassing the hallways to “save Ferris” is white. The one minority we see is the nurse who comes to tell Sloane that her grandmother passed. But in Chicago, we see the trio walking hand in hand with an elementary school field trip to the Art Institute. That elementary class is the opposite of the suburb school; students of various races are holding hands, as they go through the museum and our main characters join with them. Similarly, when Ferris turns the downtown parade into a twist party, it’s a celebration for everyone. It’s the most diverse scene in the movie; people of different races, genders, ages, socio-economic status, all having a good time. So many of John Hughes’ films involve white kids in the Chicago suburbs. But in Ferris Bueller, we see in Chicago, people of all ages and races, from school children to adults, interacting together through art and music. That’s a nice touch. I don’t know if that was Hughes’ intent, but with how diverse both the Art Institute and the parade sequence are, it makes for a statement about the multicultural appeal of art and music. No, our characters don’t stay in Chicago. They go back to their suburb, where, in the climatic race against the clock, Ferris encounters only white people. But during those pivotal hours in downtown, our protagonists broke away from their homogenous enclave and saw something more. They returned with a different outlook, or at least a different perceptive on where they were going. Just as Manhattan changed things for Gatsby’s crew, so did Chicago for Ferris, Cameron and Sloane.

But as much as Ferris Bueller may be a study of transformation, let us not forget, it’s also a grand adventure, worthy of Jules Verne’s globe-circling race against the clock. Just as Mr. Fix provides the opposition, to put a stop in Fogg’s quest, so does Mr. Rooney for Ferris. And both seem to have pulled it off, save a deus ex machina that simply saves the day. Both of our protagonists are down for the count. Fogg had accounted for everything, but his arrest by Fix was the delay he couldn’t overcome. Just as Ferris has beaten everyone home, hand almost on the door, it is there he finally comes face to face with Mr. Rooney. Hard to believe that in that entire film, the hero and villain are only screen together for no more than two minutes. And Matthew Broderick does a brilliant job of making the most of that moment. We’ve seen Ferris unsure at times. His breaking of the fourth wall, after “Cameron goes berserk” reveals that he doesn’t always know what’s going on. He fears this may be “the big one” for Cameron, and his uncertainty over his future with Sloane is evident. But whereas he is not confident in that moment, he’s not fearful. When Ferris and Rooney finally come face to face, there is definite terror on the former’s face. Broderick doesn’t say anything; his face tells it all. It’s panic. He realizes he’s lost, there’s no solution. But just as the International Date Line provides a sudden rescue for Phileas Fogg, so does Jeannie’s decision to help her older brother. We can talk about her motivation. Is it because Mr. Rooney was an intruder in the house? Did Charlie Sheen’s advice at the Police Station have an effect? Whatever caused it, it becomes the plot device that allows Ferris to win the race. Phileas Fogg wins his wager and brings a bride home in the process. Ferris Bueller pulled the con off successfully, will still graduate, helped his friend straighten his life out, and shored up his future with his girlfriend. To paraphrase Jules Verne, “Truly, would you not for less than that ditch school?”

Lastly, I mentioned how whenever I re-read The Great Gatsby, I am always hopeful that this is the time Jay succeeds. Of course, it never happens, and every time, I am saddened at his demise. The same comes with both Around the World in 80 Days and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. As Fogg is near the end of his journey, I am sad. Mind you, it’s not a sad story at all. But I’m sorry it’s over. The same with Ferris. Both of their trips were such enthralling experiences, it’s a shame they’re over. Jules Verne continued the story of Captain Nemo in two different books, but he never returned to Phileas Fogg, Passepartout, and Aouda. Part of me wish he had; with what adventure they had in one book, what else could they have taken on. But for Verne, there was no need. Fogg took on a near impossible quest, accomplished it, and his life is now all the better. What else to say? Same with Ferris. Yes, we all want to know how Cameron is doing. Do Ferris and Sloane stay together? What does Ferris do next in life? But it’s perfect that John Hughes never told us. Ferris Bueller exists for one incredible day, just as Phileas Fogg does for 80 (well, technically, I think maybe 81, but you get the point). We’ve all seen sequels that cheapen the memory of the original. Not so with Gatsby, Around the World in 80 Days, or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Each time I finish any of them, I am saddened the story has ended. But whenever the race begins, I’m right there with them.

Life does indeed move pretty fast some time. And in the case of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, give yourself multiple viewings. After all, you don’t want to miss it.