Follows a group of high school students growing up in southern California, based on the real-life adventures chronicled by Cameron Crowe. Stacy Hamilton and Mark Ratner are looking for a love interest, and are helped along by their older classmates, Linda Barrett and Mike Damone, respectively. The center of the film is held by Jeff Spicoli, a perpetually stoned surfer dude who faces off with the resolute Mr. Hand, who is convinced that everyone is on dope. Written by
Rick Gregory <firstname.lastname@example.org>
When Stacy is waiting by the curb for Damone to pick her up, Brad's car is clearly not in the driveway. However, when Stacy hears Brad's car start she runs outside to catch a ride with him and his car is just backing out of the driveway like it had always been there. See more »
All throughout the decade of pencil-thin neckties and Pat Benatar look-alikes, various films came along that served to embody the times. "Valley Girl" (which introduced us to Nicholas Cage) and "Secret Admirer" were just a drop in the proverbial bucket. Amy Heckerling's "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" was the textbook definition of life as a teenager in the eighties and remains so to this day. The story was brought to life in a very unique way that hasn't been duplicated since:
There was no actual plot to speak of. This was just...High School.
It's a film about a group of kids looking for love, status, or a good buzz. The film was nothing more than that, and it didn't pretend to be more. In addition, Cameron Crowe's script made you *care* about what these kids went through as if their individual situations were happening to us (as they may very well have). It's almost a crime that a sequel was never made, although a mediocre TV series was spawned. Armed with a cast of characters that struck a chord with all of us (primarily because we knew someone in High School who acted just like them), and a soundtrack that reeked of the Mark Goodman-J.J. Jackson era of MTV, this film stands as a perfect portrait of a decade a lot of us say we'd like to forget....shortly before brushing the dust off an old Night Ranger cassette and indulging in a guilty pleasure.
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