My friend, Jacob, at a bar tonight in Hong Kong (I’m back stateside this Sunday, if anyone’s keeping track) told me I had to go look this up. I’m drunk now, and my belly is full of spicy lamb kebab, but I did it anyway, and I’ve got to say, it’s a pretty beautiful, heartfelt, honest remembrance. If you’re only going to read one John Hughes memorial, make it this one.

John saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself. He had complete confidence in me as an actor, which was an extraordinary and heady sensation for anyone, let alone a 16-year-old girl. I did some of my best work with him. How could I not? He continually told me that I was the best, and because of my undying respect for him and his judgment, how could I have not believed him?

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