“The Goonies” is still a guide to surviving hard times

Forty years after its release, “The Goonies” has proven to be more than a nostalgic romp through booby traps and pirate ships—it’s a blueprint for collective survival and solidarity, perhaps even more applicable in 2025 than when it first debuted. Beneath its awkward stereotypes and slapstick humor from 1985 lies powerful messaging about what it means to belong, to resist, and to imagine abundance in the face of systemic scarcity—offering a refreshingly radical reminder that when we band together, our combined differences can be a force strong enough to rewrite the ending. This is a story not just about a pirate ship full of treasure, but about the kind of community capable of finding it.

The definition of a goonie is just someone who is cast out by society because they’re different. Mikey, played by a young Sean Astin, thinks of the locally legendary pirate, One-Eyed Willy, as the original goonie. Among Mikey’s crew: Data (Ke Huy Quan), the inventive problem solver; Chunk (Jeff Cohen), the big-bodied klutz; Andy (Kerri Green), the love interest; Stef (Martha Plimpton), the wisecracker; and Mouth (Corey Feldman), the foreign language aficionado with a penchant for sarcasm, Mikey’s big brother Brand, played by Josh Brolin, is the goonie who gets the girl after being derided by a country club douche for Andy’s affection for most of the film.

Corey Feldman, Sean Astin, Ke Huy Quan and Jeff Cohen in a scene from “The Goonies,” 1985. (Warner Brothers/Getty Images)

That snobby competitor, Troy (Steve Antin), happens to be the son of the equally douchey banker who is going to foreclose on Mikey and Brand’s parents’ house because they can no longer afford to pay the mortgage. Class consciousness is evident throughout the movie, both in the goonies’ ability to make the most out of the meager resources at their disposal and in their imaginative leap of faith that One-Eyed Willy’s buried treasure really is out there somewhere. No infighting about who will get what if the treasure is real. Everybody climbs aboard this unlikely adventure just to save Mikey’s house.

The looming home foreclosure is not just a narrative device; it’s a symbol of systemic dispossession, of a profit-driven world where communities are expendable. The kids’ refusal to give in to that fate mirrors the kinds of community resistance that have been bubbling up more in recent years—tenants’ unions fighting evictions, neighbors rallying to preserve public spaces, young people organizing against the hollowing out of their towns. “The Goonies” suggests there’s a form of wealth that can’t be measured in dollars: the wealth of knowing your neighbors and daring to come together with them for a shared purpose.

The primary obstacle to the goonies’ endeavor is that the location of the treasure may be beneath a secluded and long-empty house where a trio of felons — Mama Fratelli (Anne Ramsey) and her two bumbling sons — have taken up residence to evade the FBI. When the goonies discover their hiding place, the Fratellis plot to snuff out this loose end, causing them to literally dig deeper into the house with the criminals hot on their trail. The Fratellis operate according to a classic scarcity mindset, hoarding and manipulating, constantly undermining each other. Their fear-based leadership mirrors the behavior of real-world extractive villains like bankers foreclosing on homes and billionaires profiting off crises, whereas the goonies embody a fundamentally different ethic of trust, creativity and abundance.

In this multi-layered wild goose chase, Chunk makes a further discovery that turns the tide of the story: there’s a third Fratelli brother, Sloth (John Matuszak), named for his neurodivergence and physical variations that include his enormous size and facial structure. The goonies quickly sense that Sloth is one of them and that his so-called deformities can be turned into assets. And Sloth’s not the only one whose differences are ultimately understood as the greatest of gifts. Each of the goonies applies those very elements of their character that make them an outcast, and the combined value of these skill sets is what makes them powerful enough to find the long-lost treasure as a group. 

Despite no adult or authority figure believing in their mission, the goonies triumph. They refuse to give up their own potential or acquiesce to a narrative that portrays their strengths as weaknesses, so they succeed in manifesting a treasure that nobody even thought was real. Cue that priceless look on every adult’s face when the goonies are reunited with their families as the entire pirate ship resurfaces to float joyously in the distance. This incredible win is not just one of youthful adventure or cleverness; “The Goonies” is a story about reimagining power and possibility from the margins. It isn’t the typical hero’s journey led by a singular chosen one, but a collective effort. This is a decentralized coalition of kids pooling their oddities, improvising solutions, and building solidarity in real time. They form a kind of mutual aid pod driven not by individual glory, but a shared sense of responsibility to one another and their neighborhood.

Anne Ramsey, Jeff Cohen, Ke Huy Quan, Corey Feldman and Sean Astin in a scene from “The Goonies,” 1985. (Warner Brothers/Getty Images)

It’s also a quietly radical vision of abundance. The buried treasure, while real in the end, isn’t hoarded or privatized. It’s accessed through collaboration, not conquest, and there’s no betrayal in the face of temptation. In fact, the treasure only becomes attainable because every single goonie brings a different, essential gift to the table. Data’s gadgets, Chunk’s loyalty, Mouth’s Spanish fluency, Sloth’s strength and Mikey’s unshakeable hope all link up together to form a mosaic of community resilience. The lesson here is that any future worth fighting for is one where everyone’s weirdness matters.

That ethic resonates strongly in today’s tough times. The goonies’ journey isn’t just a nostalgic throwback; it’s a map for how we might really face collective peril. We’re not going to be saved by lone heroes or distant institutions. We’re going to have to save each other. We’re going to need to share tools, look out for our neurodivergent neighbors, fight like hell to keep our homes and stubbornly believe in each other’s gifts. The real treasure is not the gold—it’s the community that forms in the process of seeking it. As “The Goonies” turns forty, its message lands with renewed urgency. In an era where many feel cast out or left behind, the film offers a thrilling, heartwarming reminder that a better world is possible, but only if we build it together. Goonies never say die, not because they’re invincible, but because they refuse to go it alone.