The Walsh Home

There's a very good reason that fifteen of the first twenty minutes of the movie take place in the Walsh home—and it isn't just to show off that Rube Goldberg gate-opening trick.

Obviously, it's the perfect place to meet all our characters, see them interacting in one place, and get an idea of what their day-to-day feels like before we embark on a larger adventure. Mikey's our hero, and this is his pad…so it makes sense.

But that isn't the only reason.

This whole movie—everything the Goonies do—is about saving their homes. Why should we care about their house being saved if it's just some faceless structure? Instead, we're taken inside the home, which is big and beautiful and packed with character—the kind of home you'd understand being bummed to leave.

We spend some time there, and get to see how much the Goonies love to come together and hang out there. In other words, this house isn't just where the Walshes get dressed in the morning. We see how many Goonie-esque touches have been lovingly added—the aforementioned gate contraption, Data's zip line, and the boys' trip up into the attic shows how much history there is in this house, and in this town.

Astoria—and this home—are characters themselves. Losing this place would be as difficult as losing Data, or Chunk, or Mouth. (Well, maybe not Mouth.)

It's because it was so important to establish this house as yet another character that the layout is so unique. The gorgeous white house on a hillside, that wraparound porch, Mrs. Walsh's kitschy decorating tastes (or maybe that stuff was all "in" during the 1980s?) all serves to make us feel as much at home there as the Walshes do. So that when it comes time for the Goonies to either save the day or move on, we care.

The Restaurant

We can just imagine the Yelp reviews:

Poorly lit, damp atmosphere. Dirty, grimy walls and floors. Employees threatening to cut off your tongue and/or shove your hand into a blender. Someone chained up downstairs.

As a restaurant, this place is more than a bit lacking. But it clearly isn't the best choice for a criminal hideout, either.

It's right out there in the open, first of all—the furthest thing from "secluded." Soon after the Fratellis are inside, they're visited by a couple of FBI agents. They either didn't cover their tracks very well, or else they decided to hide from the authorities in a restaurant that is frequented by FBI agents. Either way…not the best planning.

Then, when a group of curious young kids wanders over, they walk right in. No locked door, no "Closed Until the Summer" sign hanging outside: this place is open and ready for the public.

Then again, the Fratellis confront the Goonies immediately after they enter the place, and even seem to be having a little fun at their expense, so maybe they just welcome a challenge.

The Tunnels

This is the heart of the film, of course. The underground adventure is what makes The Goonies The Goonies. Without that part of the story, it's just a bunch of kids loitering on private property, breaking into businesses, and missing their curfews.

It's the tunnels that capture the imaginations of children (or big children, a.k.a. "us"). It's an entire unknown, underground world that connects to the world above in some small ways (the pipes, the wishing well, etc.), but is completely its own entity.

The tunnels are an escape from reality, where kids can be heroes, far away from the meddlesome intrusion of adults (aside from the three who are trying to kill them). Where booby traps and pirate ships are very real things, not just well-worn elements of a bedtime story.

The idea of an underground world where magical, unexpected things happen grabs our attention and gets our imagination gears whirring. In fact, it's the sort of thing we might even wish for the next time we throw a penny into a well.