I Wanna Dance with Somebody
I made the mistake of listening to the Footloose soundtrack last night as I was trying to fall asleep. This was a mistake of gargantuan proportions because
a) I started bed dancing (which most of you have heard me discuss here before) and
b) I started thinking of the topic of this post and cackling aloud to an empty, dark room.
I'm sure my fish thought I'd finally fallen right off the edge....marbles and all.
I miss dance movies. Specifically, I miss 80's dance movies. Films like Flashdance, Footloose, Fame, and Dirty Dancing. That was some good shit. These newfangled dance movies like Save the Last Dance or Center Stage (yes, fuckers, I'm one of the two people who saw that movie) don't have the passion and idiocy that the 80's movies had. Things like a viable plot or convincing characters need not apply to the canon of 80's dance movies and, damnit, I liked it that way!
The 80's dance movies had an undeniable charm and unintentional wit about them. What's more entertaining than Kevin Bacon spontaneously combusting into a drunken whirligig...throwing himself up against the walls in a mill, doing that gymnastic thing on a conveniently-placed high bar or what's-her-name...the anorexic abused girlfriend...gyrating up against a car at a drive-in burger joint to Dancing in the Sheets while John effin' Lithgow her preacher daddio catches her and looks wounded to his core!?! That sentence took my breath away. Watch out Faulkner.
What's more priceless than Patrick Swayze in a black wife beater and painted-on jeans groping and lifting Jennifer Whats-Her-Nose in a river (why did she have to get her schnoz "fixed")? And of course, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."
What makes your boxers sweat more than Jennifer Beals in her up-to-there legwarmers working her legs off? Or flashdancing her way right on up to the Philadelphia ballet? Ohhh, mama! INSPIRING! And Grunt was a great actor.
80's dance movies and their respective soundtracks make me fly! Not only do I spontaneously combust into the obligatory dance/seizure, I have an overwhelming urge to sport shoulder pads, a frosted mullet, and a slap bracelet or 6. Sweet, buttery Jesus, it is a religious experience all its own.
Save the Last Dance never did that to me. I want my money back.