If the seventies are an object of admiration for movie lovers, the eighties are an object of passion. Written in a startling reaction to the previous decade's sophistication, eighties movies are simple and naive to the point they would have been dadaistic if they hadn't been cynically motivated. The borderline surreal DIRTY DANCING is so preoccupied about fulfilling teenage girls fantasies, that it doesn't bother constructing a narrative that validates these fantasies. Seen through a man's eyes, DIRTY DANCING is an utterly bizarre movie about the erotic powers of dancing and the macropolitics of the hotel business. There is an undeniable charisma to it, though. A strong sense of identity that explains why it transcended two decades, spawned a sequel and a freakin' reality show.
Baby (Jennifer Grey) is spending a few weeks in a strange resort for rich people in the Catskills that looks like an hybrid between a Club Med and a sanatorium. Good natured and naive, Baby befriends members the staff and immediatly falls in love with local alpha male and dancing teacher Johnny Castle (Patrick Swayze). Swept away by the awakening of womanly emotions, Baby finds out that she can swing pretty hard when it's time to get her man. She pays for Johnny's ladyfriend's abortion (I know, right), volunteers to replaces her for a dance contest, scores about a hundred free dancing lessons in a week and drives Johnny into bed, even if it's not quite legal. But it doesn't matter in the universe of DIRTY DANCING, because dancing solves everything.
I'm sorry girls, but your classic movie fascinates me. First of all, who goes resorting in the Castkills, except for murderous cults? The resort where Baby and her family are staying is so freakin' WEIRD. I don't know if it's due to isolation, but there is a bullshit class warfare going on between the workers and the management of the resort and Baby is caught in the middle of it, between Johnny and owner's son, superdork Neil (Lonny Price). The staff, albeit pumped up and righteous, are a pack of freaky animals that (except for Johnny, of course) cannot seem to dance without furiously grabbing one another's ass. The working class aren't the underdogs this time. They are just another artificially created oddity in an odd and artificial place. No side has all the answers in DIRTY DANCING which is an ironically realistic detail.
Johnny is a talented, sneaky crotch-rubbing artist. Baby was not the only victim.
But I get it. Really, I do. It's not supposed to be realistic because it's supposed to symbolize Baby's coming-of-age. The advent of her womanhood. Jennifer Grey (who was 27 at the time, believe it or not) carries the idea rather well and you see a tremendous change operate in the way she carries herself throughout the movie. She's good. But something in the idea of a 27 years old actress who looks like she's 16, doing the nasty with a 35 year old that looks...35...makes me uneasy. It doesn't look right. Even two decades of perspective don't make it look right. But then again, the charatcers of DIRTY DANCING don't live in the real world. They don't live in a parallel universe like in ROAD HOUSE. No, they live in a Freudian microcosm where every transgression has symbolic value. It's not statuatory rape, Baby's fucking her childhood away. That's all.
I love movies that are out of their mind. My friend Jake compared DIRTY DANCING to a creepy Woody Allen daydream and given that I really like Woody, I thought the comparison was solid. DIRTY DANCING doesn't let much get in the way of its fun. It's cohesive and unapologetic about its two main themes: love and dancing. Extra points for being about real ballroom dancing. There is very little spastic self-expression except maybe for Patrick Swayze's crotch-rubs. DIRTY DANCING is the female pendant to pulp fiction. It's far removed from reality, over-the-top, yet it feels righteous for the concerned audience. For the rest of us, it's a slightly funny, awkward story about dancing (and fucking) your way into womanhood.