Reeling Backward: "Footloose" (1984)

For such an iconic film, "Footloose" is a strange bird of a movie. Most people remember it as a rock 'n' roll flick about a kid who brings back dancing to an uptight Midwestern town where the local preacher has successfully had it banned. The songs, the now painfully dated clothes and dance moves and the Rebellion Lite mood have it positioned in most people's minds as a delightful confection.

Basically, it's thought of as a music video -- back when MTV still played those things -- with a hip teenage movie wrapped around it.

Those are the parts that interested me least upon watching "Footloose" for the very first time. (Yes, I know, how can any self-respecting Generation Xer have missed it? The same way I've never seen "Dirty Dancing": They were movies about dancing at a time I was doing everything in my power to avoid it. I was probably trying to sneak into some horror flick instead.)

What I liked most about the film is the stuff most critics seemed to hate at the time of the film's original release: The more contemplative sequences devoted to the preacher, Shaw Moore. I think it's one of John Lithgow's best performances, as a conflicted man of God who swings between righteous certitude and soul-crushing doubt.

Quite frankly, I would love to have seen the same story told from the perspective of the preacher: A man who's devoted his life to binding the community together after the tragic loss of his own son, only to see the entire town and even his daughter stirred up by some cocky young interloper.

Diane Wiest also has a terrific role as Moore's wife, a woman whose position as preacher's wife requires her to linger in his shadow, but isn't afraid to give him counsel and try to nudge him toward the light of modernity.

I feel compelled to point out that Lithgow was only 38 years old when "Footloose" came out, while star Kevin Bacon was 25. Bacon's co-star Lori Singer was a year older, which made her a mere 12 years younger than the actor playing her father, and only nine years older than Wiest, playing he onscreen mother.


Two years earlier, Bacon had gotten his big break in Barry Levinson's "Diner," in a story of a bunch of guys facing post-college angst. Now here he is trying to look 17 -- though I'll admit the transformation is more convincing than a lot of stuff you see.

(At least Chris Penn and Sarah Jessica Parker, both memorable in supporting roles that kick-started their careers, were each 18 when the film debuted.) 

I think the reason studios usually decline to cast actual teenagers in high school movie is that they don't feel they can find actors that age who have the acting chops to pull it off. That, and most people tend to romanticize those years, forgetting the pimples, awkwardness and depression that are what most people actually experience. Better to wait until they're 25, their complexions have cleared up and their bodies filled out.

Filled out, that is, except for Singer, whose costumes emphasized her scary-skinny physique. There are several scenes where she looks downright anorexic.

Singer's role as Ariel, the prototypical rebellious preacher's daughter, is all over the map. She acts sweet and virginal around her parents, but becomes a near-psychotic hellion while hanging with her friends. The early sequence where she balances with one foot each on two speeding cars as a tractor-trailer barrels down on them is totally nutso. As is the bit where she stands in front of an oncoming train screaming her head off, waiting for Bacon's new kid in town, Ren, to save her.

There's actually not all that much dancing in "Footloose." Ren has a big solo dance scene inside the trainyard, where he begins leaping and swinging all over the place like a champion gymnast, that's totally ridiculous -- and not just because the cutaways to Bacon's (several) body doubles are so ham-handedly obvious.

Director Herbert Ross, who had a long and productive career including "The Goodbye Girl," "The Sunshine Boys" and "Steel Magnolias," lets the tone of the movie slip and slide all over the place. The main character, Ren, is actually one of the least interesting people onscreen -- not due to Bacon, but simply because the script doesn't really give him much to do. He ends up falling back on a more or less generic James Dean type of persona, but less angry.

Too many false notes doom "Footloose," giving me little hope this week's remake will be any better.

2 stars out of four

Review: "Sex and the City 2"

"Sex and the City 2" stumbles right out of the gate, teetering on too-tall heels with a title that, in addition to being unimaginative, can't even boast accuracy: The gals don't spend much time at all in New York City, hotfooting it instead to the desert for an Arabian adventure.

I guess "Sex and Another City" doesn't have quite the same ring.

There are some fun moments as Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda traipse around Abu Dhabi, buying up cheap shoes at the bazaars and setting turbans on fire with their brazen flouting of Islamic codes of conduct. And it's nice to see Sarah Jessica Parker, Kim Cattrall, Kristin Davis and Cynthia Nixon, respectively, back in the familiar roles that they've come to wear with tailored precision.

But the sequel to the movie version of the beloved television series just doesn't have the fresh zing of two years ago. It feels like ... well, old clothes: Put on in a rush for comfort and convenience, rather than carefully pressed and matched to make an impression.
The ladies still look fabulous, but the script is stuck in the spin cycle.

Matching real time, two years have passed since expert single gal Carrie finally tied the knot with dream man Mr. Big (Chris Noth).

They're still madly in love, but the passing of time and fear of turning into a couple of dull old marrieds has Carrie fretting. Her nerves jump into high gear when she gives him a vintage Rolex for their anniversary, and his gift is ... a flatscreen in the bedroom.

At least there's another massively over-the-top wedding to kick off the party: This time it's the knotting of gay gal pals Stanford and Anthony in glam-tastic festivities that include Liza Minnelli reprising Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies," right down to the strutting dance moves.

It's so wrong, it feels kinda right.

Charlotte is frustrated with raising two high-maintenance daughters, and her new braless wonder of a nanny raises worries about a potential affair with her hubby Harry. Miranda's got her own domestic pressures, plus a new boss at work who makes her want to quit.

Samantha thinks she has the solution to their "mid-wife crisis" in an all-expenses-paid trip to Abu Dhabi, shining jewel of the "New Middle East," at the behest of a rich sheik. Things go well at first, with camel rides and a foursome of handsome butlers to wait on them hand and foot.

But then Carrie runs into an old flame, and Samantha's hot flashes -- her menopause-defying drugs were confiscated at customs -- threaten to overheat the natives.
Writer/director Michael Patrick King ladles on plenty of what "Sex" fans want: Bitchy dialogue, loads of hot young studs improbably slavering for women twice their age, and high-fashion clothes by the metric ton.

The cast and crew can't be blamed, but the characters' obsession with fashion and status quickly wears thin given our lean economy. King's camera lingers over Maybach limos, black diamond rings and opulent furniture with a voyeurism that, in a time of foreclosures and recession gardens, borders on pornographic.

I think what's missing most from "Sex and the City 2" is the Big Apple itself. The TV show had great characters, but was also quintessentially New York in its high-wire vibe. Taking the act on the road drains it of a primary flavor.

There's still a good time to be had hanging out with these city girls. But if there's a third date, let's make it Manhattan.


2.5 stars out of four