Fight with the Dance, and not Your Overwhelming Socio-economic Advantages

So I capped off Valentine's Day last night by taking my wife to see Step Up 2: The Streets. I did so because she was a dancer and very much wanted to see the film, and not because I think it's the most romantic movie of all time. Obviously The Goonies holds that honor. Oh Sloth...will your forbidden love with Chunk ever again walk boldly in the sun, as it did that fateful day One-Eyed Willie's hidden pirate ship pierced the swells of the might Pacific once more?

I have now had the pleasure of watching both Step Up movies, and it seems that some fundamental details undergird this universe. The female protagonist of this latest iteration, Andie West, is another orphaned white kid who is rebelling through that dangerous, sinister medium known as contemporary dance, going so far as to actually stage choreographed dances on subway cars with her "crew," a heinous act that rightfully receives the media's full ire during the opening minutes of the film. Remember, kids: when you hip-hop dance in public, the terrorists win. Anyway, since the main character of the first movie, Tyler Gage, was also an orphaned white kid in foster care, I finally realized what these films are trying to say: having parents and even a moderately happy childhood denies you the passion to truly dance. No wonder I'm so inept on the dance floor, despite how much "Humpty Dance" might pull my heart strings. Indeed, as everyone knows, Fred Astaire was locked in the basement of an orphange and fed fish heads until he was 27, and let's just say Mikhail Baryshnikov's childhood makes the Saw movies looks like a paternal reprimand on Leave it to Beaver. Poor bastards.

The movie centers around these dancing "crews," who go to work on the dance floor and leave their inhibitions at the...you get the idea. And since the movie is all about choreographed teams of dancers, the actual dancing is much more entertaining this time around. Indeed, I would go so far as to classify this movie as "dance porn," because, much like that more traditional variety of porn we all know and love, this movie has just enough plot and dialogue to limp to the next performance setpiece. And I'm fine with that. If I want snappy dialogue, I'll watch something by Joss Whedon. I'd show you the trailer, but it doesn't do justice to the movie's dancing, mainly because it focuses so much on the film's protagonist. As my wife observed, young Andie is probably the best actress of the bunch and certainly the worst dancer. However, I have attached a mash up of sorts, one focusing (almost) entirely on the dancing alone and not paying undue attention to the film's young punky brewster:



The important thing to remember here, of course, is the movie's message. Follow your heart, give it your all, and even a ragtag crew of extremely priveleged misfits from one of the nation's most prestigious arts schools can take "it" back to the streets and soundly defeat (and embarrass!) the non-white, economically disadvantaged hoods who thought this kind of dancing was their purview alone. Hey, don't hate the choreographer, yo, hate the game. That's just what the Streets is all about.

Miticlorians be Damned!

I believe I may have, in some sort of poetic rapture from the recent past, described the more recent Star Wars trilogy of prequels as something akin to watching a parent savagely beat their child with, say, a tire iron. Lucas's treatment of his own rich Star Wars mythology was so brutally inept that extensive reconstructive surgery would be needed to return it to even a fraction of its former self. Ironically, come to think of it, that's not unlike what happened to Mark Hamill's face after his car accident between Episodes IV and V, and thus the 11th hour addition of the snow beast clawing his face on Hoth. Point being, apart from the fact that knowing this bit of trivia exposes me as a super big nerd, one can't help but wonder why any parent would brutalize their own creation like that.

Nevertheless, I remain attached to the mythology in general, warts and all. That's why I'm always so optimistic when anyone other than Lucas gets their hands on the material. After all, Empire and Jedi were both helmed by directors other than the silver bearded owner of Marin County, and when people debate which is the best Star Wars movie, only those who have to wear helmets in the back of the bus even consider Episode IV. For instance, there was an animated series of sorts--more like two shortened seasons--set between the second and third prequels, airing on Cartoon Network and detailing the opening and middle years of the Clone Wars. It was quite well done, and appropriately well received by critics and fans alike. Georgie boy had nothing to do with it.

As it turns out, there is more forthcoming from the Star Wars universe, blessedly devoid of Lucas's pudgy touch, save for the green light anything from his mythos needs before it sees the light of day. The project is named The Clone Wars, and while I think they could have allowed themselves a dash more creative latitude with the name, if they want to name their pet rock "Rock," so be it. The piece is entirely computer animated, though not in the same sense the actors' performances from the prequels were. I'd make a joke that a CG character would at least have a shot at delivering Lucas's lines with a straight face, but even a soulless collection of digital pixels can't say "Anakin, you're breaking my heart!" without dying inside. Self awareness would blossom just in time to be ruthlessly snuffed out. But I digress; Lucas isn't penning a single goddamn word of this one, so the concern is purely academic.

Aesthetically, it seems to be a combination of Pixar and the animated clone wars series. This is a good thing, I believe. I can't exactly tell you why, much like I can't actually put into words why babies are cute or why panda meat is so delicious. But why take my word for it (about the CG movie...leave the pandas alone)? Glance below, and if the light burns, know that it makes your tears of joy glisten all the more.