Last year we were on holiday in, Bendigo, Ballarat, not sure, some place that begins with a ‘B’. Holiday houses are one of the few places left that still have DVD cupboards, and when I opened up this one, Dirty Dancing fell out.
I shoved it in the DVD player (again, only in holiday houses) with a deep glow of nostalgia and a certain sense of shame. I was, maybe, about twelve the very first time I saw Dirty Dancing. I must have walked it home from the Video Ezy Store, one of the “Three Weeklies for Five Dollars” deal. I watched it – I liked it – but I completely misunderstood it. I had no idea that Dirty Dancing was actually a romance.
If you’d have asked me back then, my twelve year old brain would have given you an explanation like this; There’s this girl, she has boobs already, and she wants to learn to dance but all the cool kids led by some guy despise her. Then they get desperate and have to teach her anyway, then she Has Sex with the guy (not sure why he goes along with it, I think cos she takes her top off in his room and then it would be rude not to) then he gets fired and leaves then comes back and he doesn’t like anyone sitting in corners and she leaps up in this beautiful little pink dress and clean undies and the cool kids don’t hate her any more, the end.
Years later I would finally realise that the love story between Johnny and Baby had the whole world swooning, and would die a little with embarrassment that I hadn’t figured out there was one. Dumb twelve year old me, dense as bricks.
But I’m a grown up now, right? I have kids and a lit degree and I know my love stories, Romeo and Juliet, Outlander and his kilt, Daenerys and her dragon. I’m gonna watch this and enjoy this and get it right this time.
Only I’m not, I realise with a growing sense of horror. Johnny’s hips grind, Baby carries the watermelon, and an inescapable truth is dawning in my brain. I was right the first time.
He doesn’t like her.
The dancing? No stunt. Jennifer Grey’s naive charm, her incandescent youth and hope, her longing to be seen? Totally authentic. Swayze’s full-on energy, his determination and frustration? A hundred per cent real.
Their attraction? Fake as a celebrity apology.
Surely just my broken perception again, right? Has to be. And now there’s no way to tell what two people thought of each other thirty five years ago.
Except this isn’t 1991 and we have a little thing called the internet now. You go right ahead. If your google fingers are really good, they’ll even find video of Swayze admitting how frustrating the whole experience was. He was newly married and head over heels for his dancer wife; Grey was still kicking around with Broderick. While they found some professional respect for each other later, they were the first to confess their real-life chemistry while filming was sorely in the negative.
My twelve year old self had picked up on the one thing she would have known better than anyone else; what it looks like when a young girl is barely tolerated, and somebody is less than thrilled with your company.
Objectively, this is a crap movie which sucks on all major counts. But it doesn’t matter; some movies go beyond good or bad, and Dirty Dancing has some kind of spark that allows it to claim a place in our hearts. It’s a love story, but not for Johnny and Baby – it’s a romance with the past, a mythical holiday lodge in the Catskills in the 60s, or the dog-eared VHS for hire in the video stores of the 90s.
Or maybe the real love affair is what we feel for Grey herself, not a great dancer, not a Hollywood bombshell, but bursting with promise and individuality and a value she doesn’t see. I wish she’d had more faith in herself. I wish I’d had more faith in myself. But hey. We can always look back with rose-coloured glasses.
Go on, you know you want to see it again; https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092890/
Enjoy Elissa McKay’s writing? See more here; https://mountainashchapter.com.au/?author=2