Another semester got underway as of yesterday, and the cinetrix spent some class time getting to know her new batch of students. To that end, she asked them to name the movies they'd seen in the theaters over break and then those they'd watched on television. As you might imagine, the latter category skewed heavily toward Christmas classics watched en famille. And Die Hard. Kids today.
The cinetrix skittered to a fair number of theatrical releases over break herself, about which more anon. Right now she wants to focus on the fleeting film moments she caught on smaller screens. They included parts of It's A Wonderful Life and the admittedly less Xmas-y 40-Year-Old Virgin with the 'Fesser and her folks, all but the finale of Blades of Glory--MOS--on her neighbor's laptop during a flight, and the 15 minutes of The Best of Youth in which Matteo and Nicola help save the manuscripts from the flood and Nicola first meets Giulia.
And then there was the night she watched Dirty Dancing, in its entirety, for the first time in more than a decade. Everyone else had already gone to sleep when the first drumbeat of "Be My Baby" sounded over the opening credits, and that's all it took. I was hooked: Jennifer Grey's old nose and scuffed Keds. Kenny Ortega's swivel-hipped choreography. Jerry Orbach's doting dad. Sister Lisa's tone-deaf warbling. Freakin' Kellerman's. Even Swayze's blow-dried "rough trade" charms did not leave me unmoved.
Plus, a young woman gets an abortion. [I know, right?]
Granted, it is back alley, botched, and bloody. Overall, the outlook is pretty grim for Penny Johnson, the blonde dance instructor knocked up by a callow law student at the resort, at least until Grey's Baby runs and gets her doctor dad. He adheres to his Hippocratic oath and helps her, even though abortion wasn't legal in 1963 and wouldn't be for another decade. Penny's no round-heels. She tearfully confides that she thought the cad loved her. Still, the film makes it clear that an illicit abortion is much better than the alternative: She doesn't die, keeps her job, and avoids potentially slipping into poverty as a single mother.
The script doesn't punish Baby for "promiscuity," either. In fact, the combination of class privilege and educational opportunity awaiting her at Holyoke makes for quite a prophylactic. Our heroine gets her freak on with Johnny all summer without getting pregnant or even catching an STD.
Now, twenty years after the film's theatrical release and thirty-five years after Roe v. Wade, abortion has all but disappeared from the screen as a viable option. How did this happen? Why is a low-budget 1980s romantic fantasy more clear-eyed about class and young women's choices than the stuff crowding the multiplexes this past year? Almost without exclusion, birth is treated as the end of the story in those films, with perhaps a sunny compressed montage gliding over what actually comes next: the rest of these mamas' and babies' lives.
The cinetrix can just imagine the Dirty Dancing remake of today: Penny would keep the baby and Johnny would help raise it and everyone would live happilyeveraftertheend.
Right.