11/16/14 (Part Two): The Dance Commander Cometh

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British comedies, childhood trauma, Chris O'Dowd, cinema, comedies, Cuban Fury, dancers, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, foreign films, Ian McShane, James Griffiths, Kayvan Novak, Movies, Nick Frost, Olivia Colman, public opinion, Rashida Jones, romances, romantic rivalry, romantic-comedies, Rory Kinnear, salsa dancing, Strictly Ballroom, UK films

Fear of public ridicule can be a powerful mitigating factor, even for those of us who consider ourselves “above” such considerations: it can affect how one dresses, walks, talks, eats and slurps soup. Concern over our own self-image can result in “guilty musical pleasures,” “ironic” interests in pop culture and “hate-watching” programs rather than admitting to actually liking something “uncool.” If you think about it, it’s a pretty sad way to live: so concerned with the court of public opinion that you’d rather listen to something “respectable” than blast the Eddie Money cassette that you idolized as a kid. When folks can no longer feel free to leave the house wearing their most comfortable clothes, ladies and gentlemen, than the terrorists, whoever they may be, have truly won.

Bruce Garrett (Nick Frost), the heroic schlub at the heart of James Griffiths’ Cuban Fury (2014), knows all too well the high price of looking “uncool”: as a kid, Bruce was a salsa-dancin’ machine, a bespangled dance floor maestro who had the goods to go all the way. On his way to the championships, however, poor Bruce is accosted by a group of loutish teens who mock his shiny red outfit and beat the crap out of him in an alley. Properly chastised, our faithful protagonist vows never to dance again. We, of course, know better: once the dancing bug has bitten you, all you can do is hold on for dear life.

25 years later, Bruce is a buttoned-down, boring as white toast architect and any dreams of championship gold are too far in the rearview mirror to even consider. He’s got a decent job, a boring life and one of the biggest shit-heel co-workers of all time in Drew (Chris O’Dowd breaking the bank on obnoxious behavior): in other words, he’s probably like most of us. Unlike most of us, however, Bruce has got the dancing fever in his veins and, once in your DNA, you’re never completely free of it. All it takes is a little nudge, a wee reminder of how things used to be…how they could’ve been had the fork in the road gone a bit differently. All it takes is one little incident to change everything…if you let it.

Bruce’s “little incident” comes with his company’s new project manager, the adorably quirky American Julia (Rashida Jones). Bruce is sweet on her but she seems to be way out of his league, although horn-dog Drew, ever the cretin, sees her as “easy pickings.” When Bruce finds out that Julia is taking a salsa dancing class, he suddenly sees an in with her, although it means stepping back into his dreaded past and, once again, donning them dancin’ shoes. In order to prevent himself from looking like the rusty, out-of-step idiot he currently is, Bruce hunts down his old salsa coach, Ron (Ian McShane), and begs him to finish the tutelage he started 25 years earlier. Ron’s still a bit pissed off at Bruce, it turns out (being abandoned by your star pupil during a national championship will do that, apparently), but he eventually shelves his hard feelings and agrees to get Bruce ship-shape enough to duly impress Julia.

Since romantic comedies are nothing without a little rivalry, Drew decides that he’s in love with Julia, too, and determines to sweep her off her feet faster than Bruce can say “cha cha cha.” As he smugly puts it, “Women go and get advice from guys like you about guys like me.” This establishes a rivalry between the two that will result in a parking garage dance-off (impossibly silly but also fun) and will culminate in another salsa championship: will Bruce be able to overcome his old fears, put Drew in the rubbish pile, win the competition and get the girl or will this be another example of “too little, too late?” If you’ve ever seen another romantic comedy in your entire life, I’m reasonably sure you can figure out the answer to this ahead of time.

First off, Cuban Fury might seem a little familiar to fans of quirky British comedies since it is, for the most part, exactly like at least two dozen other similar films, from Kinky Boots (2005) to Brassed Off (1996), from The Full Monty (1997) to Calendar Girls (2003). Specifically, Griffiths’ feature-debut reminds me of the cult-classic Aussie flick Strictly Ballroom (1992), which was also about a neebish overcoming the court of public opinion to succeed on his own terms. For the most part, Cuban Fury does nothing to differentiate itself from the rest of the pack although, to be fair, there’s not much it drops the ball on, either. All of the expected beats/scenes are here: the bit where Bruce’s gay friend finally drags him to a nightclub to “let loose”; the dance-off between Bruce and Drew; the climatic finale at the salsa championship; the training montage…Cuban Fury manages to tick each and every one off the list.

Truth be told, despite its complete familiarity, Cuban Fury is a fun, sweet and spirited little film, full of great performances from the likes of Frost, Jones and O’Dowd (even playing a real asshole, O’Dowd is relentlessly watchable and charismatic: anyone else would have played Drew like a complete Neanderthal but O’Dowd somehow makes him kind of pitiable…kind of) and is a quick, fun watch. The script, written by Jon Brown from an idea by Frost, is full of some nice dialogue (Bruce and Drew trade some snappy zingers throughout the film) and everything gets wrapped up in a pretty tidy package by the end. McShane is great as the grumpy salsa expert, although Jones doesn’t do much noticeably different from any of her other roles: she has some decent chemistry with Frost but no one will mistaken them for star-crossed lovers anytime soon. The film’s many dance scenes are nicely realized, with some effective choreography but, again, nothing mind-blowing: this probably won’t make anyone forget Luhrmann’s debut any time soon.

More than anything, my takeaway from Cuban Fury is thus: if you’re looking for a nice, polite, fairly non-challenging romantic comedy with a good cast, Cuban Fury is for film. At the very least, I find it hard to believe that any audience would walk away from this without a smile on their faces. Will you remember the film a year (or even six months) from now? Highly doubtful. Not everything in life needs to be a grand slam, however: sometimes, you can get the same results with a humble little pop-up into the outfield.

4/29/14: Dance Like You Mean It

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A Mighty Wind, Australia, Australian films, auteur theory, ballroom dancing, Barry Fife, Barry Otto, based on a play, Baz Luhrmann, Bill Hunter, Christopher Guest, cinema, Clerks, comedies, dancing competitions, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film festival favorite, film reviews, films, Fran, Gia Carides, Golden Globe nominee, independent films, John Hannan, magical-realism, mismatched couples, Moulin Rouge, Movies, multiple award nominee, outsiders, Pan Pacific, Pat Thomson, Paul Mercurio, Peter Whitford, quirky, romances, romantic films, Romeo + Juliet, Scott Hastings, silly films, Sonia Kruger, Strictly Ballroom, Tara Morice, The Great Gatsby, ugly ducklings, upbeat films, writer-director

Everyone’s gotta start somewhere and, for writer-director Baz Luhrmann, that somewhere was Strictly Ballroom (1992), the quirky, film festival darling that launched his career. From there, of course, Luhrmann would go on to make ridiculously extravagant, lavish films like Romeo + Juliet (1996), Moulin Rouge (2001), Australia (2008) and The Great Gatsby (2013), films which seemed to be defined as much by their excesses and eye-popping production values as for their characterizations and storylines. Strictly Ballroom, however, still stands as Luhrmann’s most human picture: despite it’s silly, slapsticky energy, this is a modest little film about small-town people trying to realize their dreams, a relatable nugget that’s low on flash but high on energy and fun. Although Luhrmann would go on to “bigger and better things,” his follow-up films, to this point, have managed to be neither as human nor as charming as his debut. Sometimes, the simplest things really are the best.

As the title insinuates, Strictly Ballroom is about the world of competitive ballroom dancing or, at the very least, the Australian equivalent of said sport. Our dashing hero, Scott Hastings (Paul Mercurio), seems to have it all: ample talent; beautiful partner, Liz (Gia Carides); loving, supportive mother and father (Pat Thomson and Barry Otto) who run a dance studio; and the admiration of people like Barry Fife (Bill Hunter), the President of the Australian Ballroom Confederation. Scott is a champion and seems a lock to win the Pan Pacific Championship, the dance title that he’s had his eyes on for pretty much his entire life. Everything, it would seem, is coming up Milhouse for Scott…until, of course, it doesn’t.

During a dance competition, Scott and Liza get boxed in by Scott’s smarmy dance nemesis, Ken Railings (John Hannan) and his partner. Feeling trapped and in a panic, Scott loses his head and, instinctively, busts out some decidedly non-regulation, “modern dance”-type moves. His parents are stunned, the Ballroom Confederation is disgusted and his partner is in tears: how could Scott possibly do this to all of them? Feeling suddenly free for the first time, however, Scott refuses to back down, determined to win the Pan Pacific competition with his new-found moves, whether or not the judges, his family or his partner think it’s kosher. Scott finds a kindred spirit in Fran (Tara Morice), a beginning dance student who shares Scott’s disdain for the rules and seems more than a little sweet on him. At first, of course, Scott treats her like the vain, egotistical jerk he is: he blows off her initial request to dance with him with the haughty exclamation, “A beginner has no right approaching an open amateur.” Luckily for all involved, Scott eventually gets over himself and begins dancing with Fran, first in secret and then in public, to the massive consternation of his micro-managing mother.

Everything comes to a head at the Pan-Pacific Grand Prix (where else?), as the various dancers splinter and regroup in various iterations. Skullduggery abounds: Fife and Scott’s mom scheme to get him hooked up with Tina Sparkle (Sonia Kruger); Scott’s father and his friend, Wayne (Pip Mushin) scheme to thwart Fife’s plan to kick out Scott; Scott tries to win back Fran, after realizing his colossal idiocy and former partner Liz schemes to get away from Railings, who’s revealed himself to be an obnoxious drunk. As the madcap carnival swirls to a conclusion, all involved will learn the most important of life-lessons: it’s not whether you win or lose that matters but whether you had fun doing it.

As one of the films that helped kick off the independent movie surge in the early ’90s, Strictly Ballroom will always have a little spot carved out in the hearts of film fans. Unlike many films of that era (fuck you very much, Clerks), the film actually holds up fairly well today, coming across as a spiritual predecessor to Christopher Guest films like Waiting for Guffman (1996), Best in Show (2000) and A Mighty Wind (2003). Like Guest’s movies, Strictly Ballroom isn’t a particularly sharp or mean film: for one thing, the sweet romance between Scott and Fran is too front and center, while the dastardly machinations by the villainous Fife are too broad and silly to have much menace. It’s also clear that Luhrmann, for whatever reason, feels some genuine affection for his characters and doesn’t want to poke too many holes in them: even Scott’s mom, who can sometimes seem like a bush-league, dance studio Cruella De Vil, is given enough backstory justification to explain many of her more questionable actions.

I’ve never really warmed to any of Luhrmann’s post-Strictly Ballroom films (I haven’t even bothered to see The Great Gatsby, although I’ll get around to it some day), although I distinctly recall seeing Romeo + Juliet in the theater and thinking it was a good, but not great, retelling of the old chestnut. For the most part, I find Luhrmann’s films to be the very definition of “style over substance,” particularly the ridiculous excesses of Moulin Rouge!, although Australia is just as over-stuffed and silly, in its own way. Strictly Ballroom is a much more down-to-earth, character-based effort, however, possibly because it was an adaptation of one of Luhrmann’s stage plays. Whatever the reason, this is one of the few Luhrmann films where the actors don’t feel like set dressing, living props only around to show off the consistently impressive production design.

Strictly Ballroom is not, of course, a particularly original or unique film: it manages to hit pretty much every single beat that you would expect from this kind of light, romantic comedy, right down to the marginalized parent who swoops in at the eleventh hour to save the day. That being said, the film is still full of lots of fun, energetic moments: one of my favorite bits was the ridiculous smooth-jazz, instrumental version of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time that scores the montage scene where Scott (unsuccessfully) auditions a small army of replacement partners. The film is full of nifty little touches like this, perhaps hinting at the overly busy, baroque productions that Luhrmann would later make his calling card. At the beginning, however, he was a quirky, slightly off-center indie filmmaker with a keen interest in exploring some of the odder inhabitants of his native Australia. He may have become a household name with films like Moulin Rouge but I can’t help wishing he’d give us another one like Strictly Ballroom, instead. There are already plenty of big, gaudy, loud films in the world: a few more with a little heart couldn’t hurt.