The name’s Baby. I don’t mean Maybe.
Johnny Castle: “What’s your real name, Baby?”
Baby Houseman: “Frances. After the first woman in the cabinet”.
A youthful me watching the video at home: “Frances. After St. Francis.”
Mention Dirty Dancing and it stimulates responses varying from the obvious “What is it with girls and Dirty Dancing?” to a vaguely threatening note passed to me this morning proclaiming “Girls are stupid”. But I disagree. And no matter what people think, I shall remain true to my beliefs. Frances “Baby” Houseman taught me that. That, and how not to carry a watermelon.
Don’t these detractors see the film’s many layers? The special relationship between father and daughter, the passing of bygone eras, the excitement and intensity of first love, hard hitting issues that the 9 year old me (and Mary Doran) didn’t really get (Penny got knocked up by Robbie the Creep?), the dancing….
I could go on and I haven’t even mentioned spaghetti arms, wearing your pants outside your tights or “The Lift” yet.
The naysayers won’t win. This film is 25 years old and shows no sign of slowing down. It has an extremely successful facebook page, a social media game, excellent DVD sales, a prequel, an upcoming (and terrifying) remake and a stage musical which I’m off to this evening in Grand Canal theatre. Canal eh?
“You know the best place to practice lifts is in the water”.
I’m bringing my armbands.
