Review 1: Girls Just Want to Have Fun

OR – Girls Just Want to Have Fun: THE MOVIE!

Stefan and I have an arrangement where he will pick a movie at random every two weeks and I will review it on the blog. The first movie he picked is “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” mostly because his girlfriend loves it and he has no mind of his own. Bear with me, because I'm pretty sure this review is not that good.

First the Trailer.
Yup. Pretty standard.

The film starts off rather slow, using the first twenty minutes or so to introduce characters before the dancing starts in earnest. I’ll save you some time:

CHARACTERS:

Sarah Jessica Parker (SJP). The obvious main character because she’s naïve, sweet, and virginal, all the better to be corrupted. She goes to an all-girl Catholic school and has a father with a military background. Best of all, she’s a gymnast who loves to DANCE. Also, she hiccups when she’s nervous and it’s implied that her hymen is made of adamantium.

Helen Hunt (Helen Hunt). The rebellious best friend, who is a perfect compliment to SJP. She’s in to public school guys, walks up the down escalator, and proclaims that she’s horny. Her fashion sense is top-notch, alternating between wearing dimetrodon hair clips and a beret with a huge fucking grasshopper on it. Shining moment quote: “Velcro, next to the Walkman and TaB, is the greatest invention of the 20th century.”

“Hot” guy (the Jeff). Has the only three characteristics needed to be an 80’s movie stud: Well-groomed chest hair, a motorcycle, and the ability to open his locker with a single punch.

“Hot” guy’s little sister (12 year old Shannen Doherty). *insert inappropriate comment about her growing up to have rockin’ tits*

Evil competitor (rich whore). Rich whore.

So the idea is that SJP and Helen Hunt are going to audition to be a regular on DTV, their favorite show, which just happens to be holding open tryouts in Chicago. It’s like “So You Think You Can Dance” meets “Invincible”. Trouble is, SJP’s dad is a total dickhead and thinks dancing is evil (which according to movies, is the role of every reasonable parent in 1985). So SJP has to sneak around and shit. She goes to the open tryouts and wows the judges with a combination of air-punches and front walk-overs, causing the show’s producer to look at her with the same amazement that Coach Lou has while clocking Rick Vaughn’s pitches in Major League. Meanwhile, the Jeff is spinning his way to the top, and the rich whore pays off the producer. All three make the final cut, and through a series of fortuitous events, the Jeff and SJP are paired together. Helen Hunt, though, sucks at dancing, and gets cut immediately.

With the plot now set, we have the development of the Jeff and SJP’s relationship. At first they hate each other, probably because SJP, like me, thinks that the Jeff is gay. (I mean, the guy can spin like an angel’s dreidel). But he’s not gay as evidenced by his motorcycle. SJP sneaks out of choir practice to rehearse dance moves and whatnot. The rich whore makes a point to interfere. Hijinx ensue.

The rich whore has the audacity to invite the Jeff to a debutant ball. That just won’t do when you have a naughty little minx like Helen Hunt for a best friend. Better go to whatever Kinko’s was called in the 80’s and make a bunch of copies of the debutant ball invitation, then hand them out to the lowest life forms you can find (i.e. skateboard punks, Hell’s Angels, and women bodybuilders) while dancing to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. But not the Cyndi Lauper version. The rights are too expensive. As the song fades out, cut to the ball, where the rich whore’s dad is entertaining a bunch of snobs. It’s a perfect opportunity for destruction, like the fifteen minutes of pool time on Caddy’s Day. Uhoh, here come the peons! How bad is this security team? Not only do they let 100 underdressed vagrants into the debutant ball with photocopied invitations, they let a ninja back flip through the window, three women bodybuilders rearrange the furniture, and a Hell’s Angel drive through the banquet hall in a golf cart. Interestingly, though, the party crashers aren’t so riotous that they can’t stop destroying the place in order to spontaneously break into a choreographed dance routine. This plot device may seem a little forced, but it does allow the rich whore to proclaim “this means war!” Because it does.

After those shenanigans, SJP and the Jeff know that they are in it together. How do they know? Because she asks him, “so we’re in this thing together?” and he replies, “we sure are”. They have a sweet training/falling in love montage, a nun does a pommel horse routine, SJP’s little bro wears an army helmet (presumably because he’s retarded)...life is good. But then it all goes sour. The rich whore’s dad threatens to fire the Jeff’s dad if they win the competition, and the Jeff starts acting like he’s menstruating. Plus, SJP gets grounded! They’ll never make it to the show for the nationally televised dance competition! Oh wait, they do, with SJP’s nazi father chasing them all the way.

The finale is where the movie really hits its stride. The five couples show their stuff before the SJP/Jeff team ties the rich whore and her partner in his red mesh tank top. This results in a *gulp*…DANCE-OFF! This NEVER happens in movies (well, except for Delivery Boys, Saturday Night Fever, Take the Lead, You Got Served, Save the Last Dance, Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, Fame, and Honey). The two couples spindancefight like their leg-warmers depend on it, but after another bout of turbo-gayness they are still deadlocked. Then the Jeff looks at SJP knowingly…she responds with “let’s do it”…could they have been holding something back!?!...do they know a secret move?!?...they do!!...and it’s a…A SIMULTANEOUS BACK HAND SPRING!!...FUCK!!!!!!! The contest is in the bag, SJP’s dad approves, the rich whore’s dad verbally cunt-slaps her on national television, Helen Hunt rides in on a white chariot, and the Jeff has that “I’m gonna dent the shit out that hymen later” look in his eye. Cue the theme song, bring up the pink credits screen and get-the-fuck-out while still on top. Be proud of yourself Alan Metter, for directing this work of art. Slam your fist on your desk and proclaim “THAT’S how you make an 80’s teen dance comedy!” Take solace in the fact that in ten years you will be directing three Olsen twins direct to VHS movies.