I have been trying not to eat sugar. I have totally been off alcohol, so what have I got? Movies. I was going to do something productive tonight, and I tripped and fell into Footloose. I could eat this movie with a spoon and lick the opening credits of the movie that comes on immediately afterward.
This movie really causes me to look deep inside myself. I think if I was a slut in high school, I would have been a lot more confident. If my uncle looked like Sonny Bono, I would have approached the town council for a dance too. I would have been so sure of myself during my presentation– cause I would have just screwed a man who “treated me decent.”
Actually, the power of Footloose is the scene where John Lithgow gives the sermon which prays for the demon teenagers who wish to play flashlight tag with their sacral chakras.
When you combine Lithgow, a song by Kenny Loggins, and the good book – you’ve got a cinema soul infusion. As much as I’d rebel against the no-dancing law, I’d totally be hot for Lithgow looking out for my spiritual well-being. They cut the clip below too soon, but you know what’s coming: The money shot.
Now! Can I get an amen for Dianne Wiest? When she says, “I think Mr. McCormack has a right be heard,” I want to climb through the screen and lovingly smooth that beautiful bun of hers! Let them praise his name in the dance!
Plus, don’t you love that part where Daryl Earnhardt tells him that they can hold the dance just over the train tracks?
You know what this movie does to me today, at age 37? It makes me want to write a movie that makes women like me go to pieces. Ariel’s dad bought her the corsage? Are you kidding me? Then the one, two, punch of Bacon in a burgundy piece-of-shit tux telling her she’s beautiful (Eyes Niagara Falls). What? Heart playing Paradise? Shit. I snotted on the keyboard.
Christine’s Movie Heart has flatlined. CLEAR!
When Harry Met Sally is the paddles and pacemaker all in one. I keep it handy for emergencies. Stay tuned. I might be ovulating.