You Can't Stop The Beat

Let's face the facts, here. It's hard to convince movie goers to believe characters that dance on top of taxi cabs, tango in a cell block, or sing it in the rain. But Hairspray was my guilty pleasure, on a Friday afternoon in the summer--without the guilt.

I loved the blatant innuendoes like pregnant women drinking martinis and a scene on city transportation with the three white kids sitting in the back of the bus. Tracy Turnblad turned heads with her personality alone. Chubby was not going to stop her from chasing her dreams and she had loads of skinny homecoming queen wannabe's resentfully scratching their tight blonde updo's. She single handedly turned race into--as it should be---a non-issue. She taught us lessons in self confidence, inner beauty, and tolerance without a hint of preachiness. It will be fun to see where Nikki Blonsky goes from here, probably to the moon, pa. Travolta was a little over the top, and somewhat unbelievable in a couple scenes, but it WAS a musical, set in 1962, when housewives “arned” pleats. Michelle Pfieffer was ok, but I could have handled a little more Allison Janey, as Penny's (Tracey's best friend) starchy mother.. Christopher Walken stole all his scenes as Tracy's supportive dad. If Melissa is my Tracy than Grover is my Wilbur.

Subplots aside it was bright, bubbly and unapologetically joyful. Everything wraps up nicely in a feel-good finale, just like a movie musical should. It's been a long dry spell since I've wanted to applaud in the middle of a movie. I couldn't help it at this happy matinee.

It's how movies should be in the summer. Oh, don't get me wrong, it wasn’t Scorsese or Spielberg and it, nor I couldn't care less.