A Film You Used to Love, But Now Hate
There is this survival of the fittest mentality among pre-teenage girls that rears its ugly head at middle school birthday parties. They are the worst thing imaginable. At these parties you are subjected to things like charades, Ouija boards, public swimming pools, manicures given by some girl’s defenseless older sister, and terribly bad movies. Once I also had a run in with a Slip ‘n Slide; this was not a good time in my life. There is also a level of backstabbing, snarky insults, and terribly bad movies.
The first time I saw Save the Last Dance at one girl’s party it was great. Poor Julia Stiles. Her mother died. She had to move to the South Side of Chicago with her absentee dad. She gave up her dream to become a ballerina. She was a sad sack. Then she met Sean Patrick Thomas who taught her about hip hip. (I just googled him as Sean Patrick Harris.) Then they danced and fell in lurve. She had an audition, impressed the judges because a white girl incorporated some hip hop moves into a ballet routine and she got into Julliard. And they lived happily ever after.
Save the Last Dance was the go-to movie at these middle school parties that have caused me irreversible psychological damage. (Have you ever had to interpret the clue “Baywatch” in front of a group of tween girls during charades?) Save the Last Dance was great the first time and even the second time. By the third and fourth time, I had no idea why we were watching it again.
I rewatched Save the Last Dance in the past few years and was reminded of when it was this totally awesome movie that I watched with my frenemies at the time. Except now I hate it.