...be hopelessly attracted to corny mid-80s dance movies? I am stuck here—literally stuck as in my ass will not depart the couch— at 11 bloody 33 at night watching Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gregory Hines engage in some sort of crazy ballet-tap dance-off. Gregory is wearing legwarmers; it's quite fantastic.
What am I talking about? I am talking about White Nights, of course, the cinematic masterpiece in which Phil Collins' unapologetically saccharine "Separate Lives" plays while Baryshnikov deconstructs a rug and skillfully braids it to be used in a gallant escape from his posh Leningrad apartment in which he is being held captive by mean Russians who are mad at him for defecting to the United States eight years ago! See?! Fantastic.
It's also a battle of the pre-botox pretties, what with Gregory's sleepy eyes, Baryshnikov's rakish hair, Isabella Rossellini's...
[pause! they're doing their martial-arts inspired pas de deux (is it a pas de deux if it's two men? Never mind! I have no time for details. I'm watching!) right now. omg.]
...lips—lips more pillowy than Angelina's, in case there's an official scorecard somewhere in Hollywood—and Helen Mirren's regal nose and beautifully arched foot (what? I can't notice something like that?).
I must go now. Because M.B. is now attempting his escape. And he's bringing Gregory and Isabella (they are married, of course, and deeply in love) with him! And out of nowhere he's pulled a leather newsboy cap and Gregory has done the same, but with a skullcap. I guess because they're escaping and that's what one sports on one's noggin when one is escaping...
2 comments:
and dont forget the epic score, courtesy of mr lionel richie...
say you, say me
say it together
naturally...
Oscar, you scare me just a little. I think perhaps we were separated-at-birth-movie-watchers.
I had completely forgotten (for, um, obvious reasons) about "Say You, Say Me," until the final credits rolled. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed. All alone at midnight like a crazy person.
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