What Flashdance did was nonetheless innovative: it married the aforementioned style to a poppy soundtrack, arriving at something that suggested MTV for the big screen. The aces in Simpson/Bruckheimer's hand didn't stop there; MTV in a movie theatre meant no network watchdogs and thus T, A, and profanité. Perhaps trumping all of the above, the film affixed itself to the aerobics craze by dressing star Jennifer Beals in ":20 Minute Workout" chic for her mediocre dance numbers. ("Jane Fonda's Workout" had broken every videotape sales record in the short history of the format just prior to Flashdance's opening.) The American public lapped up this stew like starving souls, but beneath the calculated surface of Flashdance lies half-sincere tripe I don't know whether to love or hate for its kitsch, procedure for anything scripted by Joe Eszterhas.

It's not often that you happen across an entire dialogue scene that's meant to be set inside an inner-city gym that substitutes backlit white sheets for--what are those things called? Oh yeah, walls. The scene occurs at a crucial juncture in the film: having fallen in love with her boss, Nick (Michael Nouri), welder-by-day/exotic dancer-by-night Alex (Jennifer Beals) feels empowered to play Cupid amongst her friends, none of whom approximates a human being, attitudinally speaking. Here is their hyper-banal conversation, verbatim:

Red-Haired Friend: He didn't call.

Alex: He'll call.

Red-Haired Friend: I don't think so, Alex.

Alex: He'll call, Tina.

Red-Haired Friend (now Tina): I don't know.

African-American Friend: Look, just call the man. Say, "Hey baby, what's happenin'?" Just get up and call the dude.

Tina: Yeah? You really think so?

African-American Friend: God, I'm glad I ain't no honky.

Essentially a distaff Saturday Night Fever, Alex dreams of attending a prestigious ballet school in Pittsburgh, a tall order despite her standing as a star dancer at a Dolbyized burger joint equipped with strobe lights. Stumbling blocks include: no formal training; Catholic guilt; and fear of failure. One of the film's minor triumphs (rather, one of this minor film's triumphs) is an open ending--she dances her tush off for a review board to an Irene Cara song (not "Fame"), and we don't linger to hear the outcome.

Were brevity only the spice of life for Footloose as well, a rebel-Elvis picture with its tongue not planted firmly enough in its cheek, featuring Kevin Bacon as the non-threatening delinquent who raises hell in a town that frowns upon typical teenage behaviour to the extent that they have a law against dancing. When Ren MacCormack (Bacon) arrives in Bomont, he finds himself stripped of his right to rock 'n' roll. The daughter (Lori Singer) of his chief rival--the Reverend Shaw Moore (John Lithgow in a money gig he later sent up on an episode of "3^rd Rock from the Sun")--digs him, though, and agrees to support Ren's protest before city council in favour of a school prom.

Some hilarious sermons to the contrary, Footloose marks a low point in eighties camp: Bacon has never been a bracing presence and both the script and the direction (by choreographer-turned-director Herbert Ross, taker of chances once (with Pennies from Heaven) and never again) are listless beyond expectations. In the film's defense, its star is capable of the basic moves (unlike Beals, laughably body-doubled throughout Flashdance); in Ross' defense, he cast the right editor--Paul Hirsch can cut a mean montage. The brilliant Hirsch gives Footloose every ounce of electricity it has which, sad to say, amounts to half as much as that of Flashdance.

The DVDs of Flashdance and Footloose each sport 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen transfers with 5.1 Dolby Digital remixes. DVD File reported that the sound effects cues for Flashdance registered at a comically higher volume than the music, but this was not my experience with either the 5.1 track or the Dolby Surround presentation. I can corroborate that Flashdance looks and sounds a hell of a lot better than Footloose on DVD--the latter's source print was in poor shape--dirt and murk abound--and its audio gives off a reprocessed vibe. Neither Flashdance nor Footloose sport extras of any kind. As for the revised cover art of each: barf.-Bill Chambers