A Cinderella tale, or an Ugly Duckling tale, or a some other fairy tale, set in the world of competitive ballroom dancing Down Under. In one way or another, the movie calls to mind most of the dance movies of the previous decade: Footloose, Dirty Dancing (especially that), Salsa, Forbidden Dance. Where this movie diverges from its analogues is in the overtly (understatement for broadly, blatantly, blaringly) comic tone, while yet reserving plenty of heartfelt sentiment for the underdog, his self-expressive urges, his ascendance through "art." The satire at the expense of the spangly costumes, topiary hairdos, raccoon-cap toupees, Bozo-the-Clown cosmetics (the movie is really more a wardrobe and a makeup kit than a full-blown movie), is roughly on the level of British-music-hall and Benny Hill and the "Carry On" gang. And any temptation to laugh is stomped down beneath a flamenco boot heel. (Excepting perhaps a couple of interludes of the pot-bellied, thinning-haired, henpecked husband cutting the rug in private: best evidence of the transformative powers of Terpsichore.) Next to the tackiness of the filmmakers, the tawdriness of the dancers looks pretty harmless. Directed by Baz Luhrmann. (1992) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.