Grease review
By John M. McGurie Of the Post-Dispatch Staff
In at least one respect, the movie “Grease” is just like high school in the ’50s. It is interminable; it seems as though the film is at least four years long.
And just like that last hour class in the late spring, “Grease” causes the mind to wander. It is difficult at times, during this jumbled and sorry adaptation from the fine stage production of the same name, not to see visions of Archie and Veronica and Betty and Jughead -all the lovable gang at the malt shop. But not to worry. It is the brain playing tricks, a rather commonplace thing in cases of sensory deprivation.
“Grease” bears about as much resemblance, in style and flavor, to the truly marvelous Broadway production, as “Happy Days” does to “West Side Story.” Perhaps this is because director Randal Kleiser is a creature of television, a young creature at that. At 30 years of age, he went through adolescence in the 1960s, and it shows in his handling of “Grease.”
For the most part, the dancing and music what “Grease” is all about somehow seems to miss the essence of American Bandstand and the ’50s sock hop. Many of the movie’s numbers were beautifully danced and choreographed but, unlike the stage version, they seem devoid of the rough edges that made the onstage “Grease” so delightful. Only the hand jive and stroll dance sequences come close to the feel of that theater in Philadelphia, in those halcyon days of rock ‘n’ roll.
Dick Clark and those amateur choreographers from American Bandstand’s early days must surely wince at the movie parody, which features Edd (Kookie) Byrnes and a thing called National Bandstand.
John Travolta, apparently through no fault of his own, appears to be wasting his time. And what a waste, when you consider “Saturday Night Fever.” Travolta plays the role of the chief “hood,” Danny Zuko. He has his “hood” looks going for him, but the direction is just too thin to give Travolta any kind of chance.
Olivia Newton-John, Travolta’s virginal (in the manner of Sandra Dee) girlfriend in the movie, is the person who caused me to begin daydreaming about Archie, Veronica, Betty, Reggie and the gang. She plays a goodie-two-shoes high school transfer from Australia who falls for our black knight, Travolta. The rest is nine parts Disney and one part Tammy and the Bad Boy.
Although her part calls for at least a two-dimensional teenage girl, Miss Newton-John doesn’t seem equal to the task. (But if you are Travolta and Newton-John fans, it’s probably worth the price just to see them dance and smile. Their smiling is magnificent. There are other rewards; she sings. He sings, too, which is a big argument for more Travolta dance numbers.)
Stockard Channing, who plays Rizzo, the gang girl toughie, is a real bright spot in “Grease.” Eve Arden, naturally, plays an “Our Miss Brooks” school principal. Dody Goodman plays Dody Goodman. Sid Caesar plays the comic coach and Joan Blondell is a malt shop waitress-mother confessor. A well-preserved Frankie Avalon is in one scene just a reminder that the entire thing is supposed to be about the ’50s.
There is an interesting aside to all this. The multi-talented Paul Williams, although he is not listed in the credits, apparently did some surgery on the movie’s musical score.
Williams, when he appeared here in the Muny Opera’s production of “Finian’s Rainbow,” said that he was working on “Grease” last spring. Williams, who was indeed a teenager in Nebraska in the 1950s, remarked to someone about how he would just as soon forget the ’50s.
After seeing the Robert Stigwood and Allan Carr movie production of “Grease,” I think Williams has a good point.
(Running time: 1 hour, 51 minutes. Rating, PG. At Northwest Plaza I, Sunset Cinema, Woods Mill and Esquire.)