original to MysticalCreative by Owen Gottlieb
Copyright Owen Gottlieb, 2010
No reproduction without attribution to author and link back to original
Just before the screening, the Loew’s reminder to “Don’t add your own soundtrack” plays. They forgot this happens to be a “Sing-A-Long.” Because of modern digital projection, it appears more crystal clear than in its original 1978 debut. No print scratches, no reel change marks, just crystal clear (though apparently also digitally enhanced and altered) pixels. When the opening song plays, there are no lyrics and the audience hestitates to sing, a few hum. Now why in a Sing-A-Long, aren’t there lyrics to the opening tune? The corporate hand of Paramount seems to desire to strictly control our singing. The songs in the background, like the Rydell Alma Mater evoke singing from a smattering of audience members, because even though we know the lyrics, the lack of lyrics is both confusing at first, and then slowly obvious that _this_ section is not sanctioned. How odd to attempt to create a participatory experience, then select which parts to sanction singing? This is not the Rocky Horror Picture Show – sing only when you are told to sing. If there is commentary to be made, the film itself will grafitti on-screen the commentary – such as during Rizzo’s solo. And then there is the pink and blue highlighted lyrics, gender specific, doctored with illustrations and what appear to be digital flare painted in along with digitally boosted jet-thruster sound (the blasting car engine far louder and more airplane like than I remember). And yet, it’s fun to sing with the audience. It feels communals when everyone pumps their fists into the air during Greased Lightning and a rather average Loew’s feels in a few moments more like BAM during last year’s anniversary of The Muppet Movie. That shared feeling of experience together than only happens in a packed movie theater – though here the theater is not even full.
But the postmodern creep factor is close-at-hand. All at once, while watching, I’m playing back scenes in my head from Pulp Fiction when Travolta makes his come back, from The West Wing and Six Degrees of Separation where Stockard Channing shines – her Rizzo performance is pretty remarkable back in 78. There’s something deeply tragic in watching Jeff Conway’s performance of the rough-around-the edges Kenicke, having watched his agonizing decades long downward spiral on Celebrity ReHab.
And then there is Sid Caeser playing the Coach Calhoun. There is something strange about seeing Caeser in one of his character roles of the 70s – pehraps because recently I’ve been watching documentaries on his work in teh fifites — this is the man whose writer’s room included Woody Allen, Carl Reiner (a preview for Rob Reiner’s new film played prior to the film), and Neil Simon. Here, rather than the tall imposing master comedian, he’s a withering straight man to Travolta. Oh, and I haven’t yet mentioned The Guru, a favorite comedy from 2007 with Jimi Mistry and Heather Graham – which uses sequences from Grease – the lead character is inspired to move to America by one of his favorite films – Grease.
Then there are the Glee takes this past year on Olivia Newton John’s “Physical” and the reworking of a melodramatic high school experience – as if Nip/Tuck met both Grease and Fame. Having Gleeked out, it’s hard not to read it back into Grease.
Thank goodness for the dance sequencences and the chance to sing, because otherwise it was impossible to watch without all the years of accrued pop-culture layered on top of each moment – some joyous, some tragic, some strange, like the twists and turns of Hollywood culture for the last 30 years. Ponderous.
