Читать книгу I Carried a Watermelon: Dirty Dancing and Me - Katy Brand - Страница 6

This is the book I have always wanted to write. I just hadn’t realised it until 2019, the year of my fortieth birthday. My husband asked me what I wanted to do to mark the occasion, and I said without hesitation, ‘I want to watch Dirty Dancing.’ It even surprised me a little, hearing it come out of my mouth, but we sat down, found it on Netflix and settled in for the evening. I’m so glad we did, because it felt like coming home.

It had been some time since I’d last seen Dirty Dancing – a few years – but as soon we pressed play, and that banging, jangling opening to ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’ by The Four Seasons came through the speakers, I was right back there where it all began. I felt excited. I felt it wouldn’t let me down, and I hoped I wouldn’t regret it. I think in some ways I wanted to have a moment to reflect on the first 40 years of my life. To look back on my teenage years, and compare myself now, to the girl I was then. I needed a way to measure my progress, and with that need came the realisation that Dirty Dancing has been a constant influence in my life since I was 11 years old. Would my reaction to it remain the same? How much of that obsessed girl (because I was entirely obsessed with Dirty Dancing) remains within me, and how much of her has fallen away?

Of course, since my obsession abated from its height at around the age of 13 (when I was viewing it daily), I have watched Dirty Dancing a good few times, but as an adult I haven’t really concentrated on it, or myself properly, as it plays out on the screen. Suddenly I wanted to focus on it, to really see it again in all its glory. I saw the fortieth birthday screening as part of my development as a person, and maybe a way of rounding off the first half of my life, giving me a pause as I enter the foothills of middle age, and beyond. This book is largely the product of that evening. I’m so glad my husband was cool with it.

And afterwards, as the credits rolled, I sat quietly by myself for a moment, enjoying that special glow you get when a story transports you. It’s a ‘proper film’ – exciting, honest, sexy, moving, and uplifting. It was all still there. It’s so life-affirming and joyful, but with enough substance to keep you satisfied. Life can wear you down, and by now I have suffered a few slings and arrows of my own, but I went to bed, newly 40 feeling as invincible as I had as a teenager. That night I fell in love with Dirty Dancing all over again.

But perhaps it’s also been a while since you’ve seen it and are a little hazy yourself, or maybe you’ve never seen it at all (in which case, I’m somewhat amazed you are reading this book – you must really like me, thanks very much …), so here is a summary of Dirty Dancing, that I am going to write in a slight frenzy of love and excitement – can I get it all down in one attempt without checking anything? Let’s go …

The Plot of Dirty Dancing

It’s 1963 and Baby Houseman is 17 years old. As the film opens, she is sitting in the backseat of her family’s car, as they drive to a holiday resort called Kellerman’s in the Catskill Mountains. Baby is reading in the back, and somehow managing not to get car-sick. Her father Jake, a hard-working doctor, drives with a smile of contentment on his face, every inch the respectable family man. Her mother, Marge, is calm and understanding, while Lisa, Baby’s older sister, panics that she hasn’t brought enough shoes.

At first, the family settle into resort life, with its dancing lessons and boating lake. It’s like a posh American Butlin’s. It’s relaxing, yes, but (dare Baby admit it?) perhaps a little boring. All this changes when professional dance instructors Penny and Johnny put on an evening show for the guests. Their performance is energetic, sexy and powerful, and Baby is transfixed, but also intrigued.

Later that night, she wanders into the staff area, though it’s forbidden to guests. There, she finds Billy, a resort porter, who is attempting to carry three large watermelons to a party. Why he needs so many watermelons is not immediately clear, but not to worry, the point is that Baby loves to help out – she isn’t just a spoilt rich girl – and so she takes one from him. She follows Billy into the party, and suddenly she is transported into a whole new world. A dirty, dirty world.

The hotel staff are unwinding after a hard day’s work by having a good old dance. And it’s not just any dancing – this is full-on, filthy grinding, a universe away from the sedate shuffling going on front of house. Penny and Johnny arrive, join in for a while, and then suddenly Baby is in Johnny’s arms, having her first unofficial dancing lesson. This sensual moment reduces Baby to a puddle of lust, and will transform her jolly family holiday into an emotional, sexual and choreographically challenging few weeks that go on to change her life.

A couple of nights later, Baby is reluctantly hanging out with the hotel owner’s grandson, smarmy Neil, who has taken a bit of a shine to her. By chance, she stumbles upon Penny, who is crying in a deserted kitchen. Baby runs to find Johnny, who comes to get his dance partner, and learns that Penny is pregnant by sleazy, spoilt waiter Robbie (who is by now romancing Baby’s sister, Lisa). Billy has found a back-street abortionist who will take care of Penny’s problem (it’s 1963, and so there are very few safe options open to her), but it costs $200, which they don’t have, and he is also only available on the night when Johnny and Penny have to perform a show dance at another hotel, the Sheldrake. Baby borrows the money from her father (without telling him what it’s for) and also steps up to fill in for Penny on the night.

This means she must very quickly learn the dance, with Johnny as her teacher and partner. As they work together, we feel the tension building– both sexual and fearful – can she pull this off? Finally, they go off in Johnny’s bashed-up old car to dance the mambo at the Sheldrake, while Billy takes Penny to have her pregnancy terminated. Apart from one small fluff on the dance floor, Baby gets through it. They are elated, but when they get back to Kellerman’s late at night, they find Penny bleeding and in agony. The abortionist botched the job.

Baby runs to get her father, who treats and reassures Penny, but is horrified that Baby is hanging out with people he considers to be reckless and unreliable. He gets the wrong end of the stick and thinks Johnny is the father of Penny’s baby, and is suspicious that he and Baby seem to know each other well. In his most ‘upright and loving father’ tone, he forbids her from having anything more to do with the dancers.

Baby defies her father, going straight to Johnny’s cabin, where she asks him to dance. This becomes one of the greatest seduction scenes of all time. After some earth-shattering sex, they start a relationship. How could they not?

Meanwhile, a lonely older woman, Vivian, who has been paying Johnny for private dance lessons and anything else that ‘comes up’, discovers this new relationship, and in a fit of jealousy, accuses Johnny of stealing purses and wallets around various Catskills resorts. Max Kellerman tells the Housemans he is about to fire Johnny, and Baby has to step in and reveal – in front of everyone – that she has been spending her nights with him, as this is the only alibi he has to prove he is not the thief.

Later, it is revealed that an elderly couple, the Schumachers, are responsible for the thefts, but Kellerman fires Johnny anyway for his forbidden liaison with a guest, and so he leaves the resort and Baby with tears in his eyes. Eventually, everyone realises that Robbie was the one who got Penny pregnant, and Lisa breaks it off with him. There is a great deal of misery all round, and Baby has some home truths to tell her father about prejudice, and snobbery, and what it takes to be a decent person.

It seems the summer has come to a bad end, and not just for Baby, but for everyone. Is this the end of an era? A wider loss of innocence? Max Kellerman seems to think so, as he laments times gone by – are cosy family resorts which feature wig trying on sessions and ballroom dancing lessons going to survive? Are they simply too old-fashioned?

But what’s this? It feels like the future has come to claim its place at the table. For at the evening talent show, on the last night of the season, Johnny Castle returns! Making a bombastic entrance, striding through the room for all the world like a man who hasn’t just been fired, he finds Baby sitting with her parents in the audience. He takes her out of The Corner nobody should have put her in. They spontaneously perform their mambo routine so perfectly – including the impressive lift Baby couldn’t manage at the Sheldrake (amazing what a life-changing shag can do for your confidence) – that everyone, even Max Kellerman and Baby’s dad, agree they are perfect together, that Johnny is a good man, and Baby is her own woman. The whole audience are up and dancing and they all have the time of their lives.

And breathe. Well, I didn’t check anything until after I’d finished. I just blurted it all out from memory. It was quite exciting, and hopefully, a helpful reminder as we take a deep dive into one of the greatest films of all time. Please do watch it though (who needs an excuse?), as it stands the test of time, and repeat viewings. It really is a phenomenal piece of work. Written by former dancer Eleanor Bergstein, drawing from her own life experience, filmed with a small budget ($4 million, which is nothing in feature film land) and a total lack of belief from the very studio that made it (they wanted it to go straight to VHS), it has grossed over $200 million worldwide, spawned multiple remakes, including a long-running live show, and thousands of articles, tribute events, wedding dances, proposals and even academic papers. It has also affected my life in the most unexpected ways.

Although I was not truly conscious of it until much later, in some respects I Carried a Watermelon cleverly started writing itself before I was even aware of my desire to explore and celebrate Dirty Dancing in real depth. A few years ago, I took part in a live show where the premise was you wrote a love letter to something very important to you, and then read it out for the audience. I chose Dirty Dancing, seemingly out of the blue, but once I started writing my letter I saw that I meant every word. I took it to the gig, stood up and delivered it, and I was amazed by the response. I thought people would simply laugh at me, but in fact I had a line of women, and some men, waiting afterwards to thank me, and hug me, and tell me how much it meant to them too. I looked for the letter when I started writing this book, and found it tucked away deep in my computer files. I read it again and still felt that burn of passion coming off the page. That letter became the start of this book.

What I began to realise, as I wrote my letter, was that Dirty Dancing has somehow shaped me and my choices, insinuating itself into my life in unexpected ways – it has shaped my sexual preferences, my attitudes to social class, good character, politics, love, relationships, casual sex, abortion, father/daughter issues and, of course, my understanding of whether it’s possible to learn a complicated dance routine to perform in public in only a matter of days, at the same time as losing your virginity and ensuring an old, thieving couple is prosecuted for their crimes. All off the back of carrying a watermelon.

But why do I love Dirty Dancing? Would it be too much to say it’s like the wind … through my tree? Yes, maybe, but it wouldn’t be far off. It has everything – daughters and fathers, sisters, neglected wives, fear of how a pregnancy will affect your career, low-life scum and rich wankers, and how to handle them all. It’s like an instruction manual for girls – well, middle-class girls anyway. Girls like me. ‘Normal’ girls who sometimes have a bit of a yen to get out there and do something a bit crazy. Nice girls who suddenly get an urge to carry a watermelon and get dirty with the ‘wrong’ sort of man.

I’m so glad Dirty Dancing got made, when it so nearly didn’t – Eleanor Bergstein struggled to find funding for her script for years, and eventually had to shoot the whole thing over a few autumn weeks in a cold and rainy hotel resort in Virginia, on half the budget she had originally intended. I’m so glad it was released, when it so nearly wasn’t – the company that stumped up the money couldn’t initially see much potential beyond ‘straight to video’ and so it might have fallen by the wayside. And the fact that there is an abortion storyline right at its heart meant that it lost sponsorship money – but still Bergstein bravely resisted calls to change her film and remove the abortion. She was clear that we should not ever be complacent about our rights as women, and I think she has been proved 100 per cent correct in this regard.

I’m so happy that Dirty Dancing is now widely getting the more serious recognition it deserves, when it so easily may not have. It was dismissed for years as an enjoyable but largely insignificant piece of entertaining fluff – a commercial hit, yes, but nothing more – when in fact it is an important rite-of-passage story for girls. The female lead, Baby, is about as active in the story as it is possible to be. She makes it all happen. Every last moment is down to her, from the funding of an illegal abortion to the offer to fill in and learn the dance, to the extraordinary first seduction, and then the exoneration of Johnny as a thief. She drives the entire plot.

It has been much observed recently that things ‘girls like’ are often trivialised when compared to things ‘boys like’ – that stuff for women is romantic, domestic and ultimately insignificant, whereas stuff for men may be entertaining but also has ‘universal themes’ or an ‘important message’. I can’t think of another film I’ve seen that has more universal themes, or a more important message than Dirty Dancing. I’m so glad I’ve found this way of obsessing about it a little more, and a load of new people to do it with.

In its way, it is a feminist manifesto – a story with a heroine who has to defy her family, stand up for her principles, save the man she loves, and is finally lifted up in a floaty pink dress – you can still be a powerful woman in a floaty pink dress, after all. And you should never put up with being put in a corner, no matter how you’re dressed. I’m glad it came into my life all those years ago, and I promise not to neglect it again. So, I’m wearing my Kellerman’s t-shirt with pride (bought off the merchandise stand at the live show), even though it’s slightly too small. That way, a little bit of it is always close to my heart, reminding me that nobody puts Baby in a corner. Thanks for being there, Dirty Dancing – I was a Baby when we met, but just look at me now.