Secuestro Express is a harrowing, claustrophobic, frenetic experience, although not a completely realized film. In too many respects, it takes the easy out, yet it shoves some truly difficult questions in our faces. What kind of violent monsters has our society created? What is the solution to this vicious cycle of poverty and crime? The film opens with a young, wealthy couple staggering home from a night on the town. Little do they know they have been marked by a band of gun-welding thugs out to make a quick buck. Kidnapped and held for random, our young couple drive around the streets of Venezuela with guns to their temples and a series of violent, surprising and horrible experiences follow. In this film, no one is an absolute sinner or a saint. This film exists in a murky shade of gray where the distinction between right and wrong is a matter of harsh, frightening prospective. Our street thugs are loving fathers. Our wealthy, sweet social worker dabbles in illicit drugs to forget about the hopeless poverty she sees every day. Her fianceé, a handsome yet harsh man from “old” money, is no hero and by the end of our tale, gets exactly what he deserves. The relentless pacing of the film makes it hard to look away or to even catch your breathe. Even the quiet moments are taut with restlessness. When Carla, our young kidnap victim, makes nice-nice with her captors, one knows it is only a matter of time before the light-hearted bonding turns a dark corner.

The emotions written across Mia Maestro’s face are what make this film particularly haunting. Frightened, defiant, vulnerable, desperation, resentful, hopeful and embarrassment all reveal themselves in her eyes. It is a powerful performance. In the film’s closing scenes, I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t look away. She was so helpless. She was so alone. She was stripped away of all her emotions, except for one, pure, blinding fear. The final five minutes, however, do not quite fit with the rest of the film’s harsh tone. The ending was a little too neat, a little too Hollywood, but that does not deter from the film’s message. There is a lot in this film to think about. What does chasing excess get us? What is the cost of our consumer society? What kind of people are we creating when we can put a price on a human life? In the end, aren’t we becoming commodities, goods to be bought, sold and stolen? Now, that’s something to be truly frightened about.

Coyote Ugly: This is your classic “boy meets girl” love story, only small town suburban (ahem, Jersey) girl works at a slightly seedy Manhattan bar where she has to work in revealing outfits and prance around on the bar with her hot/sexy co-workers, but she really is an aspiring songwriter, like her mother, but she has stage fright that paralyzes her from reaching her true potential, so cute boy from Australia helps her out. Yep, I think I’ve read the Dickens version of this classic tale in A.P. English. There is so much to secretly love about this movie. We’ve got Tyra Banks in a stunning five minute cameo (act with your EYES), impossibly catchy songs penned by the legendary Diane Warren and sung by LeAnn Rimes (pre-man stealing!), Maria Bello bringing the class and sass only the way she knows how to bring, synchronized country line dancing on top of bars (a staple of the New York bar scene … in films), a dewy, “romantic” falling in love montage that culminates in our lead couple kissing against a cityscape, Piper Perbo looking various degrees of shocked and a soundtrack with EMF’s “Unbelievable.”

Choice Scene: The movie’s incredibly ridiculous yet “all is right with the world” finale where LeAnn Rimes sings atop the Coyote Ugly bar surrounded by the staff and our girl Perbo turning to her boyfriend, letting this gem, “what do you do when all of your dreams come true?” Yes, without a hint of irony. This movie is perfect.

2. Runaway Bride: Sometimes the second time is the charm and sometimes, well, it’s not, but it was worth the effort. A decade after Pretty Woman, Richard Gere, Julia Roberts and director Garry Marshall try to recreate the magic of that film. Is there is anything more magical than a “hooker does good” fairy tale? I can’t really explain why I think Gere and Roberts are my favorite cheesy romantic couple in the history of the genre (or at least in the past twenty years), but they are. There is something in the way they talk to one another that makes me smile. They have this nice, easy chemistry that makes me believe either A) they are made for each other or B) could be really close friends. It could really go either way. If the title of the film doesn’t give the entire plot away already, this is a charming tale of a woman unable to commit to a man and a marriage ceremony. Gere plays a reporter trying to sniff out the story, but, of course, ends up falling for the subject of his scathing piece. When Gere and Roberts kiss, it’s magic, but that could be the alcohol talking.

Choice Scene: The final montage sequence over the credits set to Marc Anthony’s “You Sang to Me” complete with shots of our happy couple riding away on horse back. Why does riding on a horse equal “most romantic thing ever,” I don’t really know, but it does.

3. The Cutting Edge: Toepick! TOEPICK! I think I can safely say that this is the best figuring skating movie ever. Although, frankly, is there any real competition in this genre? Ice Princess, doesn’t count. Either does Ice Castles! This one has a training montage sequence set to Nia Peeples song! Clearly, this one is the winner. A hockey player with a career-ending eye injury teams with an impossibly bratty figure skater to capture winter Olympic gold. While they trade “witty” one-liners, they are also falling in love. I think. Even as a kid, I thought the love story fell a little short, but that didn’t stop me from believing every second of it. Also, I never did get how Doug’s eye injury prevented him from playing hockey, but didn’t stop him from performing precise figure skating moves, including catching his partner in mid-air. I will stop trying to make sense of it and just go with it! Apparently, I am not the only who just went with it. This film has inspired three sequels. THREE.

Choice Scene: Doug and Kate talking about their school experiences. Doug says he was treated as a living god in his hometown because of his superior skills with the puck. Kate responds, “what a sad commentary on our times.”

4. Dirty Dancing Havana Nights: The original Dirty Dancing is a cult classic. I don’t think there would be anyone who wouldn’t agree with that. If you are a girl of a certain age, watching the 1987 Jennifer Grey-Patrick Swayze film was a rite of passage, from girlhood into teenage-female-romantic-boy-crazy-hood. The 2004 sequel (oy! prequel) was perhaps the most unnecessary film ever made, but I loved it anyway. Maybe “love” is too strong a word, but if this film were a person, I would have probably dated for a few months before realizing “uhm, you are nice and pretty, but, really, you are kind of stupid.” This film tries to capture the “spirit” of the first film and adds a reductive history lesson. This tale takes place in pre-revolution Cuba where, like the first film, a rich girl falls for “the help” at the hotel resort. While the first film was fairly brazen in its tale of a girl becoming a sexually aware woman who likes to do it… a lot… with her secret boyfriend. This film goes for the “puppy love” angle which might disappoint some looking for something, uhm, “dirty,” but this film does do something right and just a bit better than the original. Fortunately, the dancing is quite lovely to watch. Latin dancing done well always makes me smile. Don’t even get me started on the Patrick Swayze cameo in which he plays his character from the original, but is supposed to be five years younger!

Choice Scene: The “learning to dance” montage is an art and I appreciate this film’s entry in the genre. As with the first film, the sequence is set to a ridiculously modern song. This one is set to a Wyclef Jean song.

5. EuroTrip: My love (that’s right, I said love, and I mean it … un-ironically) for this film was sealed the moment Matt Damon appeared on screen in a cameo as the lead singer of a punk band singing a song called “Scotty Doesn’t Know,” a song about the lead character, Scotty’s, cheating girlfriend. Dumped by said cheating girlfriend, our hero embarks on a Eurotrip with his best friends to find a German pen-pal who is his soulmate and the hottest girl he has never seen, hilarity, of course, ensues. I think I may lose some friends when I admit all the things in this film I find incredibly hilarious. There is the part where Scotty’s friends, a pair of fraternal twins, make out with each other at club because they are so drunk and their disgusted reaction when they realize what they have done. “They really are the worst twins ever!” There is a visit to a nude beach with lots of inappropriate male nudity, a scene with robot-fighting, a robbery/blow job scene, a Vatican confessional sex scene and a tripped out visit to a cafe in Amsterdam.

Choice Scene: “Scotty doesn’t know / that Fiona and me / do it in my van every Sunday / she tells him that she is in church / but she doesn’t go / still she’s on her knees / but Scotty doesn’t know.”

6. Not Another Teen Movie: By the time this movie rolled around, the teen movie, perfected in the 80s by the likes of John Hughes, was ripe for a little “Airplane/Naked Gun” parody. I think anyone who grew up in the 80s will appreciate this movie just a little bit more. All our characters are present and accounted for the dumb jock with a heart of gold, the artsy-ugly-pretty girl who is hot underneath her glasses, the bitchy head cheerleader, the sensitive best friend with a painful crush on his female bud, the geeks who just want to get laid and the token Black guy. The plot of this movie doesn’t matter. It is the execution of the jokes that does matter and most of them are delivered brilliantly. I especially love Mia Kirshner as the “cruelest” girl in school who wants to have sex with her brother, ala Cruel Intentions. “Ew, you’re my sister,” our dumb jock remarks and she responds, “only by blood.” There’s a musical sequence where our token black character sings, “I’m only in this song because I’m the black guy.” Genius, I tell you.

Choice Scene: Our hero chases his girl to the airport. He wants to make things right before she leaves for Europe. Molly Ringwald plays an airline employee that gives it to our couple straight. Young love doesn’t last. Better to break it off now before it gets really messy. Our couple, of course, doesn’t listen and share a romantic kiss in the crowded gate. As she walks away, Ringwald mutters, “fucking teenagers!”

7. Dracula 2000: I will admit this one is my guiltiest pleasure, possibly ever. This is a bad movie, extremely bad, thoroughly, unbelievable bad, but I liked the back story it weaved for the origins of Dracula, so I give the rest of the movie as pass. Also, having two of my favorite U.K. actors, Jonny Lee Miller and Justine Waddell, helps a lot. Famed Dracula hunter Van Helsing has keep himself alive hundreds of years by injecting myself with drops of Dracula’s blood. Dracula is in hibernation in a coffin in a museum, but when thieves break into it and set the prince of darkness free, all hell (oh yes, literally) breaks lose. Dracula is drawn to Van Helsing’s daughter Mary (something about feeling his blood in her veins) and he wants to make her his own. What’s the interesting back story, you might be asking yourself, well, in this tale Dracula is actually Judas. Yeah, that Judas. He was cursed by God to walk the Earth for all time for his betrayal. That is why he hates crosses and why he can be killed by a wooden stake. Intriguing, isn’t it? Okay, maybe just to me. I am so embarrassed.

Choice Scene: The mood, avant-garde sequence where we find out exactly who Dracula really is. Oh, and Justine Waddell kicking a bit of ass is actually quite fun to watch too.

8. Never Been Kissed: I’ve been carrying a secret for quite a while now, but I think it’s time I came clean. I am a huge Drew Barrymore fan. I have seen all her work, post-1994, and I adore her in almost everything she is in. I think she manages to inject her characters with a nerdish, dork quality. Sure, she is beautiful and bubbly and almost a little too perfect, but you know all her characters have probably tripped over themselves at some point in their lives. Also, has this woman aged since 1994? She has never been more dorky than in this film. Barrymore plays an undercover reporter sent back to high school to write about what really goes on with our kids these days. She falls for her English teacher, played by Michael Vartan. This movie is so sweet, I get a ache in my tooth every time I watch it.

Choice Scene: The final sequence, of course, where our happy couple kiss while a Beach Boys song plays on the film’s soundtrack. I’m a big sap.

What is the nature of god? The divine? What is spirituality? Religion? Love? I’d be lying if I said that ponder these grand concepts daily over a large cup of coffee while reading Socrates. I am too busy tweeting for that. Like almost all of my beliefs, my thoughts on this particular subject can be summed up in a movie quote (proving once again I haven’t an original thought since 1979) from Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise, “I really believe that if there is any kind of God, he wouldn’t be in anyone of us, not you, not me, but in the space between. If there’s some kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone else, sharing something. Even if it’s almost impossible to succeed, but who cares. The answer must be in the attempt.”

God moments happen all around us as we struggle to connect with someone, anyone other than ourselves. For me, spirituality is the toil of this search. A connection, however fleeting, should be cherished. For me, this is holy and a religion of greater truth and purpose than any other. Stripped away from all extraneous and constructed layers, to actually capture a glimpse of another human being, to understand someone, is sacred.

Director Krzysztof Kieslowski was never one to shy away such existential subjects. He seemed to thrive in them. His 1994 film Three Colors: Red always makes me want to debate the nature of existence, connection and god with anyone who will listen. Red is a simple film to explain. A young model, Valentine, accidentally runs over a dog named Rita. When she brings Rita back to her owner, a retired judge who listens in on his neighbor’s phone calls, she becomes involved in his lonely world of lost opportunity. These words do not explain the film at all, not in the least. The film is a long, bittersweet meditation on communication, intimacy and the nature of destiny. As Celine from Before Sunrise said, God is in the space between. God exists in the gaps and silences between words.

Valentine is drawn into the judge’s sad world. There is a connection between them that she can’t quite explain. At first, the only feelings he inspires are pity and contempt, but as they grow closer, Valentine realizes he is man living in a world of regret. He has lost his will to feel, to love, to exist. She takes the time to see him and through her he learns to live again. And he changes the course of her life in ways she won’t fully understand for years to come.

Red is like an anti-romance that inspires nothing but romantic feelings. In this modern world, there is an illusion of intimacy. We live in houses and apartment buildings stacked on top of one another. We pack into subway cars. We herd into elevators. We are close to others, but a million miles away. Red attempts to answer the question, what if we simply stop to look at those around us? What would we find? A greater meaning in life? A new appreciation for the simple things? Or perhaps, the truest expression of the divine here on Earth. Red is probably the greatest feel good movie…ever. Or maybe it’s just the most pretentious. I haven’t really decided which.

We’ve seen this movie before. You know, the one about the guy from the wrong side of the tracks and the snobby rich girl who, due to circumstance beyond either of their controls, are forced into a tumultuous partnership completely unaware while they exchange snide comments and looks of disgust they are actually falling in love. Yeah, I thought you’d remember. Hollywood subscribes and openly celebrates that age-old adage, if it ain’t broke then don’t fix. True to this credo, there is not one ounce of originality in the 92 minute running time of this 1992 romantic comedy. This movie has been done before and has been done better. But then, why is The Cutting Edge so goddamn charming?

It certainly isn’t the paint-by-the-numbers narrative which is almost painfully mundane (ice skater teams up with former hockey jock to vie for Olympic gold…yes, it’s that simple). Nor is it Paul Michael Glaser’s jarring and distracting direction which seems laughably dated more than fifteen years later. The success of this film rests squarely with the lead actors. Moira Kelly is luminescent as Kate, the cynical ice princess whose sarcastic veneer masks the gentle little girl that had the love for the sport beaten out of her by coaches and a father living vicariously through his daughter’s moderate successes. Her wide eyes and perfectly timed delivery inject a soul into material that could have rung hollow. Equally adept is D.B. Sweeney as Doug, a hockey player whose dreams of NHL glory were sidelined by an eye injury. He knows he is finished but his macho bravado can’t let the promise of what could have been go.

Put together, Kelly and Sweeney simmer in palpable chemistry that never is brought to a full boil, but leaves one satisfied nonetheless. Their natural chemistry, manifested in bursts of heated arguments and longing looks, makes one forget the glaring narrative flaw; this is a romantic comedy about falling in love that forgets to write scenes where the characters fall in love. Instead, we get scenes where they fight, scenes where they skate and scenes where they fight some more. If I was to examine this film in academic terms, perhaps I can draw a correlation between the improvement of their skills, finally skating as fluid pair and their growing feelings for each other, but an audience shouldn’t have to work so hard. When Doug declares his love for Kate right before their final skate in the Olympic games, you believe it because after years of Hollywood romance, you are programmed to believe it, but also because of that look of impossible conviction in D.B. Sweeney’s eyes. He delivers the line like he means it, like he is feeling it and that is why it works.

And now for the confession portion of this review. When I was 13, I absolutely adored this film. I rented over ten times at my local Blockbuster and quoted from it the way most adults quote witty phrases from the New York Magazine in casual conversation. These many later, I now understand the basis for its appeal. This is a film that makes you believe in the impossibility of love, but never takes the time to get lost in the futile and complicated pursuit of trying to define it.

Sunday morning, I woke up early (early for me on a Sunday is anything before 1 p.m.) and headed over towards the Queensboro Bridge in the hopes of catching a glimpse of my brother who was running his second New York City marathon. The fact that rising before noon on a Sunday took Herculean effort speaks to how my dream of actually running the New York City Marathon is nothing more than a pipe-dream. My fourteen minute mile and I will stick to 10ks and half-marathons were we belong (and yeah even these seems like impossible dreams at the moment).

Unfortunately, I missed my brother who was pacing a fast race time than I apparently gave him credit for, but that doesn’t mine that marathon Sunday was a disappointment. On the contrary, marathon Sunday always reminds me of the strength of the human spirit to overcome anything even the daunting hills of First Avenue. The reason I gravitate towards running is the complex simplicity of it. It is just you and the road, but it is so much more than that. Thousands of little, sometimes agonizing, tales of triumph and setbacks happen within in every afternoon run. In the end, how far you go and how fast you get there is up to you, but the destination doesn’t matter. It is the journey.

Watching those runners, in all shapes, sizes and levels of dress (my favorites was a guy in a speedo and a wig … that’s it), I couldn’t help but be inspired. They were doing it. They were doing something most people are afraid to even attempt. And even if they were walking by mile seventeen, their bodies having given all they could give, it is still a moment worth celebrating.

My favorite moments involved giving hi-fives to totally strangers, seeing friends and family hug someone they knew on the course and clapping for a person who dug down deep to run just another mile. That is all we can ask of ourselves in the end, just giving it one more mile.

Most days, I forget that I live on an island. At any given moment, I am not that far from the shore line, but this being New York City, where nothing really feels as it should, I just plain forget. But when I do remember and I watch the sunset over the most dazzling, most amazing city in the world, I am grateful.

Based on a phenomenally successful 1998 Japanese film, “The Ring” is stealthy horror film that seeps its way under your skin, washing over you like a cold, wet, Seattle rain that leaves you shivering hours later. What begins as a morose bit of moody film making, slowly and slyly evolves into an evocative, sophisticated study of malevolence that preys on our ultimate fear — despite our noble efforts, true evil can never be stopped.

“The Ring” begins innocuously enough with two teenage girls, alone in a dark house, recounting the latest urban legend making the rounds in their small Washington town. It seems there is a mysterious video tape that kills you seven days after you watch it. Unfortunately, one of the girls knows this tape all too well. She has seen it … exactly seven days ago. At this moment, the film could have veered into the realm of the ridiculous, but Verbinski and cinematography Bojan Bazelli establish the mood early. Saturated in gray and green, this sequence, the very definition of hair-raising, creeps and inches its way towards its climax, letting the audience stir in the juices of their own anxiety.

Rachel (Naomi Watts), a jaded journalist for the Seattle PI and the doomed teenager’s aunt, seeks to uncover the who, what and where of this mythical tape’s origins, but not before exposing herself, her ex-boyfriend (Martin Anderson) and her son (David Dorfman) to the video’s deadly taint. The video itself, a sinister series of surrealist images I will spend years in psychotherapy trying to forget, becomes the key to unlocking a series of long forgotten mysteries on a dreary, foreboding island. But sometimes, things were locked away for a reason.

Naomi Watts, who earned well-deserved praise for her breakthrough role in another surrealist romp “Mulholland Drive,” establishes herself as a solid, dynamic lead. Rachel is not a sympathetic character. She is an aggressively stubborn, self-centered woman who is seems oblivious to her son’s needs (he even calls her Rachel instead of “mom”). Yet, Watts manages to infuse her character with an undercurrent of warmth and passion that are pushed slowly to the surface as the fabric of Rachel‘s reality begins to tear.

The film itself is awash in undercurrents all its own. Beyond the murky surface of flickering imagery, the film gradually reveals itself, not as a reductive fight of good versus evil, but as a more complex examination of evil’s capacity to seep, to corrupt those that seek to look upon its face (however innocent that face may seem). What makes the film so potent is the realization that no one is free from evil’s taint. Evil needs to be seen. It needs to be heard. It will never stop.

At the heart of any good horror film is the notion that true evil can never be defeated. It lives in all of us, works through his, invades us and infects us like a sickness and, in the end, we are all helpless.

Harry: And do you know I knew? I knew the whole time that even though we were happy it was just an illusion and that one day she will kick the shit out of me.
Jess: Marriages don’t break up on a count of infidelity. It’s just a symptom that something else is wrong.
Harry: Oh really? Well that symptom is fucking my wife.

There is no relationship scenario that When Harry Met Sally… doesn’t have a perfect punchline for.

Chicago
Beyond the Oscar glory and award hype, Chicago is a razor sharp examination of the age-old, cultural obsession with celebrity, and the blurry line that exists between fame and infamy. Reneé Zwelleger and Catherine Zeta-Jones co-star as lady-killers who must share suave lawyer Billy Flynn (Richard Gere) and share the spotlight as they compete for sympathy, attention and newspaper headlines. The three leads all pour their heart and souls into every song, every dance move and every line to escape their lips. Zeta-Jones and scene-stealer Queen Latifah particular shine as Velma Kelly and Mama Morton respectively. Crime and punishment never looked so good.

Singin’ in the Rain
Simply put, this is a classic. Perhaps, the best movie musical produced by MGM Studios and, in my book, the best movie musical produced. Period. Gene Kelly stars as Donald Lockwood, a stuntman turned leading man, who must face the possibility that his career is drawing to a close when “talkies” begin to phase out silent films. Debbie Reynolds (dude, she was 18!) and Donald O’Connor hold their own against Kelly’s formidable screen presence. Aside, for the classic “Singin’ in the Rain” sequence, the true centerpiece of the film is Kelly’s sexy seduction by mobster moll Cyd Charisse.

Saturday Night Fever
In 1974, it started a dance revolution. With a chart-topping soundtrack by the Bee Gees, it got the masses dancing again. Regular guy Tony Minero and his friends escape the bleak reality of their Brooklyn neighborhood every weekend at the discoteque (remember those?) where the pulsing rhythm and flashing lights transform Tony into a god. In 1974, everyone either wanted to be John Travolta or sleep with John Travolta. He made platform shoes and white polyester leisure suits sexy and that, my friends, is no small feat. I simply wanted to dance like John Travolta. While not technically a musical, the film did make a case for how transformative music can be in life, how a good rhythm can transform mere mortals into something larger than life.

West Side Story
Beneath the singing and dancing is a fairly stark look at racial tensions and urban decay in New York City during the early sixties. In a reworking of the classic Romeo and Juliet, the Anglo good-boy Tony and the Puerto Rican princess Maria fight for their love and happiness amid a neighborhood doing everything to keep them apart. From the film’s opening sequence, a overhead sweep of the cityscape, to the final emotional minutes, this film is thoroughly New York. It is a story that lives along the cramped city streets where love and understanding are sometimes just beyond reach and where hate is the easiest conclusion. The musical highlights include “America,” the Latin favored “Mambo” and the heart-wrenching “Somewhere” which, over the years, has been adopted as a gay anthem.

Xanadu
Olivia Newton-John sings! She dances! She rollerskates. She glows? And these are the only parts of the movie that make sense. If you can overlook the plot that only makes sense if you are under the influence of any number of substances (something about Greek muses coming to Earth to inspire struggling artists … I think) and if you forget the whole section of the film that is animated (by America Tail’s Don Bluth no less), this film is actually more fun than rollerskating dance party. Well, actually, it is a rollerskating dance party, but that‘s kind of the point. A soundtrack by Electric Light Orchestra, a rollerskating Gene Kelly and happy-shiny Olivia Newton John make this one make worth watching. Sure, this film killed the careers of several people, but how could you resist something this shiny.

Grease!
Trying to recapture some of the glory of musicals past, Grease! combines catchy songs, great dancing with the two electric elements that musicals during the Hollywood’s Golden Age never had, John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John. Leather-clad hood with a heart of gold, Danny Zukco, tries to win back the heart of his summer love, the ultra-innocent, ultra-virginal Sandy and, of course, that is where all the fun begins. We will excuse the films final message which seems to say if you want to win the heart of the person you love, change everything about yourself. Or to put it more bluntly, ladies, dress like a tart. But all is forgiven the moment our lovely duo start belting out “You’ve the One that I Want.”

8 Women
Director Francis Orzon pays homage to melodramas of the fifties, but unlike Todd Haynes’s equally adept homage, Far From Heaven, Orzon plays the Sirk melodrama template strictly for shits and giggles. Trapped in a remote chateau for Christmas, the murder of the family patriarch makes all eight women suspects in his murder. Tragic secrets are revealed. Deep passions are uncovered. Songs with a pop French flare are sung. Catherine Denevue heads an all-star cast of only the best actresses in French cinema. Watch for Isabelle Huppert’s tearful number, but stay for Fanny Ardent and Denevue’s catfight which takes an unexpected turn. It’s a murder mystery. It’s a post-modern parody. It’s a musical.

Footloose
A tale as old as time. A big city kid moves to a small town where dancing is illegal, but Kevin Bacon, with pop music in his heart and a dance number or two in his soul, challenges that elder’s notion that rock-n-roll will only lead to fornication, drinking and *gasp* tragic death. Will he win the girl, the preacher’s daughter (Lori Singer)? Will he teach his best friend (Chris Penn) how to dance? Will he win the farm tractor race game of chicken? And the film’s most important question, how did those kids learn to dance so fast? The soundtrack is a virtually musical tour of 80’s hits. From Shalmar’s innuendo-latent “Dancing in the Sheet” to Kenny Loggins’s pop monster hit “Footloose,” it is a solid good time. Of course, they are remaking the thing to stab me in the heart.

Brooklyn Bridge Nightfall
By D. B. Steinman

Against the city’s gleaming spires,
Above the ships that ply the stream,
A bridge of haunting beauty stands –
Fulfillment of an artist’s dream.

From deep beneath the tidal flow
Two granite towers proudly rise
To hold the pendent span aloft –
A harp against the sunset skies.

Each pylon frames, between its shafts,
Twin Gothic portals pierced with blue
And crowned with magic laced design
Of lines and curves that Euclid knew.

The silver strands that form the net
Are beaded with the stars of night
Lie jeweled dewdrops that adorn
A spiderweb in morning light.

Between the towers reaching high
A cradle for the stars is swung;
And from this soaring cable curve
A latticework of steel is hung.

Around the bridge in afterglow
The city’s lights like fireflies gleam,
And eyes look up to see the span –
A poem stretched across the stream