Thursday Movie Picks: Dance Movies

Battlefield America

Directed by Christopher B. Stokes.

2012. Rated PG-13, 105 minutes.

Cast:

Marques Houston

Mekia Cox

Lynn Whitfield

Christopher Michael Jones

Jojo Wright

Tristen Carter

Valarie Pettiford

Gary Anthony Sturgis

Russell Ferguson

Big Boy

Sean Lewis (Houston) is a young, hot shot exec who is climbing the ladder of success at breakneck speed. That speed gets him in trouble on the road as he has accumulated a string of traffic violations. He is so busy with his career, he merely tasks his lawyer to handle it without his presence. When informed he must appear in court for his latest discretion or risk being thrown in jail, he does, but takes a very cavalier attitude with him. Luckily for him, instead of getting sent to the slammer, his lawyer brokers a deal for him to perform community service. The catch is that it must be done for eight hours a day over the next two weeks. This is to be performed at a rec center in the hood where he is put in charge of a group of boys who want nothing more than to win the Battlefield America kiddie dance crew competition. Of course, they’re not the most disciplined or talented group. Sean trying to connect with the boys, keep his career intact, and woo Sara (Cox), the gorgeous rec center director, ensues.

Everything that happens in this movie pertaining to our hero’s relationship with the boys occurs exactly as you think it would. He forms a special bond with the tough kid, wins over the heart of the pretty girl, disappoints them when he reverts to his old selfish ways, etc. Surprisingly, this predictability is less of an issue than how we get from one overly familiar plot point to the next. Instead of flowing into one another, developing things as we go, we get a succession of disjointed scenes. As each begins we get the sense that something was left out between the beginning of the one we’re watching and the end of the one we saw before it. This renders character attitude changes jarring and events feel like they’re happening only because they are supposed to, not out of the organic growth of the story. This is worsened when there is a dance set between two dramatic scenes. The movie uses the dance sequences as excuses to jump to whatever the next item on the checklist is without actually navigating the waters to arrive there. This calls attention to other things that are so illogical they seriously stretch the idea that this is taking place in our world. For instance, after our hero is caught red-handed not performing his community service in the time mandated his punishment is not jail, as it would be for you or I. Instead, he’s merely given more community service. Matters are not helped by the fact that not one actor brings enough weight to their roles to really sell it and help us get past such things. The whole thing is not just paint-by-numbers. It is coloring with a highlighter so that all of the numbers are still visible.

Most things aside from what happens between Sean and the crew are laughable, at best. How he handles his work situation is simply ridiculous and the inevitable outcome of it is an eye-roller. The bigger problem, however, is its falling into the same trap as countless other urban dance flicks. We’re dropped into yet another underground dance culture where most dancers are evil thugs and the most thuggish ones dominate all of the competitions. Of course, many of these competitions take place at night in back alleys and change locations often as if an attempt to avoid police detection. It’s already silly in movies featuring people in their late teens and early twenties. Here, where none of the dancers have even reached puberty it’s goofy on hyperdrive.

Here’s the thing: dance movies are largely critic proof. You can slap together any story, no matter how lazy or sloppy, and people who love dance movies will enjoy it as long as the dancing is good. Why do you think they keep making sequels to  Step Up? It’s not because some great saga needs to be continued. It is because the high energy and inventive dance routines keep drawing crowds. No, they’re not raking in comic book movie dough but these are low budget affairs, relatively speaking, and bring in big returns. For instance, Step Up Revolution cost $33 million to get on the big screen and hauled in $140 million at the box office. True, Battlefield America was a commercial failure, but may earn years of returns from cable networks running it ad nauseum, like the Jessica Alba dance movie Honey. In other words, there is an audience for this. I can’t say I blame people for liking it. For all of it’s many faults, being dull is not one of them. To the point of this review, to help you figure out whether or not you should see this, I’ll say that the big selling point on the DVD cover is that this is “from the writer, director and creator of You Got Served." You decide whether that is an invitation or a warning.

MY SCORE: 3/10

Doctor Detroit

Directed by Michael Pressman.

1983. Rated R, 91 minutes.
Cast:
Dan Aykroyd
Howard Hesseman
Fran Drescher
Lynn Whitfield
Donna Dixon
T. K. Carter
Lydia Lei
Kate Murtagh
George Furth
Nan Martin
James Brown

In the immortal words of The Geto Boys, my mind’s playing tricks on me. Google it if you must, youngsters. The trick performed was indeed a dastardly deception. I really thought the woman had been sawn in half. You see friends, I found myself in my favorite used book store wandering through aisles and aisles of DVDs someone else no longer wanted. Eventually, I meandered over to the bargain bin. That’s where they keep the movies they really didn’t want to take in and hope some sucker will snatch them up at a buck or two. Knowing there’s an off chance I might find a real gem, I dig in. Shortly, I get my hand on a copy of Doctor Detroit. I immediately recognize as a movie from Dan Akroyd’s heyday, that time between the opening skit of the first episode of Saturday Night Live and the closing credits of Spies Like Us.

Folks, this where the lies begin. I told myself that everything Akroyd did during this period was pure gold. After all, this stretch includes The Blues Brothers, Trading Places and Ghostbusters. I remember seeing hilarious ads for Doctor Detroit. This was one of those iconic movies from my youth that I somehow missed out on. I vividly recall it was a smash hit either shortly before or after Trading Places. Well, as it turns out DD did come out about a month prior to Trading Places However, as evidenced by the fact that it was gone from theaters before that month ran out, it was not a hit in any way. There is a good reason.

It should go without saying that Akroyd plays the title role. He’s by far the biggest name in the cast at the time. His character’s real name is Clifford, and he’s a college professor for a school mired in financial problems. Doctor Detroit is his pimp alter-ego. Let me explain. Doctor Detroit is actually an alter-ego created by someone else for Clifford. Smooth Walker, played by the eternally cool Howard Hesseman, is a real pimp who’s deep in debt to Mom (Murtagh), who runs the local crime world. As a way out, he tells Mom that a big time bad guy named Doctor Detroit has muscled in on his territory and Smooth’s getting out of town for fear of his life. Naturally, Mom and her goons go looking for the Doctor and find only Clifford. Of course, the only thing for the professor to do is don a blonde-wig, yellow jacket, lime green pants, a pair of Elton John shades, a false metal hand, speak like a constipated Edward G. Robinson and pretend to be a big time crimelord from Michigan.

Don’t fret, Smooth left behind some help, sorta. This is where the cast gets interesting. As mentioned, Akroyd has the biggest name but the rest of the troupe is certainly not without merit. Hesseman, of course, is best known as radio DJ Johnny Fever from the legendary sitcom WKRP in Cincinnati. You already know he leaves town. So, to facilitate our hero’s transformation into Doctor Detroit there are five other key players: Smooth’s limo driver and the four girls in his stable. The driver is Daivolo, played by none other than T. K. Carter. If you’ve either forgotten or are too young to remember, Carter made a career out of playing the token jive-talkin’, bug-eyed black guy in movies with predominantly white casts. This is just one of a number of such roles for him. In true 80s fashion, our hookers are a purposefully diverse bunch: an all-American blue eyed blonde, a brunette with a thick New York accent, a sassy black girl and an Asian girl with the classic “me love you long time” accent. The blonde is played by Donna Dixon. At this time, she was suppose to be the next “it” girl. She hung around and did a number of movies, but it never quite worked out for her the way some thought it would. Lydia Lei plays the Asian girl and only has a handful of credits. The brunette and the black girl have the most notable careers. Fran Drescher plays the brunette, Lynn Whitfield, obviously, the black girl. Drescher went on to star in The Nanny a huge sitcom. Whitfield, would go on to critical acclaim in the title role of The Josephine Baker Story. Both have continued to pop up in television and movie roles to this day.

The cast isn’t the problem, here. True, there are no award-worthy performances but the acting was solid. The issue is the lazy and unfunny script. It follows all the machinations of tons of other flicks without much flavor of its own. Aside from Clifford pretending to be a pimp there’s also some academic big-wig trying to make his way to the university with a school-saving donation check. Yes, Clifford is supposed to make sure he gets there. Tired hijinks and shenanigans ensue.

Before you think that I’m jaded by the hundreds of other comedies I’ve watch in the nearly thirty years since this came out, remember this: no one liked it in 1983, either. It managed to make barely more than its budget, but that was likely due to a number of people going to see it simply because of Akroyd. He manages to get a few laughs, but it takes a Herculean effort. Much of his zaniness is in vain. Thank goodness Trading Places came out when it did. This ensures we’d have no time to dwell on how bad this is. However, it’s not totally void of value. It did confirm a lesson many have tried to teach me over the years: even your own memory can’t be trusted.

MY SCORE: 3/10