So I’m watching Dirty Dancing the other night–it was being looped on some channel, and I sat there and watched it about three times. At one point in time (um, probably in 1987 when the damn thing came out) that was my very favorite movie, and the first time I watched it the other night, I was swept back up into the story and the budding love between Patrick Swayze’s Johnny and Jennifer Grey’s Baby. My favorite scene from the movie (no, not the final dance sequence, though I do love that one, too) isn’t available for embedding, but here’s the link to it all the same: Loverboy scene.
Okay, so by the second time I watched the film (as I’ve gotten older, I seem to becoming more and more like a toddler and can watch the same thing over and over. Sigh. At least it wasn’t Barney.), I was struck by how young Swayze looks in the film. He’s currently battling cancer, as is Farrah Fawcett, and I feel just awful for them on a human level, but I also feel, selfishly, the impact of my own age in light of their illnesses.
There’s nothing quite like being so damned old that all of the sex symbols of your day have either died already or are fighting terminal illness. To top that off, I’ve no idea who half the young stars are in Hollywood, and I feel rather ancient and crusty as a result. Not so ancient and crusty that I’m going to do anything about learning who is the hottest hottie in all the land–after all, it’s probably someone thirty years my junior. Sigh squared.
I also noted, on about my third viewing of the film, that while I remember (somewhat vaguely) that feeling of being swept up in love, of thinking that there is nothing and no one in the entire world who can make you feel that way, I know that I will never know that again. Not because I’m unlovable–God knows I’m perfectly lovable! hehe–but because I just don’t “buy it,” anymore. Bah humbug on that crap, says I in pure curmudgeonly fashion. Starry-eyed mushy love is for the young, the naive . . . the lucky. I’m none of those, so the best I can hope for is to dodder across another middle-aged pseudo-romantic who can sit through a painfully silly film and both feel it all over again and recognize the unattainability of it all.