Here's something that may or may not (especially if you know me personally) come as a surprise: I like the Step Up movies. I'm a bit of a sucker for them, actually. And beyond a temporary addiction to Justin Bieber videos and a gumption to dance until the soles of my shoes wear off, I've actually found quite a bit to love about the Step Up movies outside of Channing Tatum's abs and Robot Rocking—and, admittedly, quite a bit to hate.
I do believe there's a sincerity to the Step Up series that's simply immune to my bullshit, and I've always found myself rooting for art that embraces the shallow. Sophistication can be found in unsophisticated material, from Carly Rae Jepsen's fantastic, light-as-a-pink-feather Kiss to the ambition-obsessed Step Up 3D. And it's Jepsen's astute attentiveness to the artistically untapped emotion surrounding cell-phone break-ups ("I'm breaking up with you/You're breaking up on me") in a technologically driven world that's often disguised within songs that deal in club dancing and dropping your phone in the pool (and, you know, having a good time). Similarly with the Step Up series (and perhaps rightfully so), people have often turned their noses up at dancing your heart out because, Jesus, how many times can we handle that tired storyline? Guy meets girl, girl dances, woos guy with moves, woos guy with personality, love, falling out, dance saves love, dance saves all. Let's dance these credits out!
While the original Step Up is a good film, it doesn't quite capture the drive lying beneath its influences (Dirty Dancing, Saturday Night Fever, Strictly Ballroom). Perhaps what's most noteworthy about the film (besides launching Tatum's career) is its place in the evolution of the Step Up films. Step Up 2: The Streets could be seen as a sort of cheap embracer of its predecessor's success, but once laid out, they represent the line in the sand drawn for the series. From the second film onward, each film has taken a step back from the central romance-driven nature of Step Up and the nature of dance films period. The romance is always, of course, tacked on haphazardly for the sake of your average teenager's sanity, which is one giant reason the films haven't felt quite as intimate as the original. But in Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan's place, a broader idea has emerged: the Step Up movies are less concerned with what dance means to the individual and more concerned with how dance correlates with life.
Cue the laugh track, abruptly stop the vinyl record, throw the tomatoes, pull one of those "cough *bullshit* cough" maneuvers—whatever it takes to get it out of your system. Now turn your bullshit meter down and let's take a look:
However unwittingly named, Step Up 2: The Streets does in fact take it to the streets, clinging to the not-quite-as-strong central romance formula of Step Up and bursting through the brick walls of confinement into the rainy streets for a show-stopping, credit-inducing display of alleyway dancing that pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the inevitable films to come forth. No longer focused enough to make its romantic moments very affectionate, the Step Up series has traveled spectacularly in the other direction and literally blown up, to the point where shit flies at your face in Step Up 3D. A more noble attempt at a "dance film" than Step Up 2, director John M. Chu steals the show with his eye for choreography. From Moose and Camille's absolutely wonderful Singin' in the Rain mashup to the insane light show put on display in the final act, Step Up 3D finally embraced the style necessary towards making its dance-is-bigger-than-life sentiments actually fit the bill. It's not to the point of gimmickry put on display in Step Up: Revolution (where dancers bounce on tricked out cars and run down ramps while attached to bungee cords), but instead entirely focused on the dancing and what it means to a core group.
Gaining acceptance in an increasingly competitive sport is the focus in Step Up 3D, where many crossroads represent a dancer's dwindling presence in a rapidly growing field—Moose balances school with his passion and Natalie chooses between family loyalty and blossoming love. This sense of alienation is benefited by writers Amy Andelson and Emily Meyer's awareness of the film's inherent trivial associations, in a world where Youtube has ignited an obsession for dance more handily than either Save the Last Dance or Stomp the Yard. So balancing the intimacy of the original Step Up film with dance's growing presence in the public realm becomes all the more essential to capturing the filmmakers' lofty intentions.
In Step Up 3D, saving a run-down dance studio via extravagant competitions becomes the perfect piece of symbolism for a series with an ever-growing budget. Despite the increasing flamboyancy of the series, dance is ultimately contained within a core set of ideals, but amplified with an attentiveness to dancing's ability to go viral in a technologically driven world. Gaining this muted acceptance puts on display just how far dance has come from the Swayze/Grey days (hell, even the Tatum/Dewan days), where dance is less about the moment, and more about just how far dance's message can spread via those moments.
Thus we arrive at Step Up: Revolution—the best and perhaps most frustrating addition to the series yet. What plagued the eye-popping and impeccably choreographed dance sequences of Step Up 3D was the hesitancy to embrace the apparent shallowness of its subject matter. For many it may be hard to care about a bunch of directionless twenty-somethings searching for acceptance on the Internet. While Step Up: Revolution wholly clutches on to its absurd intentions in guileless fashion, Step Up 3D has more of a limp-dicked attachment to its less-than-whelming subject matter. The passion is there in the dance—the case, really, with any competent dance film—but dance is ultimately an expression of emotion (like any form of acting), and Step Up 3D's sequences do little to advance (or even convey) the subject matter of the film. It's lively, people are having fun, and the moral complexes are technically set in place, but there's no meat on these bones. And yes, we should expect substance with the Step Up films—no film is exempt from that.
This is where movies like Step Up: Revolution and Girl Walk // All Day excel gloriously. No matter how monumental the task—whether it's sparking a revolution against the 1% or painting a landscape of New York City—embracing the impossible and filtering dance through your intentions is the best way to convey emotion where the stone-faced acting simply doesn't dictate.
So while full of teary-eyed sentiments from a script written within the confines of a twelve-year-old's comprehension level, Step Up: Revolution is actually full of great acting—the expression through dance of a desire to rise above the stuffy hotel owner (Peter Gallagher) and announce one's suppressed presence to the world. "Going viral" is the ultimate goal in Revolution, where Youtube views are measured as capital in a profession that offers little to none (despite the fact that these dancers all own fancy, pimped-out cars?). The sequence where dancers fend off SWAT Team members (oh the power of dance!) is a hilarious embrace of how important dance is in their lives, where artfully expressing yourself is often whimpered down by, you know, the law. The presence of "flash mobs" in Revolution allows the filmmakers to hone the message without pithy dialogue or overacting detracting from the experience. Instead of dance being the instigator, dance becomes a reaction to the system—dance becomes inherently intertwined with the ultimate lofty goal of sparking inspiration and change in a system that would rather see it all stay the same.
While not as glaringly obvious, Girl Walk // All Day is every bit as political as Revolution in its pursuit. The sheer use of juxtaposition should explain that: whereas Revolution constantly barrels forward, pitting the extravagance of its choreographed sequences with its societal pushback, Girl Walk begins with a black-and-white ballet studio filled with classical music before its imbued with color and Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" and Ludicris' "Move Bitch (Get Out the Way)". It's an instant backlash against the fluid dance numbers of the Step Up films, yet seems to recall Revolution's own anti-snobbery sequence in a posh art museum. This marks the ultimate divider and unifier of these two films: how dance is utilized to convey emotion and subject matter, and the societal wonders dance can lead to.
Girl Walk director Jacob Krupnick owns the more daunting task. While sparking a fucking revolution may seem gargantuan, painting a textured identity for the United States' most populated and diverse city is no small feat. Traveling through the pedestrian-bustling, crime-ridden streets of New York, Girl Walk is actually much more infused with the fantastical offerings of dance than any of the Step Up films. Only represented by three recurring characters—The Girl (Anne Marsen), The Gentleman (Dai Omiya), and The Creep (John Doyle)—the search for fulfillment in a wishful environment (The Big Apple and the opportunities it presents) is a broad, yet incredibly involving prospect that, much like Revolution, is inherently attached to the dance segments. Wide-open eyes and smile spread, The Girl scatters her joy throughout the city and all of its random districts simply (in her one moment of dialogue) "Because I'm happy." "You should always be happy," responds a Jewish pedestrian, sparking the optimistic intentions of the film that will soon be challenged by the treacherous New York landscape.
Here we find a similar sentiment between Girl Walk and Revolution: the search for acceptance in a colossal realm. Revolution validates success with Youtube views, while Girl Walk validates discovering one's self with a gathering of New York's various components. Whether spread amongst New York's many parts or cramped together in a park for a breathtaking final dance number, the breadth of the city is always a focus. New York is either set in the horizon, towering over The Girl as she runs through the streets, or joining her for a sparkler-ridden walk through the park. One's inclusion in the grand scheme of New York can be either daunting, alienating, or snugly empowering—all sentiments captured in Revolution's search for societal acceptance.
This is where Revolution becomes frustrating, as it seems wholly aware of how to embrace the impossibly large task presented, yet sidesteps the more radical components of relaying the message. As noted by Slant's Ed Gonzalez, the characters of Miami are whitewashed, disguising the very real problems it chooses to overstep:
"The film audaciously asks us to cheer a dance revolution that can't be bothered to channel the iconography and spirit of the immigrant struggle that brought almost one million Cubans to the very place the flash mobbers pretend to stand up for."
It's no coincidence that Revolution takes place in Miami, where the spirit of its message gains a resounding societal presence. Unlike how irresponsibly aware Steven Spielberg is of Jewish people in Schindler's List or black people in Lincoln, writer Amanda Brody and director Scott Speer seem completely misinformed about the people their movie is actually about. Due to the filmmakers' sincere embrace of a discarded genre—which, I cannot stress enough, is a rarity these days—the presence of dance allows the message to spread, but it never really takes flight. The dance numbers continually reinforce the same message, which itself is living and dying by the power of said dance numbers. The political and societal implications of Revolution are as broad as they are flimsy, which is fine...but does allow for the carpet to be yanked from beneath at any moment. Revolution never falls over, but it constantly missteps, never allowing the dance to evolve beyond a single idea. Whether they're flash mobbing in the subway, the art museum, or outside a four-star hotel, the environment itself never gains an identity outside of the one-note sentiment of "it's them against us!" Much like Revolution's inattentiveness to the crippling problems surrounding its subject matter, it's this blind eye turned towards building the dilemma (as opposed to full-fledgedly relishing in it) that doesn't quite coincide with the "revolution" it strives to spark.
Girl Walk is the exact opposite in its complete embrace of the system that shapes its message. The people of Girl Walk are as varied as they come ethnically, but they all unite in the single sense of alienation that is extracted by either city or class division. Girl Walk almost has too many ideas, which is why its ability to pull it off is all the more striking. While just as broad as Revolution in scope, the variety of dance numbers is a testament to the power of dance itself, where sloppiness replaces fluidity and gains more momentum in the process. While Revolution is intrinsically confined to the migraine-inducing romantic angles, Girl Walk is utterly free from traditional narrative. Instead of being split among recycled speeches about the love of dance, Girl Walk barrels forward with one act after another, allowing the alteration of environment to dictate the mood and style of dance. Chinatown and subway rides; park picnics and rude pedestrians; missed connections and multicultural dance numbers combine like pop-rock mashups in Girl Talk's All Day (the soundtrack for the film), controlling the mood and offsetting the aura the unadulterated environment would normally present. The Girl, The Creep, and The Gentleman—despite the evolution of their relationship via dance—are dictated by their surroundings, and thus evolve alongside the city that hovers over their wishful intentions.
Revolution is only concerned with controlling the system, and thus dictating the environment—Girl Walk reacts accordingly with its environment, and thus blossoms within. Because of this, the characters themselves evolve solely through the emotion put on display through dance—something that cannot be said of either the second or third Step Up film. Characters' motivations are never in either of those films, but how those emotions are dictated through dance has always been a gimmick. But in Revolution, the gimmick is the enhancer: putting their SWAT sequence on Youtube for millions to witness does reinforce their message, however superficially so. Those costumed dancers aren't just for show—this is the oppressor of their beloved art.
Girl Walk is a significant film because of its place in dance movie timeline. This side of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette and Kanye West's Runaway, it's a complete embrace of music and dance's role in these characters' lives. And by doing so, Girl Walk becomes a film that's not at all about dancing. While Revolution requires the juxtaposition between dialogue and choreographed sequences to pronounce the role of dance in characters' lives, dance becomes the way The Girl, The Creep, and The Gentleman walk, talk, and ultimately find themselves in New York fucking City. In all fairness, it doesn't even seem proper to even call it a "dance movie". When The Girl is continually denied a partner in dancing as she dons a sign reading "Dance With Me" in multiple languages, it conveys not a gumption to dance, but a desire to be understood. Dance isn't the focus, but the filter that drives the message.
It would, however, be completely unfair to rank Girl Walk outside the evolution of the dance movie. For while Revolution (and every film in the Step Up series, for that matter) requires dancing to explain away the characters' motivations, dance can also be seen as a filter for their emotions. Dance is simply art in Revolution, as the revolution-ers' sequence in the art museum combines itself with the various paintings and sculptures flooding throughout. Thus, I think it's fair to compare the Step Up films' place in the timeline with Girl Walk's—dance is no longer a romantic expression of love between two individuals, but instead comes to define the desire to rise above the system pronounce one's presence. Perhaps we could say dance films have come full circle—Saturday Night Fever certainly captured youthful rebellion in a constricting system. Strictly Ballroom still remains Baz Luhrmann's most honest overly lavish embrace of passion in the face of oppression. But as the influence and popularity of dance continues to grow alongside technology, both Revolution and Girl Walk spark new directions for the dance film. Revolution recognizes the deprivation of art and physically rebels via the suppressing medium; Girl Walk is consumed by the encompassing nature of city life and the alienation created by suppressing medium. One is reactionary, and one is evolutionary, yet both recognize how dance itself can become a representation and a solution to those problems. I'll be damned if those aren't two magnificent steps forward for the genre—and they were released within eight months of one another.
Watch the entirety of Girl Walk // All Day on the official website. Even better: make a purchase to support the film.
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