Check out yesterday's post on Race and Gender in the movies if you want something to sink your teeth into. It's a little longer and more involved than what I usually write, but that's because my brain is too small to keep it all bottled inside. Also I'm eager to hear what you all think.
But on to gayer thoughts.
Today I finally saw the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers' vehicle, Swing Time, in its entirety. Now I know absolutely nothing about the seductive art of "dance" and I've been accused of having Elaine-like convulsions/dance -moves myself, but boy do I admire those two hoofers. There's none of that wiggling fingers and lightning fast cuts business to gloss over any dancing deficiencies - oh, no, these guys were the real deal.
Gene Kelly may have been a more powerful tap dancer but nobody could beat Fred Astaire for pure grace and Ginger Rogers was a superb partner. She actually may have been better than Fred since she pulled off most of the same moves in heels and a dress and still managed to look ravishing.
Quick Question: Is there anything more surreal than watching a black-faced Fred Astaire perform as a tap dancing black pimp named Bojangles?
The answer, in case you were wondering, is no.