Monday, December 19, 2005
...and it's shockingly bland. Kids saying the darndest things does not make a documentary. I know they're only 10, but they're just grabassing while being reprimanded by teachers who wield their power with an iciness hardened no doubt by a crumbled dancing career ("...and those who can't teach gym teach ballroom dancing"). The film builds to a citywide competition. One team wins, the rest dissolve into tears. Then the film ends. In life, there are winners and losers, OK 10-year-old dancers and not-so-OK 10-year-old dancers. In the end, we all die. This is perhaps my worst post ever -- such a harmless film doesn't deserve the vitriol -- but I'm angry for spending 100 minutes watching New Yorkers' tax dollars spiral down the shitter. Oh, the rumba saved Johnny from a life of crime? Please. The only thing it saved him from was math class.