Thirty-two years ago tomorrow, a movie was released that continues to reverberate down through the generations. Starring John Travolta as Tony Manero, Saturday Night Fever is, perhaps, the defining film of the 70s in the same way that Rebel Without A Cause is the defining movie of the 1950s. Travolta was nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of Manero and the soundtrack was, for a long period of time, the best selling album of all-time. The late movie critic Gene Siskel listed Saturday Night Fever as his favorite film, according to the official Gene Siskel website, and he even went so far as to purchase one of Travolta's famous white suits used in filming the movie.
The film's message has been muted by the weight of its own popularity. Upon SNF's release, discos opened all over America and the soundtrack played endlessly. The kid who lived in the last dorm room on our hall at Western Maryland College, played that album from the time he arose in the morning until he went to bed at night. If he was in his room, that music could be heard throughout our hall. Immense popularity soon breeds parody, which soon breeds contempt. However, we continue to be very culturally aware of SNF. Any time some fool on the dance floor points his finger up and then down, everyone knows that he is mimicing one of Travolta's famous dance moves.
The question really i, Why does this movie continue to resonate? The answer is simple, really for in spite of the fact that the clothes, music, and attitudes are firmly grounded in 1977-1978, the movie's theme is timeless. We can all identify with Tony Manero because we watch him up there on the screen as he comes to the awful (and awe-full)realization that the pursuits of his youth--in his case disco dancing--must inevitably come to an end. His friends seem to think that they will go on forever, but when Manero's friend Bobby discovers that he faces the very adult reality of fatherhood--he has impregnated a girl whom we never meet in the film--he kills himself. After the suicide, Manero descends into the subway, riding it all night, and emerges in the morning, realizing that refusing to grow up is indeed, death.
Tony Manero might grow up to become "nothing more" than the manager of the hardware store where we see him at work when the movie opens; Manero strutting down the street carrying that paint can, his mind on a new shirt that he'd like to buy. When the movie ends, however, childhood pursuits have grown into the hopes of manhood--and we are left to root for his success.
Check out the following clip of the scene in which Tony and Stephanie perform for the dance contest. The moves are slow, rhythmic, sensual, and expressive. This is dance at its best and in it, Tony Manero seems to be giving his youth a thoughtful good-bye.
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