I Carried a Watermelon: Dirty Dancing and Me. Katy Brand
covering it, and we all know what that’s like in any case from sphincter-tightening first-hand experience. And so yes, on my first viewing there was all the usual ‘eyes-straight-ahead-don’t-swallow-don’t breathe’ stuff going on, which meant my enjoyment was a bit … subdued.
Part of the sex appeal is how imperfect some of them look at times, by modern film standards. It’s not all painted and pretty; it’s sweaty and lusty, with mascara running down their cheeks with the sheer heat of it all. I remember being absolutely thrilled with it – not necessarily in an explicitly erotic way, but it certainly gave me a feeling of warm excitement. It all looked so physical and immediate – you can feel the chemistry coming off the screen. Sex is natural and easy. Bodies are fun and sensual. So, feel good about yourself. And I did, after watching it.
So, while dancing is obviously the main focus of the film, and the dancers set the tone in a smoky, oily kind of way, it’s sex that really underpins the whole thing. In her review of Dirty Dancing when it first came out in 1987, the eminent American film critic Pauline Kael wrote in the New Yorker, ‘dancing is a transparent metaphor for main character Baby’s sexual initiation … this is a girl’s coming of age fantasy: through dancing she ascends to spiritual and sensual perfection.’
Ascending to spiritual and sensual perfection sounds pretty good to me now as a 40-year-old woman, never mind as a teenager, but as a young girl approaching puberty the thought of sex terrified and fascinated me in equal measure. I had a habit of trying to get boys’ attention, but as soon as they showed any interest, I would feel sick and back off hard. Of course, I was still too young to actually do it, or really want to do it, but trying out your powers early on the opposite sex, with varying degrees of success, seems to be a rite of passage for many girls.
My attempts were clumsy to say the least. I was not in any way coquettish or even especially nice, and thought being sarcastic was highly seductive. If I fancied someone a bit, I would relentlessly take the piss until there could be no doubt that I considered them scum of the earth. It was counterproductive, but kept me and my delicate feelings protected in public. ‘You’ll cut yourself on that tongue one day,’ a teacher said to me after overhearing a conversation I was having with one poor victim.
The idea of flirting, or being soft in any way, made me feel ill. I can’t explain why, but it was a physical sensation – a visceral recoil. Thankfully, I got over it, so perhaps it was just nerves, but for a long time my relationships were always verbally combative – I saw it as a sign of affection, or rather, the kind of affection I was willing to express at the time. The idea that you should be nice to boys if you want them to like you seemed perfectly logical to me, it was just when it came to anything romantic that I went a bit strange. I had lots of friends who were boys, and they had always seemed fairly interchangeable with the girls. I didn’t wear dresses much, or skirts. I liked blue jeans, blue t-shirts and scruffy trainers. I mostly had my hair short, and could barely be bothered to brush it. If I dressed up at all, it was leggings and a large jumper. Before I watched Dirty Dancing that first time, I don’t think I really understood intimacy between couples, and the kind of ‘sex appeal’ that was usually shown in films felt like it came from another planet. I couldn’t relate at all.
But now here was a girl called Baby, who wore jeans and white plimsolls, and denim shorts, and loose-fitting t-shirts, who was slightly awkward and bad-tempered with this man, Johnny, and yet he seemed to like it. Here was a girl like me, wearing clothes like mine (only better), having her first sexual relationship with a man who clearly knew his way around. She didn’t wear make-up, she didn’t have a push-up bra, she didn’t stick her bum out, or pretend to be weak in his presence. She didn’t use any tricks. She was wholly and completely herself, authentic in all respects, even as she changed her entire world view in the space of three weeks. And, as a result, she had the shag of her life. In fact, read ‘Time of My Life’ as ‘Shag of My Life’ and you get quite an accurate sense of the journey of the film – perhaps that was Eleanor Bergstein’s euphemistic intention all along.
I believe this formed the basis for how I approached the notion of sex appeal as I entered my teens for real. I knew I wasn’t pretty in the sense of ‘pretty-pretty’ – I knew who those girls were and what you were supposed to look like to be one of them, but I didn’t really try to be like them. I still don’t most of the time. I have learnt through my professional work that if you want to look properly good, or as good as you can possibly look, you need a minimum of two hours with a professional hair and make-up artist, seriously restrictive undergarments (or ‘shapewear’ as it is coyly known) and a four-inch heel or higher. I’d rather be comfortable. I’d rather look slightly shit, smile for the picture, resolve never ever to look at it, and then enjoy the rest of the evening. I even applied this to my own wedding, which is why we didn’t have a professional photographer. I don’t regret it – I had the best time. I wore a blue dress because I always manage to spill my food, I partook eagerly of the hog roast and pavlova, and then danced all night.
Penny – played by eighties pin-up Cynthia Rhodes – Johnny’s dance partner, drips old-school glamour and always looks astonishing. Tiny Jennifer Grey looks positively dumpy next to her sometimes, but it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t matter to Baby, and it certainly doesn’t matter to Johnny. Late in the film, Baby’s more groomed older sister Lisa offers to do her hair, but then stops herself with the line, ‘No, you’re pretty in your own way.’
‘Pretty in your own way’ became my lifeline. My mantra. There is one brief scene in Dirty Dancing where Baby tries to change herself or her appearance for Johnny, and that is when she stops on the stone steps to apply her sister’s ‘beige iridescent lipstick’, swiped from her drawer in the family cabin. And even then she makes a bit of a joke about it, draping herself over a railing in a cartoonish mockery of how a Hollywood siren might move. She’s having fun, and to be honest, that lipstick would be so plain it would barely register. The only other time she makes an effort is when she dances with Johnny at the Sheldrake, and that is for professional reasons. Yes, her outfits get sexier and skimpier as she learns to dance, but this does not appear calculated to have a sexual pull on Johnny, more for us to see that she is gaining confidence in her own body as she learns what it can do.
Other than these moments, it’s ‘pretty in your own way’ the whole time. I still look at myself in the mirror, and I see the imperfections, and then I catch myself and murmur comfortingly, ‘You’re pretty in your own way.’ This is partly to excuse the sheer lack of effort on my part on a day-to-day basis, but also it’s a kind, realistic and affirming little ritual that makes you forget the pressures of having to contour yourself until you basically resemble a Kardashian, no matter the original shape of your features.
In fact, there is never any suggestion that Baby has to achieve a certain ‘look’ to get Johnny’s attention, or win his desire. The first time they have sex, it follows the car journey back from the Sheldrake, in which Baby climbs in the back seat to change out of her more glamorous and revealing dancing outfit and back into the jeans and shirt she was wearing before. Johnny seems genuinely attracted by her character, her commitment, her goodness and her determination. That is what turns him on. However you look at it, this is a great message for a young girl entering the world of sexual politics for the first time. Or anyone, in fact.
There are no games with Baby and Johnny, and when you think about it, that is quite striking. They work together, they fancy each other, so they fuck. They communicate directly with each other. They don’t send messages through friends, or play hard to get. They want it, so they do it. And then they do it again, and again, and again. The central issue of the film is not whether she has slept with him too fast to retain his respect, or whether he fancies someone else more, or whether she’s cool enough for him. It’s whether or not she can solve the mystery of a series of purse thefts from the hotel for which he is accused before he is fired. And whether she can respect herself, even when she loses the respect of her father. It’s strong stuff. And it’s all very sexy, especially when they keep dancing with each other half-naked and a bit sweaty.
Even when they think they are going to have to separate for good, there is very little angst or stress. Watching this scene now, it is incredible to me how mature it is. Standing opposite each other next