Though I’ve never enjoyed dancing in public, there’s one song that propels me onto the floor the moment its opening chords ring out. (I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life, sung by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes, is the theme song of Dirty Dancing and the soundtrack to my teenage dreams.
All I - and several million other middle-aged women - need to hear is Bill intoning “Now, I’ve...” and we’re Baby Houseman being dragged from her corner by bad-boy Johnny Castle, spinning onto the stage in a cloud of pink tulle.
The 1987 film grossed more than $200million at the box office and spawned two multi-platinum albums and the catchphrase “Nobody puts Baby in the corner”. It’s consistently been voted the best chick-flick of all time, with the average fan having seen it 15 times.
Which is why news that a Hollywood remake is planned almost 25 years on has caused such an outcry.
The new version is set for release in 2013 and will be directed by Kenny Ortega, the choreographer on the original film. The cast is unconfirmed, but reports suggest that Cheryl Cole’s ex, dancer Derek Hough, is lobbying hard for the role of Johnny, while GleeÕs Lea Michele is hotly tipped to play Baby. The whole idea is all so hideous I can hardly bear it.
Other names being bandied around Hollywood include Justin Bieber. Justin Bieber! I ask you. Johnny was meant to be a world-weary older man, not a singing boy scout. And Miley Cyrus as Baby? The pop-moppet, who considers corsets and ripped fishnets suitable daywear, attempting to capture the gentle, Daddy’s-girl innocence of our heroine?
The fact is, it doesn’t matter who they cast, every frame will beg the question: “Why didn’t they leave it alone?” Remaking such a classic is like getting Jackie Collins to rewrite Wuthering Heights. You could do it, but whatÕs the point?
The very reason the original works so beautifully is because it has an authenticity and charm that is notable by its absence from modern-day Hollywood movies.
Set in 1963, at Kellerman’s summer camp, there are crusty, old-fashioned parents, a vain older sister, a bunch of rebellious staff who spend their time off seething with dance-based sexuality and class resentment and a pacy plot that sees Baby (played by Jennifer Grey) fall in love for the first time - and risk everything for the man she loves (Patrick Swayze).
I was 16 when the film came out and I must have seen it 20 times since. Unlike other chick-flicks, such as Pretty Woman or Bridget Jones’ Diary, it pulls off the unusual feat of being both frothily fun and deeply touching.
Yes, it’s a corny coming-of-age story, with bad hair and dodgy dialogue. But it also captures a rare, effortless joy along with the thrill of first love and the sense of a vanished time and place.
Over the years, I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like it: my mum, who is notoriously picky about films, loves it; my stepdaughter, who prefers horror movies, watches it regularly.
The only people who don’t get it are men. My husband once sat through it at my urging. As the credits rolled and I wiped away joyous tears, he looked at me, slightly bemused. “Can I watch The Sopranos now?” was his only comment.
Another male friend insisted he’d never watch it “because it’s a chick-flick”.
Well, yes, it is, but it’s possibly the best chick-flick in the world. And poor Kenny Ortega will have a lot of furious fans to appease - because nobody puts Baby in a remake. - Daily Mail