Movie Review: Saturday Night Fever
Rating: 2 Stars
Saturday Night Fever is a rare cacophony that exists between great and grating.
This is a film made up of inspired elements and moments, but the early pacing is sluggish, and the back half lacks the desired impact as major story developments unfold.
Saturday Night Fever opens with arguably one of the best opening scenes I’ve ever seen. The Bee Gees everlasting hit, Stayin’ Alive, contributes to the scene as much as a song ever has in a film.
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There’s a flurry of forced-perspective camera angles that draw your undivided attention. The close-up on Tony Manero’s (John Travolta) red dance shoes as he struts down the streets of New York. Back-to-back upward angled shots from Manero’s belt line to define his unwavering confidence. The wide shots feature pedestrians in muted colors, while Manero sports a leather jacket and red dress shirt that stands out amongst the crowd. Manero approaches a woman on the street, and the camera cuts to a POV from his perspective. The woman dismisses him. Manero reaches his job, delivering the paint can he’s been carrying with him. The film doesn’t recapture this energy for a while.
We’re transported into different aspects of Tony’s life, mostly revolving around going out with his friends to the disco on Saturday nights. We’re introduced to Tony’s dysfunctional family. We briefly see his dead-end job. Tony’s attention is diverted to a girl he locks eyes with at the club. Tony becomes infatuated with Stephanie (Karen Lynn Gorman). Their relationship evolves in relation to Tony’s character. Another woman seeks Tony’s affection to a frightening degree. Annette (Donna Pescow) provides a vestige for Tony’s old life, as does his brother, who gives up on the priesthood.
Tony’s friends also pull him into their own troubles. Their characterization and influence in the film is a particular sticking point for me, and ultimately where the film loses my interest. Bobby (Barry Miller) has a pressing side plot where he impregnates his girlfriend out of wedlock and the situation paralyzes him to the point of no return. It’s used perhaps as a juxtaposition to Tony breaking away from a similar fate.
The sexism and racism apparent in the film I would consider mesh with the time. Multiple scenes of sexual assault are treated as commonplace occurrences. While these scenes do reflect upon the immature and crooked nature of young men, the women are written in such a subservient nature that there’s a lack of narrative or emotional weight to what would otherwise be horrifying moments. The resonance of these men and their relationship with the world they occupy never got past the surface level for me.
Yet the movie has whimsical highs, like when Travolta engages in a solo dance in the club that equates to the best dance sequence in the film. When Travolta gets going, he’s riveting. His most memorable line occurs early at a family dinner, where he scolds his father for smacking his nicely done hair.
Saturday Night Fever ping-pongs between catchy disco delights and perilous male melancholy. This is a classic film in terms of its style, not its substance. I won’t decry those who found substance in this movie, but I can’t say I derived much more than was on offer.
I’ve seen a few dance films in my day and wondered how many were products or paid tribute to Saturday Night Fever. SNF is unabashedly a movie of its time, though. The more family-friendly themes of finding oneself and romantic pursuits fit comfortably into films like Step Up or Stomp the Yard.
