My defining characteristics have always been the following: I’m 5’7, I hate mayonnaise, and I haven’t seen Grease. I’ve been running away from the movie for about as long as I can remember. It’s chased me from my grandmother’s house to middle school sleepovers and ultimately to my musical-obsessed boyfriend’s home in corn-country Ohio. That is where I met my fate.
“You haven’t seen GREASE????”
I cringe at the question, but then confidently respond: “No.” I am then harassed with a slew of dance moves and John Travolta impressions. They are all bad.
On February 20th 2017, however, my defining characteristic was compromised, and I am now exclusively defined by an aversion to mayonnaise.
I was congested, menstruating and sleep deprived, not to mention dehydrated. Cocooned in four blankets with a 60-pound dog on my lap, I did the unthinkable. I learned the meaning of Grease Lightning… and that it was all flippin’ sexist.
Let’s begin with the opening number. I quote, “Tell me more. Tell me more. Was it love at first sight. Tell me more. Tell me more. Did she put up a fight?” DID SHE PUT UP A FIGHT? Excuse you, sir. The only fight being put up is against the claimed size of your you-know-what.
Later, it’s just the ladies. No boys allowed. But someone clearly laced the nail polish remover with patriarchy as Rizzo sings: “Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee. Lousy with virginity. Won’t go to bed ‘til I’m legally wed. I can’t. I’m Sandra Dee!” What about choice, Rizzo? Aren’t you gonna be DL craving abortion rights in 45 minutes?
And lastly, at the end of movie, we have the grand transformation, the Extreme Home Makeover Edition of female beauty, from a pure virgin(ity-is-a-construct-created-by-men) girl to a jaw-dropping, cigarette-smoking maven. See it for yourself:
In conclusion, I did not know that this was the prequel to Chiddy Chiddy Bang Bang, so needless to say, the realism of the film really went to shit as the car literally flew off into the sunset. The screen faded to black and I was met with three eager stares. “SooOOO??? What’d ya think?”
Without words, I shrugged. I then received a 23-minute lecture on why I was wrong and on why musicals are capable of making full-grown men cry. I have since been paid off to tell you… that Grease is a fabulous movie and you should all go see it right now.
It’s on Netflix.