Generations who don’t know why TV’s Strictly Come Dancing is called that (or even what the old Come Dancing show used to be) need to catch up with Baz Luhrmann’s debut directing feature from 1992; it is goofy, lovable and as sweetly romantic as you like. It was the feelgood crowdpleaser from Australia that made Luhrmann a star, and that “strictly” sounded a defiant note. Ballroom dancing may not have been cool (though it is now, more or less), but the film revealed it had passionate fans and underdog cred, like being an Abba nut in PJ Hogan’s Muriel’s Wedding from 1994, which also starred veteran Oz comedy turn Bill Hunter in a very similar role.
Strictly Ballroom also laid down the narrative template for Strictly Come Dancing; the film’s pairing of the brilliant dancer and the gutsy ingenue became the professional/celeb partnership on TV, and the not-so-secret eroticism of their growing relationship in the rehearsal studio became the small-screen’s all-important practice montage and backstory content. Brilliant young ballroom dancer Scott Hastings (smoulderingly played by Paul Mercurio) has been preparing for a prestigious national championship since he was six years old. His blowsy mum Shirley (Pat Thomson) is a teacher and frustrated dancer, while timid dad Doug (Barry Otto) is depressed, as a result of an awful dance-related trauma climactically revealed at the end. Scott has in the past got into trouble for departing from the strictly conceived dance steps, controversially improvising flashy moves of his own devising, but now looks as if he can win, reined in by his competent but uninspired partner.
Yet when fate decrees that she can’t compete, shy ugly-duckling beginner Fran (Tara Morice) asks the preening Scott if she could perhaps dance with him; her natural humility and talent redeems his tendency towards arrogance, especially when her Latin American grandma (Armonia Benedito) schools Scott in the passionate way of really feeling the rhythm and the music. Now Scott and Fran have to confront the older generation’s bland, smug corruption, epitomised by the Australian Dancing Federation’s hideous president, the toupéed and permatanned Barry Fife (Hunter).
We can see in prototype the style that would later evolve into Luhrmann’s settled directorial mannerisms (analogous to watching an early Wes Anderson film): the zoom, the garish closeup, the huge eyes-and-teeth flourish. Maybe every subsequent Luhrmann picture has its origin in ballroom dancing, although he has so far not again attempted a straight-ahead comedy feature. It’s a dizzy swirl of fun.
• Strictly Ballroom is in UK and Irish cinemas and on digital platforms from 12 June.
