Only now does it occur to me... GREASE 2 (1982)

Only now does it occur to me... that in an alternate universe where GREASE 1 commands no "classic" status nor cultural cachet, and audiences were forced to evaluate the GREASE films on their own artistic merits, I have little doubt that a consensus would emerge that GREASE 2 is the stronger film. Go ahead: come at me, GREASE-lovers, I dare you.

I've discussed GREASE before––specifically the presence of Lorenzo Lamas therein––and had expected GREASE 2 to live up to its reputation as one of the most incompetent, laughable, best-worst movies the '80s had to offer. Instead, I was entreated to a stylized, explosive spectacle helmed by Patricia Birch (choreographer and director of Cyndi Lauper music videos) which at times feels ghost-directed by HAIRSPRAY-era John Waters.

(She has Tab Hunter teaching sex ed and drawing a uterus on a chalkboard, for godssakes!)

 

  

(Also note young Christopher McDonald on the right)

There is a parade of vivid and well-blocked tableaux which run the gamut from vintage Broadway to Busby Berkeley to Elvis to Doris Day to Ken Russell to post-apocalyptic American International biker flicks:

It has those Howard Hawksian arrangements where twenty-five people are facing the same direction in a scene, and it works:

a darkly satirical sequence ("Let's Do It For Our Country") where a character attempts to cajole his girlfriend into bunker sex by faking a nuclear attack––an idea later lifted by Joe Dante for MATINEE:

and the bizarre "Girl For All Seasons" number where Michelle Pfeiffer's Christmas Tree/December

jockeys for attention with all the other months, like January (a big-ass martini glass) and February (a grotesque George Washington quarter and a bicorne admiral's hat, for President's Day).

And despite being set in the early '60s, you'd better believe it adheres to the '80s Rule of Pools: 

 

(I've written about this many times before, but basically the rule is that if A., a swimming pool exists, then B., someone fully clothed must enter it against their will, arms flailing.)

In any event, GREASE 2 is no masterpiece, but neither is it worthy of ridicule––I say it knows exactly what it's doing, and it does it with archness and aplomb.