Saturday Night Fever

On paper, walking down the street carrying a tin of paint is not the sexiest opening to a film ever devised, but it certainly looks cool on screen. Saturday Night Fever is based on an article in 'The New Yorker' about blue-collar workers who blow their wages at discos on the weekend; and, through Tony Manero (a perfectly cast Travolta), writer Norman Wexler and director John Badham explore the issues at the heart of this culture. Tony is a paint-shop employee desperate to transcend his drab Brooklyn existence and the only way he knows how is by dancing at the club where he's treated like a god.

Countless parodies, a terrible sequel (Staying Alive - directed by Sylvester Stallone) and a family oriented musical version have obscured the fact that Saturday Night Fever is actually a pretty dark film (particularly if you watch the director's cut, which is 11 minutes longer).

Tony inhabits a world of emasculated males (his father, his friends and Tony himself) who vent their frustration through casual, and frequently vicious, bouts of misogynistic behaviour. Class issues are also touched upon in Tony's relationship with his upwardly mobile dance partner Stephanie (Gorney). Stephanie aspires to a world of Manhattan socialites, but shows herself up to be just as limited by her education and background as Tony appears to be.

It all spirals towards tragedy and, while not all the dramatic elements work - the fight sequences are too cartoonish to be believable, and at times the film plays like 'Scorsese lite' - Badham's straightforward direction creates a palpable sense of despair. The music and dance sequences, meanwhile, are as exhilarating as they've ever been.