Scandalous

I saw this poster advertising a Joan Crawford movie and thought, "I bet when this "Romance -- Tragedy and Jazz -- Mad Youth" movie was made it was absolutely SCANDALOUS!  The title alone brings to mind families sitting around formica-topped tables eating meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and canned green beans.  The father is sitting with his elbows on the table, completely unaware that his family already thinks he holds enough ground without the added rudeness.  The wife daintily wipes her mouth with her napkin, nodding to help punctuate her husband's edict, "No one in my house will see a movie about dancing daughters!"

What he doesn't know is that just that very day the mother had driven two towns over to watch the movie with her very best friend, the one who in a week will be packing her car and her children and moving to San Francisco in search of a life far away from a husband whose edicts are accompanied by a growl and a flexing of muscle.  They went to see the movie simply because the title offered them a moment of hope, a moment to think that if a movie could talk about women who dance then maybe they could BE women who dance even when other people are watching.

The man at the dinner table has no way of knowing that his own daughter will grow up and move away in search of a dance floor where no one points fingers.  He has no way to foresee that his very own wife will one day hear his edicts and see his elbows on the table and stand up and say, "Well, I'm going.  If you'd like to come along, the car's leaving the driveway in ten minutes."

And the wife has no way to foresee that the husband will be sitting there in the passenger seat, interested to see what this new world is all about, excited that the wife wants to drive too.

I AM a dancing daughter because my grandmother said, "I'm driving," and because my mother said, "I'm dancing.  Just watch."