Craig Brewers’ previous films Hustle & Flow and Black Snake Moan — the former about a pimp reinventing himself as a rapper, the latter about an aged blues musician who takes a troubled nymphomaniac under his wing — are both infused with a hot, sweaty, down and dirty electricity that elevates them above their exploitative subject matter. So if Hollywood ever had to remake Herbert Ross’ Footloose — which, evidently, they did — Brewer was the the right man for the job. Yes, from a story perspective the updated version is basically a rehash of the ‘84 original, with many scenes transplanted almost word for word. Nevertheless, Brewer injects his personality into every frame, filling the film with an intoxicating blend of music, sexuality and deep-Southern attitude. As a result, while the film is definitely Brewer’s safest and most mainstream effort and certainly isn’t free from the problems that plague so many teen-orientated dramas, this updated version of an 80’s camp classic still succeeds as a thoroughly entertaining dance flick with a lot more going for it than one might expect.

Indeed, from the opening frame, as feet dance and jump across a beer-staineddance-floor to the tunes of that infectious main theme, the level of energy in Footloose is clear. The premise is the same as last time: rebellious city boy Ren McCormack (Kenny Wormald) comes to live with his aunt and uncle in Beaumont, a small country town with an unlikely law on the books that prohibits any kind of lewd and lascivious behaviour, including and especially provocative public dancing. As with the original film the screenwriters fight something of an uphill battle trying to sell the premise, although pinning the blame on a conservative Christian preacher (Dennis Quaid) is at least believable enough that you can suspend your scepticism. In any case, the Beaumont highschooler’s are having none of it, and regularly meet in secret to pop and lock in protest of the law.

In the leading role, Boston native Kenny Wormald looks less like a young Kevin Bacon than he does a young James Dean, and although he doesn’t have the acting chops of either, he is talented and charming enough to keep you engaged. Truthfully, with the exception of the wonderfully goofy Miles Teller (Rabbit Hole), most of the young cast are better dancers than they are actors. This goes especially for Julianne Hough as the preachers unruly daughter who soon catches Ren’s eye. (For a moment near the beginning I thought Brewer might be daring enough to pair our young hero with Hough’s homely friend. Sadly, it was not to be).

But what Hough lacks as an actress she more than makes up for in exceptional dancing and scorching sex appeal. Throughout the entire film, her short shorts remain perfectly sculpted to her rear end, while her bronzed breasts are in a perpetual state of almost-but-not-quite falling out of her top. But why shouldn’t they be, when Footloose is a film all about erupting sexual energy. Brewer’s camera clings to the bodies of the dancers who emit more heat than the burning Southern sun, and while Hough and the rest of the female cast are certainly sexualized, they are never subjected to undignified or tokenistic objectification (à la the young women in a Michael Bay film). Besides, there are enough shots of Wormald in a two-sizes-too-small white singlet to quash arguments that it only goes one way.

Somewhat unfortunately, even Brewer’s direction can’t overcome the more predictable and unimaginative moments of plotting that dominate the third act. In a lot of ways it feels as though the movie still needed to go through one or two more rounds of editing – several scenes run on too long, or cause confusion as to character’s motivations. But unquestionably, the first thing that should have been lost on the cutting room floor is the character of the preacher’s wife, played with overwrought sentimentality by Andie “where have I been for the last fifteen years” MacDowell (Groundhog Day). A train wreck of screenwriting, barely present for the first hour, her character suddenly pops up to deliver a dreadful speech to her husband, at which point the movie takes a nosedive into treacle from which it never fully emerges.

Still, with the exception of one or two ridiculously inspirational monologues, the teenagers in Brewer’s film, even as they look and dance like they just fell out of a music video, talk more or less like teenagers. It is that rare, genuine, down to earth quality, when combinde with Brewer’s sense of style and fun, that makes Footloose an uncommon remake that manages to capture the same spirit of the original. Of course the irony of the film is that the target audience for teen dance movies are hardly a discerning bunch, and most of them probably won’t notice or care that the film is so much better than what they are normally served up. However, if you are a movie lover who stumbles, is dragged, or, as I recommend, walks freely into this film, then you should be pleasantly surprised.

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