When Grease was released in cinemas in 1978, a starry, bubblegum-bright adaptation of the 1971 Chicago-to-Broadway musical, the initial reviews were not kind. “A grave disappointment to anyone in search of style or substance,” wrote the Guardian’s Derek Malcolm that year – although, like many of his similarly unimpressed critical peers, he did concede that it was fun and likely to be a big hit. Such an assessment turned out to be as understated as Sandy’s pre-makeover twinset-and-pearls. According to Box Office Mojo, Grease is the second-most-successful musical movie ever, beaten only in the past 12 months by Disney’s mammoth Beauty and the Beast live-action reboot.
The Randal Kleiser-directed plot is as old as time: boy meets girl, boy loses girl by being an idiot in front of his friends, girl gets sewn into a skintight catsuit to win him back, stud. It’s easy to see why the film’s winning formula of gaudy 50s nostalgia, killer songs and unforgettable performances has had such an enduring afterlife. Despite the fact that the majority of the cast were “old enough to be their own parents”, as the New York Times’s Vincent Canby noted wryly in 1978 – at 23, John Travolta was one of the younger actors, and far closer to being a teenager than Stockard Channing, who was 33 when she played Rizzo – its story of fast cars, hot rollers and summer lovin’ is now written in the yearbook of movie history in permanent marker.
“We’ve just had The Greatest Showman and La La Land, but before that we hadn’t had an original musical in 20 years,” says Terri White, a Grease fan and editor-in-chief of the movie magazine Empire. “The musical had never really been cool and the fact that Grease is a musical is a big barrier for some people.”
She puts its early critical reception down to a snobbery that still persists among some film buffs. “They see it as inferior. If you think about the age we’re in now, a lot of films arguably go for a more male audience, especially the big blockbuster movies. But what I love about Grease is that it has huge mass appeal and, also, an unashamedly female appeal.”
White points out that Grease is a mix of the musical, romcom and teen-movie genres that traditionally appeal to female audiences. It also offers a readily relatable ensemble of characters who aren’t just minor twists on the usual archetypes. There’s one character in particular, though, who provides the beating heart of the movie, and it isn’t Danny or Sandy. Louisa Lytton starred in the revival of the stage version of Grease, which toured the UK for much of 2017. “They asked me originally if I wanted to go in and sing for Sandy and I thought, I kind of always play that girl-next-door role,” she recalls. “I thought, I’d really like to go for Rizzo. Growing up watching the film, she’s most people’s favourite character and, in my mind she has the best song.”
Channing’s turn as the unapologetic bad girl Rizzo, who rules the Pink Ladies with pithy one-liners and withering looks, and shimmies down drainpipes late at night to get her kicks, is a true scene-stealer and. As Lytton says, she’s a firm fan favourite. There Are Worst Things I Could Do comes towards the end of the film, as Rizzo experiences a pregnancy scare following a backseat fumble with Kenickie. It almost didn’t make the final cut – Channing was forced to plead with producers to keep it in – but it’s a remarkable, emotionally complex and surprisingly contemporary song that rejects “slut-shaming” long before it had a name. In today’s climate, rewatching the classics with an eye on gender politics can be an unsettling experience, unseating old favourites, and Grease is at the heart of a raging debate as to whether the film is sexist, or feminist, with a surprising amount of fervour in each corner.
Some take the Summer Nights’ line “Did she put up a fight?” as an endorsement of date rape, while Danny’s clumsy insistence on feeling up Sandy during the drive-in is a questionable scene (there’s also a small and disturbing aside from Marty, who mentions that she caught the much older TV host Vince Fontaine “putting aspirin into my Coke” after the dance). Some argue that Rizzo pays the price for her promiscuity (even Danny calls her “sloppy seconds”, although ultimately she gets away scot-free and is allowed to be happy) and that Sandy is forced to change from “too pure to be Pink” into a smokin’ (and smoking) bad girl to live up to Danny’s expectations, while he does little to demonstrate that he has earned her affections back, aside from putting on a cardigan, which he quickly whips off again.
Dr Barbara Jane Brickman is an assistant professor of media and gender studies at the University of Alabama. Last year, she published a book about the film called Grease: Gender, Nostalgia and Youth Consumption in the Blockbuster Era. “Coming towards the end of the swinging 1970s but supposedly lacking any condemnation of the 1950s era, Grease was criticised for being a reactionary piece of (white) male fantasy, one longing for a time when boys could be boys, women knew their place, and there was no racial conflict (or diversity, for that matter),” she explains. Yet she feels this assessment does the film a disservice. “The film is, through much of its action, a girl’s film – exploring girls’ ‘bedroom culture’ and fandom, wrestling with and critiquing that sexual double standard impinging itself on Rizzo and Sandy, and focusing on female teen friendships, more so, one might argue, than many, many teen films then or since.”
The song Greased Lightnin’, then, is not an endorsement of macho posturing, but a criticism of it, poking fun at the silliness of the T-Birds’ hollow posing. After all, nobody really thinks Danny is cool when he first sees Sandy at Rydell, having thought her lost to Australia, then he blows it immediately by showing off in front of his friends, “rockin’ and rollin’ and whatnot”, as he blusters. Towards the end of the film, when Kenickie asks Danny to be his wingman at Thunder Road, they share a sweet and exposing moment, first punching each other, then pulling in for a hug, then, embarrassed, pretending it never happened, slicking their quiffs instead. Even Kenickie’s inexperience shows the fragility of the gang’s ego and image.
I had not realised that Kenickie was supposed to be a virgin, nor that Rizzo was probably lying about him not being the potential father to spare his feelings, until many viewings into my adult years. Most Grease fans can remember a point at which they twigged that the upbeat songs they had been singing throughout their childhood contained some pretty risqué lyrics about being a horny teenager, and it stopped seeming quite so innocent. When the US channel Fox aired a Coca-Cola sponsored Grease Live! production on TV in early 2016, it dampened several of the lyrics, with Greased Lightnin’, in particular, getting the clean-up treatment – “pussy wagon” became “dream wagon”, while “the chicks’ll cream” became “the chicks’ll scream”. Nevertheless, Grease remains an oddly family-friendly favourite. “It is a film that appeals to different generations,” agrees Lytton. “Adults can watch it and enjoy that side of it, and kids can enjoy the songs, but there’s something in it for everyone, hence why it’s always on at Christmas.”
To mark its 40th anniversary, Grease is being rereleased on the big screen, with some cinemas hosting singalong screenings. Even without the excuse of a birthday, Grease is never really far away – it’s a staple of the few UK drive-in cinema experiences, naturally, and when the immersive film experience Secret Cinema put on Grease in 2012, recreating the end-of-year summer fete, the event was a sellout. “To people who love Grease, it’s more than just a film. It reminds them of when they first watched it, it reminds them of what it meant to them when they were a kid, what it taught them about being in love, what it taught them about teenage rebellion,” says White. “I think it stays with you throughout your whole life.” Rydell for ever. Bon voyage.
