Didn’t I see this film just last month? And the month before that? As premises go, Step Up might have been written by ancient screenwriting software. Snooty privileged ballet dancing girl (Dewan) seeks wrong-side-of-the-tracks hip-hop boy (Tatum) for will they, won’t they romance on and off the dance-floor.
Like reaching some sort of meditative nirvana, the hour and 38 minutes passes as though one can see through space and time all the way to the end of the movie. Small surface details float by. She attends the Maryland School Of The Arts. Her musician boyfriend is neglecting her because he’s “too close to my music right now”. His family are noisy and poor. He is black. Well, not really black. He just lives in a black neighbourhood and is regarded by everyone he encounters as such despite being patently white. But why let the colour of his skin stand in the way of a good story?
To be fair, director Anne Fletcher displays a ruthless competence with the material. The dance numbers display the verve of Flashdance or Fame. The leads are endearingly two-dimensional. It might even be this year’s Dirty Dancing. Or last year’s. Or the year before that. In its own familiar way, you understand, Step Up is eternal.