A Not-So-Jaded Gen-X Crowd Gets a ‘Grease’ Release

A long line of twentysomethings, waiting for the 10:15 p.m. show at Mann’s Chinese Theatre, snaked down Hollywood Boulevard and halfway up the next block.

Women sporting bobby socks flounced their ponytails at men with slicked-back hair and cigarettes stuck jauntily behind their ears.

I gaped at the number of moviegoers decked out in Angora sweaters, full skirts and leather jackets.

My generation--the so-called jaded Gen-X--had unaccountably gone “Grease.”

Sure, my friends and I had been big fans of the goofy 1978 classic. We’d mooned over the video of hip-thrusting John Travolta at countless slumber parties when we were kids and belted out the songs together during summer camp and long road trips.

But I was not expecting an outpouring of dancing-in-

the-aisles adoration from the rest of my peers on the opening night of “Grease’s” 20th anniversary re-release.

“Star Wars” I could get: Jedi warriors, spaceship explosions, deep space. That’s movie-obsession material for a generation raised on video games and computers.

But who could have predicted that a sappy musical about a 1950s high school love story would have touched a nerve with the world-weary members of a generation that came of age in the ‘80s?

*

The energy in the cavernous theater exploded into fever-pitch excitement when the lights dimmed. For a split second, staring at all the screaming young women in poodle skirts, I half expected to see Elvis come out on stage.

The curtain went up and the crowd cheered wildly as the camera panned to the dreamy faces of Olivia Newton-John’s Sandy and Travolta’s Danny.

From the first notes of “Summer Nights,” most of the delighted audience was on its feet, singing in perfect unison.

Scores of people recited the dialogue word by word.

And when Travolta swiveled his hip and punched his arm in the air a la “Saturday Night Fever,” his hit movie of 1977, hundreds of arms shot up around the theater.

I guess I should have seen it coming.

That morning, calls had poured in to alternative-rock radio station KROQ-FM (106.7) as I drove to work, testaments from young adults who professed their undying love for “Grease.”

One woman said she’d seen it at least 50 times. Another said she was planning a “Grease” wedding with film clips interspersed throughout the ceremony. A man claimed to have every piece of “Grease” memorabilia ever made.

The same passion spilled out in the theater that night.

“You sing it, Riz!” people shouted during tough-girl Rizzo’s solo.

Catcalls filled the room when ultracool rebel Danny brushed off good girl Sandy, replaced by enthusiastic cheers when she angrily threw her cheerleading pompoms at him.

Later, a few cigarette lighters flickered on in the dark theater as heartbroken Sandy started singing, “I’m hopelessly devoted to you.”

The crowd roared with approval. Suddenly, hundreds of small flames sprang up around the room, waving back and forth in front of the screen.

*

Maybe it was a nostalgic longing for an era when gangs tried to outrace instead of outgun each other.

Maybe this so-called slacker generation isn’t as cynical as we’ve been made out to be. Maybe we just want to lose ourselves in heartfelt hopefulness once in a while.

Or maybe--God forbid--”Grease” isn’t just superficial fluff. Maybe the musical’s treatment of self-image, social pressure and the search for personal identity hits a chord for anybody beginning to muddle her way through adulthood.

I didn’t know the reason, but the kinship was undeniable. In the last scene, Sandy made her entrance in skin-tight black leather pants, and Danny fell on the ground in shock.

“I got chills, they’re multiplyin’, and I’m losing control,” the crowd sang with him.

Then, skipping and singing, the normally unflappable Gen-Xers rose from their seats, ran down the theater aisles and spent the last few minutes of the movie dancing on spilled popcorn in front of the screen.

“This is amazing!” said one Hollywood hipster in a retro bowling shirt, hugging his friends.

“I wish we could do this all night,” said a woman clad in a Sandy-inspired black leather outfit, laughing delightedly.

As Sandy drove away into the clouds with Danny, waving goodbye, the audience stood and waved back. The house lights went up and people filed out, still singing.

Their voices floated down Hollywood Boulevard, like some eerie message from a distant decade:

We go together, like rama lama lama kadingy kading-a-dong.

Remember forever, as shoowop shoowally wally yippity boom-de-boom.

Chang-chang, changadee-chang-

chi-bop, that’s the way it should be, wahoo, yeah.

Yeah.