++ relapsed catholic ++ religion politics culture blog

I love Foxes and overlook its flaws because even though the release date is 1980, it is a quintessential 70s film that nobody talks about. Mostly because it is such a teenage girl movie; I doubt many men could sit through the whole thing. If Janis Ian's voice makes your life flash before your eyes, if you remember Love's Baby Soft and Bonnie Bell Lipsmackers and scented belted Kotex, you should really watch this movie. It will make you want to dig up your old Holly Hobby diary with the little fake lock on the front, either so you can re-read it or finally set it on fire, while playing "Kids of Tragedy" full blast. And "Magic Man".

A real turning point in my life came when I realised I no longer identified with the teenagers in movies but with the teachers and parents instead. It was like seeing my first grey hair. However, I still side with the teen girls in Foxes because their parents are divorced hippies or bully cops. I was never as free-spirited as these girls. Yeah, I hosted one party like that, jezuz. But I only pretended to understand when other kids (who were probably lying too) talked about acid or angel dust. I didn't lose my virginity until just before my 19th birthday -- wow, that was harder to type than I thought. It's like writing, "I used to have leprosy but it cleared up. Wanna see?" My years of dissipation came later.

So these girls were nothing like me, except the brunette with (of course) the big glasses, just like the ones I wore then. And I would end up with Randy Quaid, wouldn't I. (Was his dad the milkman, btw? Dennis?) I sort of would have loved to have been Cherrie Currie except for that bad haircut (which some women in Hamilton still have). She's so convincing I actually thought she died in real life too but apparently she was in Spinal Tap (?) and is now a "chainsaw carving artist" -- which comes as a gross, embarrassing let down but gets kind of neat if you give yourself a second or two to digest the idea.

Girls had shinier hair in the 70s. This guy noticed it too (we're the same age, and he's gay. His essay about Manhattan made me swoon with nostalgia, a sensation I enjoyed but then didn't. I read his piece first thing in the morning and almost called in sick with Stendhal Syndrome. You've been warned). "Birch plank" is the perfect description of Jodie Foster's hair too, not just Meryl Streep's. You were just more likely to see hair with that blinding Pantene shimmer because I suppose dulling gel and mouse and hairspray didn't come in until the 80s.

Even when she's nervous, Jodie Foster is appealingly self-assured, because she's feeling the fear and doing it anyway. You envy her that, along with that hair and those sharply cut features and how she doesn't have to wear makeup. ("Non-threatening teenage girl"?) She smiles so rarely that when she does you know you must be someone special. Molly Ringwald had that too but something was missing. Jodie Foster haunts you without even trying or meaning to, unlike a Dietrich who's all, "Look how unforgettable I am -- or else!" And you wish Jodie Foster was your best friend. Dietrich would forget your birthday cuz she was too busy skiing with Count Such-and-So.

Scott Baio rides a skateboard in this movie. Again, you're been warned.

And that is Laura Dern at the sliding door. So there's hope for everyone.