The first time I saw Saturday Night Fever was at the movie theater with my weekend-Dad, freshly divorced and sporting the requisite 70's perm. It was one of our special "date nights", the chance for father and daughter to bond. I was 12. As wildly inappropriate as it seems that he took an emotionally fragile and impressionable young girl to SNF, to my 12-year-old, immature mind, it was a movie about getting to dance with the most popular girl.
Having just watched the (edited) movie again - it's in rotation as a VH1 "Movie that Rocks!" - it's freakin' brilliant. A morality play, really; the quest and struggle to break free of financial and (lack of) educational constraints, how family traditions can both breathe life and bind and the missteps (and shortcuts) of the modern woman finding her place as an independent career woman. Long before When Harry met Sally, this was the movie that asked, “Can a man and woman be friends?”.
And John Travolta was never hotter (the scene where he slowly zips up those coral- polyester-pants in close-up…ouch).