On this very day, January 16th, some 56 years ago the one and only Debbie Allen was born. This is a day worth celebrating. Without Debbie Allen the reciteable opening of that famous High School for the Performing Arts television series, "Fame", wouldn't have sounded so very earnestly dramatic "Fame costs. And right here is where you start payin'..."... Tell it, Debbie, tell it.
Most importantly without Debbie Allen there would have been no interpretative tapdance celebrating Saving Private Ryan at the March 1999 Oscars. Without Debbie Allen Oscar's musical interludes are meaningless.
Let's face it. The musical numbers at the Oscar ceremony still suck. But now, sigh, they just don't suck enough. If you're going to do something. Do it all the way. Showgirls, one of my favorite movies, understands this concept. Ed Wood gets it too. I mean, we can make fun of the Academy for thinking that Beyonce is the right voice to bring us French choral ballads, animated power ballads, AND Andrew Lloyd Webber faux-opera, all in the same night but it's more boring-bad than the preferrable you-can-talk-about-it-for-years-afterwards brand of stinky. The Oscar ceremony doesn't need costume designers standing on stage like beauty pageant contenders, waiting to see whose name will be called. The Oscar ceremony doesn't need that clip reel celebrating some random topic like 'people swimming in movies'. We could be here all day talking about what the interminable Oscar ceremony doesn't need.
But the Oscar ceremony most certainly does need the return of Debbie Allen's uniquely memorable dance-a-thons! This generation is crying for its very own 'Rob Lowe dirty dancing with Snow White' moment. OK, so maybe she didn't choreograph that particular disaster but work with me here. You know I'm right. Bring back Debbie Allen!