Ahh, the dance of it!
When I was just a lad, we used to have a 'record' which contained on it some 'break-beats' which were supposed to inspire us to 'dance', or at least, to make us 'learn to try to dance.' Unfortunately, the record was met with failure, unable to instill rhythm where there was only a genetic propensity to drink Guiness and eat latkes. However, I never lost my fascination with the b-boy culture, be it in the guise of hip-hop, graffiti art, or the aforementioned manifestation of the Terpsichordian muse. You see, Terpsichore was the muse of dance. (Shut up, I went to college.) So anyway, I felt compelled to check out this film and revel in the dream of being able to spin on my head, jump over another person, or do a real push-up. In this documentary, one meets many like minded dancin' fools, who must- nay- SHOULD dance their lives away. The money is inconsequential; the music is a footnote; the girls- well there aren't any in the movie, but one assumes they get their share. Anyway that last sentence, were it properly constructed, would have ended with the sentiment that the only important thing for these people is to express themselves through dance. They meet once a year at a competition in Germany, yeah that's right, not in America where hip hop was INVENTED, but rather in Germany, home of leiderhosen, farfergnugen and accordian music. It is joyful to watch them slug it out in the well attended contest and then toss back a few well earned beverages later, kibbutzing and vibing over their shared sacrifices and sweatiness. It was also funny, and vaguely arousing, to watch a Japanese kid eat a chicken finger dipped in chocolate pudding. As you may have expected, the Korean kids brought their own Kim-chi. The tension in the movie builds nicely, but the winner isn't really important, so I will just tell you that the Canadians win!
Just kidding. There are no Canadians.
I give this movie seven Leprechauns.