20 years later, Center Stage is still the dose of dance-fuelled optimism we need — now more than ever

Anne-iversaries is a bi-weekly column by writer Anne T. Donahue that explores and celebrates the pop culture that defined the '90s and 2000s and the way it affects us now (with, of course, a few personal anecdotes along the way).

Shortly after its release in May 2000, I saw Center Stage three times.

I mean, how could I not? How could I (or any living person, really) resist the story of a group of young 20-something dancers trying to navigate the world of competitive ballet? How could I ignore the allure of a love triangle between a burgeoning ballerina (Jody Sawyer, played by Amanda Schull), one of the best dancers — but worst humans — on planet earth (Cooper Nielson, played by Ethan Stiefel), and a very nice dancer-boy (Charlie Something-Or-Other, played by Sascha Redetsky) who likes Jody just as she is? And who was I to fight the temptation of learning each and every step to the featured dances set to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Jamiroquai? (The shame of my parents asking me to please stop stomping around in the computer room and to turn down the music will never quite leave me.)

Center Stage was less a movie than it was part of a movement, as the decade saw a sudden boom in bright, sparkly, shiny-eyed teen dance movies. And two decades out, I still think about it at least once a week — and relish in knowing that I was right to love it exactly as much as I did.

Of course, it wasn't alone in its highly-choreographed endeavours and the dramatic narratives that accompanied in them. But while the 80s saw a boom in dance-centric teen films (see: Footloose, Dirty Dancing, Fame, Flashdance, and Breakin', just to name a few), there was a decline of the same in the 90s. Dance With Me, Strictly Ballroom, and Shall We Dance? delivered romantic tales intertwined with dance, but films like Showgirls and The Full Monty were about actual grown-ups and based less on achieving one's dreams and more on trying to earn a living. This shouldn't exactly be surprising: the 90s are renowned for their cynicism, and the earnestness needed to propel a story about love, dance, and the love of dance doesn't necessarily belong in a decade reacting to the opulence of the 80s. (Minus, of course, the "Rockafeller Skank" dance in 1999's She's All That, which is never really explained but we all accepted it because it was sick as hell.) But the 2000s were a fresh start — a new decade, a new century. And despite the natural tendency to question pop and mainstream culture as a sweet baby teen, the joy and nonsense that tend to define dance films about teens who bust serious moves perfectly accompanied the optimism of a bright, shiny new era.

At least a little optimism (as a treat) is essential in responsibly consuming sincere dance movies. You need to decide to believe that out of the goodness of his heart, Sean Patrick Thomas would teach Julia Stiles to dance despite her having no discernible talent in Save the Last Dance. You need to choose to consider Jessica Alba an underdog in Honey. You need to blindly believe not only that Channing Tatum is a teen boy in Step Up (indeed, he looks 35 always), but that Jenna Dewan would be even remotely interested in taking him under her wing despite her entire future being tied up in her dancing. Plus, there's Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. (What was that movie, even? I'm not too sure, but I certainly saw it in theatres and considered it a pure, unadulterated gift to this world as I was watching it.) The point wasn't that these stories were realistic, multi-dimensional, or even good (minus Billy Elliot, which is perfect): the point was that they asked you to suspend your disbelief just enough to make dance the catalyst for romance, goal-setting, and finding oneself. And in the 2000s — a decade that celebrated the potential of the future — the climate was perfect for movies that asked you to feel your feelings and then express them through delightful stepwork.

Center Stage epitomized all of this. Revolving around Jody, her lacklustre feet, technique, and her undeveloped turnout (a ballet move, for the uninitiated), it follows her and her pals as they come to realize what they want (to become prima ballerinas), what they don't (some, to dance at all), and whether it's possible to morph a one night stand with a ballet dancing playboy into a forever relationship (the answer is no, never — but it can absolutely form the basis of a fulfilling professional partnership [in this specific reality only]). However, despite the oft-ridiculous amount of drama displayed, Center Stage thrives on hope and the possibility of being seen for the potential you have, regardless of how many naysayers stand in your midst. Over the course of the movie, Jody is picked on by teachers, condescended to by Cooper, and questioned incessantly for even wanting to pursue a career in dance — but despite these setbacks, she leans into a new-millennium brand of optimism and forges ahead anyway. Yes, she's a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, privileged eugene, but she also embodies the traits that make rooting for her feel less irritating in the wake of these things: she's hard-working, kind, and a good friend. Is she as cool, talented, or as interesting as Eva (Zoe Saldona)? Absolutely not. But at least she's not a dick.

That said, the more I watched Center Stage over the course of my teens, the more I came to admire Eva and Maureen (Susan May Pratt) over Jody. I liked the way Zoe smoked indoors and talked back to teachers, and how Maureen found the courage to ask for help battling an eating disorder before quitting dance altogether (and I appreciate how the movie dealt with serious topics like this one). I started to cringe at Jody and Cooper's dynamic, but I came to love the rebelliousness of the "Higher Ground" downtown dance scene (almost as much as I loved the instructor who teaches it). Perhaps most importantly, I began to seriously question whether Jody could really undergo 4300 wardrobe changes throughout a ten-minute ontstage routine, and how anyone could master an updo so quickly — which is likely because the older I got, the more my own optimism began to dwindle and the more my angst and cynicism took hold just in time for the 2010s.

But what I assumed was the necessary act of growing out of dance films (or more specifically, the act of growing up in general) was actually just a refusal to recognize their value. I mean, yes, they could be silly. And true, many were over the top. But movies like Center Stage were also brazen in their ability to convey joy, and to celebrate passion, and to harness the hope grown-ups tend to compartmentalize just in case our dreams don't come true. Ultimately, it takes guts to admit you'd like to achieve anything against the odds. And our heroes of dance films? They were defined by the bravery that accompanies the determination to achieve a goal. By 20, I'd begun pushing my own bravery away lest anyone get wise to just how big my dreams really were. And that meant I had to shove my beloved dance movies out of the way in case anyone equated me watching them for being as earnest as their characters.

And then I traded in my 20-something apathy for 30-something reflection. And in that process, I found a renewed space in my heart for Center Stage and the dance movies that followed it. Because sometimes a little dose of optimism is essential — even if it's just the reminder that while your turnout may be terrible, someone might still pluck you from obscurity to dance the shit out of something.