Dance With Me

The dancing is excellent, but the storyline is lousy

Is there some kind of rule that all dance movies have to be stupid?

Apparently. You have to go back 21 years, to when "Saturday Night Fever" separated this marginally more realistic subgenre from the movie musical fantasy format, to find an American picture that didn't equate fancy footwork with mental flatlining.

Since then, a few foreign efforts ("Le Bal," "Strictly Ballroom") have approached the subject with some wit and intelligence.

"Dance With Me" follows the formula. Thinly drawn characters unleash their passion, passion, passion by twirling around and competing for trophies for twirling around. Director Randa Haines ("Children of a Lesser God") sets the predictable proceedings to a felicitous Latin beat, but enchanting music and sometimes-great choreography can't dance around the fact that the storytelling here is all left feet.

Chayanne, the swoon-inducing Latino pop star, works his megawatt smile and too-nice-to-be-true personality overtime as Rafael, a young man from Cuba who comes to Houston seeking to bond with the father he's never known. It's obvious from the film's first scene that that man is John (Kris Kristofferson), but it's ham-fistedly held off until the third act.

Anyway, all the gals at John's scruffy dance studio are ga-ga over Rafael, except for star instructor Ruby (Vanessa L. Williams). A single mom whose mind is on getting back into the competitive sport dance circuit she fled after a bad romance, the last thing she needs is a distracting pretty boy.

Like Ruby's really gonna dance her way out of this one.

A few lame subplots and adorable noncharacters toodle around the central story lines (Joan Plowright, for example, supplies her patented, aged impishness as — what else? — a widow whose life is reinvigorated by dance and Rafael-lust).

But the only things that really make this overlong movie worth sitting through are the dance numbers, especially the vigorous final ballroom competition and a madly syncopated casino salsa (featuring a dozen astonishingly athletic L.A. dance club habitues) that's a mini-masterpiece of barely controlled chaos. The soundtrack, at its best when emphasizing the Afro-Cuban pyrotechnics of acts like Albita and Dark Latin Groove, is relentlessly catchy.

And Chayanne and Williams do what they can with their thinly drawn characters, generally investing them with emotional seriousness the scenario doesn't support. He, however, would be more believable if he behaved just a little less wonderfully, and she needs to expand her repertoire of dancing facial expressions beyond just delighted surprise or agonized determination.