Twirl: A Baton-Twirling Competition Tests a Friendship

Pauline Kael’s review of Urban Cowboy memorably concludes with a question to its writers and director: “James Bridges, Aaron Latham, have you been riding a head-pounding machine?” From Twirl’s earliest moments and throughout its duration, you might wonder the same of its filmmakers — had they sustained baton-related head injuries? Did they ever recover?

Clearly they were influenced by Cowboy (released theatrically a year earlier, in 1980), a moderately campy and classist crowd-pleaser masquerading as something more serious. Baton-crazed besties Bonnie Lee Jordan (Erin Moran of Happy Days and Joanie Loves Chachi) and Jill Moore (Lisa Whelchel of The Facts of Life) never mount a mechanical bull, but they share a boundless passion for twirling, which consumes their identities.

In Twirl’s dizzying opening moments, the girls trade voice-overs expressing sentiments such as this: “You know what it means to twirl? It means not havin’ time for messin’ around with my friends, it means sayin’ no to dates on twirlin’ days. When I am out there twirlin’ my heart away, no explanation is necessary.” Viewers may beg to differ, of course, but Bonnie Lee continues: “It is worth it? The bruises, swollen fingers and even black eyes? Yes, it is all worth it. I am a Texas twirler.”

To high school classmates who insist there’s more to life than twirling, they sassily reply “Well, when you find out what it is let us know, OK?” And off they roar in Jill’s convertible to practice for the upcoming Miss Twirl USA competition, which offers a full college scholarship as its grand prize. For Jill, whose father left her alcoholic mother Carolyn (Stella Stevens) in dire financial straits, victory would be a ticket to a better life. The more privileged Bonnie Lee is pressured to win — at twirling and everything else — by Matt (Charles Haid), her successful but insecure father, who’s also an organizer of the event.

That Matt and Carolyn have a sordid history is mostly beside the point, though it provides the occasional distraction. Like all insufferable parents of sport and stage, they live vicariously through their children. “I took third place at the Miss Twirlette USA contest,” Carolyn reminds the girls as she drunkenly twirls in her kitchen, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. “Could’ve won Miss High-Stepper, too, but I hurt my back. I was also a member of the Bluebell Hotshots. We once twirled for President Johnson!” She provocatively asks why Bonnie Lee’s mother never twirled: “Didn’t she have the body for it?”

Haid and Stevens are trapped in a turgid melodrama, while Moran and Whelchel breeze through lighter fare. Sure, they face some challenges — like Carolyn’s interference in their friendship and Jill’s insensitively-handled battle of the bulge* — but they’re happier, healthier souls than their domineering parents; we don’t worry about their futures. The same can’t be said of all their competitors, whose ranks include a (secretly) pregnant girl who casually miscarries and a burgeoning floozy played by a young Heather Locklear.

Though racism isn’t introduced as a plot point, we have little doubt that Miss Twirl’s standout twirler, a Black student from Illinois, is destined to lose. That character, Vanessa Watkins, is played by Conni Marie Brazelton (later of ER), whose real-life championship moves are the film’s only athletic highlights. Vanessa rooms with the Jordans during her stay in Texas, captivating Bonnie Lee’s younger sister with flaming batons, and Brazelton makes her one of the few supporting characters you would’ve liked to learn more about.

Another is judge Tammy Watsberg, a local legend played by Sharon Spelman (Schoolboy Father). “I started twirling when I was four years old,” she tells a rapt audience. “I had my favorite spot in my backyard, where I used to practice. I twirled for so many years on that spot that to this day, the grass has never grown back. Even now, when I feel the pressures and stress of everyday life, I take my baton and I find a private place and I twirl those troubles away.” The prim Watsberg, who closely observes the derrière of one contestant (supposedly due to modesty concerns), goes on an uncomfortable date with the competition’s smarmy male emcee, but you might amuse yourself by imagining her as a closeted lesbian.

Though there are depraved yarns one could spin from its dedication to shared obsession, Twirl is not a spiritual precursor to Drop Dead Gorgeous, The Positively True Adventures of the Alleged Texas Cheerleader-Murdering Mom, or to more sinister fare like Heavenly Creatures. Under the direction of Gus Trikonis, who mined similar territory in Miss All-American (with Diane Lane and Cloris Leachman) the next year, it has all the bite of a fangless Afterschool Special. By the end, as the girls learn that life is less about twirling than the friends you make along the way, I rewrote Showgirls dialogue for its milieu. “I like having nice rhinestones. I like having them on a nice leotard, or a tight top” has a certain ring to it.

*The weight jokes in Twirl aren’t quite as distasteful as those in, say, A Smoky Mountain Christmas, but none are funny. Whelchel was also subjected to fat-shaming on The Facts of Life, where producers repeatedly sent her to ‘fat farms’ to lose weight. In this 2013 interview with People, Whelchel and costar Mindy Cohn recount the ways they were pressured and insulted not only by their bosses but by comedian Joan Rivers, who herself struggled with an eating disorder that’s on full (but unacknowledged) display in Tears and Laughter.

Streaming and DVD availability

Twirl hasn’t been released on DVD. You can currently find it on YouTube. Please report dead links in the comments and I’ll try to find replacements.

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