it sounds lovely, and i love an endlessly unfolding fractal mandala of showgirl gams as much as the next man, but, unless i'm very much mistaken, the song clearly leads us to believe that it's DANGEROUS to have busby berkeley dreams, yes? as in filling the dreamer with utterly unrealistic romantic expectations, certain to be ripped to scarlet ribbons by the grim vicissitudes of what goes down between love-hungry humans in genres/realities other than the musical. busby himself ended up drooling and shrieking and hallucinating generation after generation of ziegfield girls collapsing into transeuclidean geometry in the weave of his asylum-issue bathrobe, around the rim of a rip, just above the pocket. i'm told, before the breakdown, he made a few trips to mexico to take mescaline with uncle walt's fantasia animators. i don't know if that's true. it couldn't have helped. but that's neither here nor there. jenny jo, how can you, with a clear conscience, invite people to see a film that will surely plant these dreams deep inside them, fraught as these visions are with psyche-shredding hysteria?