Footloose celebrated its 40th Anniversary last year with a big hullabaloo at its main filming location—Payson High School. So it’s common local knowledge it was shot right here in Utah— Utah County, to be precise. But the film’s script sets the “Overly Religious Town where Dance is Forbidden” somewhere in the Midwest. The scenery? Utah. Tractors for the chicken fight? Utah. The roller mills? Utah. The way Kevin Bacon asks the preacher’s daughter to dance?

Not Utah.

A careful eye will note that Bacon’s Ren McCormack simply asks Lori Singer’s Ariel Moore if she’d like to go to the dance. There are no scavenger hunts, piles of M&Ms, fortune cookies or candy hearts to sort through, nor an elaborate balloon-popping ritual on either side of this teenaged rite of passage.

Here, as in the Midwest, high school is punctuated with the requisite occasions for dance and merriment, both formal and informal. But in Utah, the question-popping portion of these rituals has become high art. It is not enough for a young boy to see a young girl across a crowded cafeteria, make the long walk toward her and merely mutter, “Will you go to the dance with me?”

There are rules, formalities to be observed. First, the boy must surprise the “heck” out of her by pasting hundreds of meticulously cut-out paper polka dots onto her parents’ home. (Mc- Bride, David, The Polka-dot Maneuver, 1988.) Next, a poorly metered limerick indicating that the young lady has indeed been asked to the dance (and is not the victim of very strange, perhaps deviant, vandalism) is taped to the front door.

It reads: Your house is like a clown’s pants/it would like to go to the dance/on one dot you’ll find my name by chance/and then you can tell me if you want to be like the clown’s pants (and go to the dance) (McBride, 1988).

At this point, the girl and her squealing sisters, friends and/or fellow Madrigals will collect every single dot (many of which are on the roof) and hunt for the young man’s name. For the reply,  a helium tank is procured and thousands of balloons are crammed into the young master’s bedroom. (McMurray, Janean, The Balloon Caper, 1988.) Inside one of these balloons is a scrap of paper with the word “yes” written on it. 

They will not speak to each other until the actual night of the dance, as is tradition.

From the above study, it’s clear that Utah youth are preoccupied with avoiding the humiliating potential of the question (known as the “walk of shame” in less-advanced teenaged societies). The awkwardness of the moment is completely avoided by elaborate (at times, borderline illegal) overtures designed seemingly to shame the askee into answering in the affirmative.

As in: “Well, he went to all this trouble. I might as well go with him” (McMurray, 1988).  

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In the late 1800s, Little Cottonwood Canyon was the site of a mining boom (and subsequent bust, of course). Many of the place names were coined by miners or taken from the titles of mining claims. While industrious, the miners weren’t winning any spelling bees. Cecret Lake (pronounced, and correctly spelled Secret) is a popular hike during wildflower season and a widely accepted misspelling. The US Geological Survey even goes along with Cecret on its official maps of the area.

The “cecret” isn’t so secret anymore—in the late summer high season, busloads of tourists and nature lovers from Salt Lake City crowd the trail to the Alpine lake, because the basin it winds through is crowded with wildly colorful wildflowers—lupine, Indian paintbrush, American bistort, sunflowers, fireweed, and many others. Take a picnic.

The mining boom in Little Cottonwood Canyon had another side effect: The large population was vulnerable to the frequent avalanches. By 1872, Alta Town had become the home of several thousand miners and camp followers, and that winter 10 died in a December avalanche. In 1885, 16 were killed in a deadly slide that destroyed the town and left 50 feet of snow on its ruined Main Street. The frequency and deadly nature of the slides prompted The Deseret News to dub Alta “home of the avalanche.” Today avalanches in Little Cottonwood Canyon still are a threat but are mitigated by the Utah Department of Transportation’s aggressive avalanche control and the Alta and Snowbird ski patrols. Explosive fact: The Utah Department of Transportation, responsible for keeping the highway open and safe, owns six World War II-era howitzer artillery pieces that it uses to fire shells onto slopes to trigger avalanches deliberately.

“Cecret” isn’t the only word the early Wasatch miners couldn’t spell. See “Iron Blosam,” now a vacation rental development at Snowbird Snow & Summer Resort, named after an early mine. Another spelling bee fail.

Find the ‘Cecret’:

What: A perfect Alpine lake with an imperfect name

Where: The Cecret Lake trailhead is near the Albion Basin Campground at the top of  Little Cottonwood Canyon. To reach the trailhead from I-215 in Salt Lake City, take Exit 6 for 6200 S. Wasatch Blvd. Drive south on Wasatch Blvd. for and take Utah Highway 210 to Alta. In the peak summer season, a bus system takes you to the trailhead.

Pro Tip: There are more ambitious hikes above Cecret Lake that will take you to spectacular views into American Fork Canyon from the ridge above Alta and Snowbird.

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Before the first note is played or a single pie is baked, Pioneer Theatre Company’s production of Waitress sets the tone—emphatically—with a glowing “DINER” sign on the proscenium that left me genuinely questioning whether it was neon or some LED sorcery. (Spoiler: It is LED, and it changes colors like the Northern Lights.) It’s a shining example of Paul Miller’s brilliant lighting design, and it perfectly frames the nostalgia-drenched world we’re about to enter.

The set, revealed once the curtain draws back, is nothing short of a marvel. Scenic Designer Yoon Bae has created an entire working diner onstage, complete with booths, checkered floors, a kitchen window and the all-important specials board. It’s immersive, textured and totally convincing. Honestly, if someone handed me a coffee pot and an apron, I might’ve started waiting tables.

But Waitress is more than just aesthetics—it’s a story with heart, humor, and a whole lot of pie. Based on the 2007 indie film by Adrienne Shelly and featuring a soulful, folksy-pop score by Sara Bareilles, the musical tells the story of Jenna, a small-town waitress and expert pie-maker stuck in an abusive marriage and looking for a way out. Claire Saunders’ rendition of this part was exciting and you could see the talent come alive towards the end of the performance. A baking contest—and a very unexpected romance with her flirtatious gynecologist, Dr. Pomatter (Daniel Plimpton)—offer a glimpse of something better. Along the way, Jenna leans on the support of her two fellow waitresses, and line cook, Becky, played by the vocal powerhouse Candice Marie Woods. Dawn, played by the larger-than-life Lexi Rabadi. And Cal, played by the charismatic Aaron Arnell Harrington. Each with their quirks and complications.

From the opening number, it’s clear this is a triumphant finale to Pioneer’s 2024–2025 season. Seats were packed even on a weekday, which speaks volumes about both the anticipation for this production and the consistent quality of shows Artistic Director Karen Azenberg has brought to the stage. (Seriously, Dear Evan Hansen, Come From Away, and Noises Off are up next season? Get those subscription tickets yesterday.)

The vocals? Flawless. The harmonies? Chef’s kiss. It’s a true vocal showcase, and the cast doesn’t miss a note. The orchestra, under the baton of Musical Director Tom Griffin, is so tight you might mistake it for a studio recording. Every swell, every cue, every pizzicato—crisp as the crust on a fresh pie.

Bob Cline’s casting is so spot-on, it feels like the roles were written after meeting these actors. Each character is distinct and layered, and the actors squeeze every ounce of emotional juice out of their performances. Yet, I still found myself wanting to know even more about these characters—always the sign of a compelling ensemble.  And let’s not forget Lulu, the pint-sized scene-stealer played by Iris Fernelius who, with one smile, makes every hardship Jenna faces feel worth it. Three different child actors (Lulus) are rotating through the run, so yes, you do have a legitimate excuse to see this show three times.

Melinda Pfundstein’s direction shines in the quiet, intimate moments, with nuanced acting that simmers under the surface and builds beautiful tension (both romantic and otherwise). Sarah Shippobotham’s intimacy direction deserves a special mention for its balance of fun, heat, and family-friendliness—it never tips into discomfort, just delicious flirtation.

Natalie Malotke’s choreography starts subtly and grows throughout the show, culminating in full-on clogging and lifts. Some dance sequences even mirror the action like a visual echo, adding a layer of theatrical storytelling. Occasionally, it teeters on distracting, but the concept is beautiful and ambitious nonetheless.

Costumes by Patrick Holt are another example of subtle brilliance. Nothing looks like a “costume,” and that’s the point—uniforms and everyday wear that feel lived-in and authentic. Natalia Castilla’s hair design also deserves a curtain call; there’s a clever hierarchy at play, with more elaborate hair for central characters and muted styles for the ensemble, guiding your eye without a word spoken.

The scene changes, executed with clockwork precision by James O. Hansen’s team, fluidly transport us from diner to doctor’s office to home and back again without interrupting the story’s rhythm.

And what a story it is. The writing is smart, emotional, and packed with humor. One moment you’re laughing at a wildly awkward speed-dating scene, the next your heart’s cracking open over a tender lullaby to a child. It’s a masterclass in balancing tones—bittersweet but never syrupy, indulgent without being overdone. Waitress at Pioneer Theatre Company is warm, funny, heartbreaking, and hopeful—a slice of musical theatre heaven that you absolutely can’t miss. Go for the pie metaphors, stay for the powerful performances, and leave with your heart a little fuller than before.

• What: Pioneer Theatre Company’s production of Waitress
• When: Runs through May 17, 2025
• Where: Simmons Pioneer Memorial Theatre
• Tickets and info: pioneertheatre.org