Actually, not all that different. Luhrmann's admitted that this is an attempt to resurrect movie musicals, and much of Moulin Rouge recalls past productions, from its gaudy, vibrant colors that look like South Pacific on mescaline; to an energetically cheery number that recalls those Judy Garland-Andy Rooney, "Let's put on a show in the old barn!" musicals; to its heavily tragic final act with echoes of West Side Story. Essentially, he's updating the splashy, extravagant MGM musicals to the MTV generation -- call it MGMTV. (One of my favorite numbers is the Police's "Roxanne" reimagined as a sultry tango, sung by a raspy-voiced singer sounding like a Latino Tom Waits. The production number itself looks a lot like the video for "Love Is a Battlefield.")
Visually, the movie is stunning but tiring. Beautiful sepia-toned images of Paris set the stage, with the camera zooming through what looks like a three-dimensional photograph. The energetic, comedic first half of the film is all gaudy fire, bright, burning red; the last part abruptly shifts to somber blue tones. The sets are gorgeous and lush but often too cluttered, taking the focus away from the performers, especially in small spaces. Luhrmann relies overmuch on gimmicks like slow motion and ridiculously cartoony sound effects (when people turn their heads fast, they make a "swoosh" noise) that are at best useless and at worst distracting or downright irritating. My main feeling walking out of the theater was that a little restraint would have gone a long way. (Although, as Scott put it, compared to other movies that throw too many ideas into the mix, Moulin Rouge kicks Titus' ass.) My other main complaint is the clunky narration, made even more unwieldy by not only hearing Ewan McGregor's words but seeing them hammered out on a page, which further distracts from the story by taking us away from it visually as well as auditorily.
All the actors sing their own songs. For the most part, the singing feels more organic than in traditional musicals; you really do get the sense that McGregor's Christian bursts into song because that's the only way to express the exhilaration bubbling inside him. Fortunately, both McGregor and Nicole Kidman have unexpectedly good voices. McGregor is his usual adorably mussed, charming self, playing a penniless, incurably romantic poet who would have made a fortune if he'd lived a century later, because he's constantly coming up with lines from hit songs like "All You Need Is Love." He handles musical production numbers with aplomb, as presaged by his barroom dance with Cameron Diaz, the best thing in A Life Less Ordinary -- he looks terribly dashing and elegant.
Kidman, as the courtesan Satine, is less appealing, so icy and so white that she might as well be made of marble. So it's all the more jarring when she abruptly lunges -- literally -- into broad comedy, at which she's admittedly pretty good. I think it was a mistake to have her sing "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" -- in such a brazen comparison with Marilyn Monroe, she does not come out the winner. Instead of Monroe's warm, vivacious, "come hither" sexuality, Kidman's imperious aloofness commands "Admire me from afar." (Satine has consumption, which, as you know from La Bohème and any of the various versions of La dame aux camélias [La Traviata, Camille], is invariably fatal. They make consumption -- a.k.a. tuberculosis -- seem like such a glamorous disease to have: delicate, ladylike coughs; elegant swoons into the waiting arms of a handsome man; sparkling, dew-like droplets of sweat on a pale brow; a lovely flush in the cheeks; an artistic spatter of blood on a pure white handkerchief.)
John Leguizamo is endearingly wacky as dwarfish Toulouse-Lautrec, and Jim Broadbent is excellent as the owner and emcee of the Moulin Rouge club, Harold Zidler -- he clearly has a great deal of experience in musical theater, the better to ham it up in numbers like a bawdy reworking of "Like a Virgin." Richard Roxburgh as the villainous Duke can't do much with a one-dimensionally evil role (though he does try manfully to add an extra dimension -- that of utter stupidity -- to the character).
Despite the excellent performances and the passionate singing, I have to say that the tragic finale left me emotionless. Now, I admit I'm a hard sell, but usually I at least feel the manipulative tugging on my heartstrings, even if I resist it or sneer at it. But here, I could tell I was supposed to be feeling something -- I just didn't. Maybe I was numbed by the bombast of the preceding two hours; maybe I could see the ending coming from so far away (well, you get a pretty good idea that it doesn't end well just from the opening scene, as Christian begins to tell the story) that I'd had time to resolve my feelings earlier. More likely, it was that the big tragic scene was overblown and predictable. Or maybe I just couldn't help thinking Christian could do so much better.
But overall, its faults notwithstanding, I enjoyed Moulin Rouge. I definitely recommend it as a fascinating experiment and a bold departure from the summer dreck at the multiplex. Sometimes it's better to aim high and overshoot than to aim low and hit the mark. Still, I hope that someday Luhrmann discovers the rewards of restraint. Moderation doesn't necessarily equal mediocrity.
Just a few random thoughts I can't shoehorn into a full paragraph:
--This is probably the only time that anyone will ever suggest The Sound of Music could trigger a "bohemian revolution."
--Drinking absinthe makes Christian, Toulouse-Lautrec, and their bohemian buddies see a Green Fairy with the body of Kylie Minogue and the voice of Ozzy Osbourne, which is enough reason right there for me NEVER TO TRY ABSINTHE. Give me good ol' pink elephants on parade any time.
--Reading over the historical background on the Moulin Rouge website, I am very disappointed that, although he made a tremendous effort at historical accuracy, Baz Luhrmann did not see fit to include certain elements of the real Moulin Rouge in the movie, namely the "cavorting monkeys" and Le Petomane, a "musical flatulator" with an "aspiratory anus" (I guess you would call him a fartist).
--Yet again, an Elton John song is used to bring people together (see Almost Famous), although it sounds a lot better coming from Ewan McGregor than it ever did from Elton John. Regardless, I don't believe Elton John songs should used to represent love and harmony, because he tried to kill me once. All right, it's possible that was a dream. Actually, I think it's not the songs I object to so much as the singer; I liked "Your Song" in this movie (I can't stop singing it). (My father and brother will appreciate that, shortly after singing the Elton John song, McGregor launches into a snippet of "Silly Love Songs" -- they used to torture me when I was little by playing Elton John and Wings, whom I loathed -- to the point that I refused to believe my father when he told me Paul McCartney, who I knew from the Beatles, was also in Wings.)
--I heard
some months ago that one of the big department stores was
opening a "Moulin Rouge" department in which teenage girls would
be able to purchase the fashions they saw displayed in the movie.
Which is a sound marketing idea if I ever heard one, because isn't that
what all teenage girls want -- to look as much as possible like a
19th-century
French whore?
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