| Schmaltz | 10+ |
| Violence | 3 |
| Romance | 9 |
| Nudity and Sex | 3 |
| Plot | 7 |
| Buckets o' Blood | 1 |
| Terror | 1 |
Link in the Internet movie database
Synopsis: Christian (Ewan 'Neo-Obi-Wan' McGregor) is a penniless writer in Turner D Century Paris, who falls deeply in love with Courtesan Satine (Nicole 'Flee the Scientologists, Nicole! Flee them!' Kidman) The Sparkling Diamond at the laissez-faire Moulin Rouge. Things are complicated when a hilarious bedroom farce leads to Christian and his Bohemians (coming soon to FOX) getting involved in writing a Play Within The Movie for the sponsorship of the Duke (Richard Roxburgh) of Monroth. Events dovetail in true Musical fashion until the final explosive (and yet touchingly subdued) ending.
Commentary: So here I was, thinking that I was really going to hate this film; or at least come down with a serious case of the dislikes over it. In spite of a good friend's eager recommendation of the movie, all of the hype and promotional material that I'd received on this movie had led me to one unavoidable, inescapable, inevitable conclusion...
(And a one and a two and a one two three four...)
"They'd sing and sex and sex and sing and sing and sex fa la la ring! / they'd sing and sex and sing sing siiiiing... / and that my friend is every-thiiiiing."
But man was I ever wrong. In fact, I'm very glad that I was given the wrong impression of this film, because the sheer shock of my being wrong improved its experience immeasurably.
Where to begin... where to begin... ah yes. The sets. The sets and the direction. It's clear that Baz 'Shakespeare? I have him tied up in the basement' Luhrmann has made an extensive study of every melodramatic theatrical form ever set on stage or to the silvery screen. Perhaps that's understating the case: Luhrmann seems to love the melodramatic form in all its many splendors. Images from German dreadful shock theatre of the silent age rub shoulders with modern French cinema. Classic Bedroom Farce crosses paths with the silver age of American cinema musicals. Andrew Lloyd Webber's multi-bazillion-dollar excesses stand back-to-back with Roman comedies-slash-today's-situation-comedies. This sort of melange for Moulin was a very gutsy move for Baz to make, and yet it works on both the level of a tribute and also the level of pure spectacle. There should be just enough literary tradition in nearly everyone's background for parts of this film to resonate properly.
The most critical decision that Baz makes with his spectacle, however, is to pull it back when the time comes. A day on the roller-coasters feels exhilarating when you have a few breaks in between the hills; otherwise you just spend your afternoon regurgitating your corn dogs. Once or twice, Luhrmann forgets to rein in his enthusiasm, and his audience feels a little bit green during those moments; but for the most, his steady hand on the rudder keeps his coaster from flying off the rails.
Where to move next... well, why not move to the most ballyhooed issue of all: the music. If you've read even one review of this movie you're a damn sight luckier than I am, because reviews of this film flew fast and furious, like doo-doo at the Monkey House. For those of you who have purchased real-estate on Pluto, however, Moulin Rouge makes heavy use of anachronism (aánachároánism (n.) - The Society to which Creative People Who Forgot That The Toilet Was Invented Belong) in its musical stylings. Apparently, at some point, Captain Kirk traveled back in time using the Time/Space slingshot manoeuvre and left sheet music to popular Twentieth Century songs in and about Turn-of-the-Century France. Or something to that effect.
I found myself initially disoriented by the music and the spectacle. I understood what Baz was shooting for here and I was quite willing to accept it with open arms. However, he seems to have made the choice to gradually ease the audience into anachronism by presenting the songs of today as standard Burlesque fare. Unfortunately, this has the effect of grounding the soundtrack against which the marvellous scenery and sights are set in a somewhat mundane, familiar universe. But the Moulin Rouge is meant to be a spectacular world, apart from this one, where titans stride and for a night a guttersnipe can be a diamond. This is the only part of the movie where muting the volume actually improves the entire effect (all right, I lie. The first five minutes of the "Roxanne" dance almost entirely fails to fuse visual/plot to soundtrack, but it manages to pick itself up off the ground fairly well). Once the music has eased its audience into the world of Moulin Rouge, though, the movie's anachronistic bent comes into its fore. Music is the hidden language of this film's characters: as in the best musicals of our age, music exposes each player's soul. It becomes a weapon, as the characters literally fence back and forth with rapier-sharp lyrics. Backup instrumentals meld with action to make the most melodramatic actions seem plausible; and best of all, since it all seems to be coming out of the characters' mouths, everything they sing has an immediate value to the story, one that you can trust and believe, rather than dismissing as the efforts of an underpaid and overworked musician who sat and watched the film a week after it had finished shooting, while the principle actors were sitting in the Bahamas, sipping daquaries.
Thirdly, I'd be rather remiss if I didn't mention the acting in this film. Soooooomeone took his Magic Camera Angle pills this time around. In every place where I felt that Romeo+Juliette fell down in its attempts to prepare an amazing visual banquet out of its actors, Moulin Rouge manages to rise like Richard Simmons' voice on helium. The actors slide into shot like ghosts. Lighting and backgrounds obscure and reveal volumes of detail where necessary. Corny lines are spoken (or just as often, sung) with utter conviction, becoming a part of the tapestry that is this film. And the actors are just enjoying the hell out of their roles... a Fun Level of One Million? IMPOSSIBLE!
Special note must go to Nicole Kidman and Jim Broadbent; while Ewan McGregor turns in a strong performance as the play.. nay.. movie's male lead, quite often he finds himself overpowered by the sheer strength of presence held by his fellow stars.
Broadbent seems to be As One with the Celluloid; he has managed to take up residence in this little corner of the Cinemaverse and we are all just visitors. At no point does he let this mask slip. To borrow from the movie posters of yesteryear... 'Jim Broadbent -is- Harold Zidler'.
But where Broadbent is a part of this little universe, Nicole Kidman simply devours it. She's like a black hole in every scene she's in, drawing the audience's attention and capturing it for so long as she's on-screen. Were this film in the hands of a less steady-handed director, the movie would suffer badly for her power. Fortunately, Baz makes the movie and characters into a picture-frame for Kidman (sometimes literally!).
But don't imagine that these are the only characters who shine. There's literally not a soul in this production who doesn't have a magnificent performance throttled from him or her, kicking and screaming every step of the way. It is act... or die.
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