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Stop
me if you've heard this one before:
A high-profile Scientologist opens a brand-new,
hype-heavy film in May and the stupid thing hits the ground with
an unimpressive thud that leaves many people snickering at the
absurdity of it all. While
Moulin Rouge isn't anywhere near as awful as Battlefield
Earth, it probably is the biggest, loudest, flashiest,
most expensive dud since the John Travolta debacle of 2000.
It's a full-out assault on the senses (and, in some
cases, the taste); like an intricately wrapped present that,
upon opening, reveals nothing but a box full of brightly colored
tissue paper (and maybe a handful of glitter and confetti, too).
I
like many different types of film and just as many types of
music, but for some reason blending the two creative forms
doesn't do a thing for me.
I'd sooner gnaw off my own leg than sit through anything
with Fred Astaire or Judy Garland. Aside from Jane Horrocks' work in Little
Voice, that cool scene from Magnolia
where the characters sing along to the Aimee Mann song, and
Woody Allen's musical comedy Everyone Says I Love You,
the whole movie musical thing just seems like a waste of time
and energy.
It's
kind of ironic that Rouge has connections to the last two
grand-scale musicals to hit the screen (and, no, I'm not
counting Duets). One
of the film's big musical numbers is set to Madonna's "Like
a Virgin" (she starred in Evita), and Jim Broadbent,
who played William Shwenk Gilbert in Topsy-Turvy,
stars here as Zidler, the owner of a club called Moulin Rouge in
the Bohemian section of turn-of-the-20th-century Paris.
Broadbent played a similar role in Little
Voice, which also featured another of Rouge's
stars – Ewan McGregor (The Phantom
Menace), here playing an Englishman named Christian who
has just moved to Paris in pursuit of a writing career.
The entire film is shown in one long flashback as we
watch the bearded, disheveled writer (who looks a lot like
Kenneth Branagh) peck away at his typewriter as he slowly
relates his story of love and loss.
Upon
his arrival in Paris, Christian is quite accidentally befriended
by a group of zany performers (led by John Leguizamo, who still
has some of that clown makeup from Spawn crusted onto his
face) who are trying to put on their own musical called
"Spectacular Spectacular."
Unfortunately, they have no funding and their story kind
of stinks. Enter
Christian, who is able to jazz up both the script and music,
and, through a Three's Company-like mix-up, lands the
financial support of the wealthy Duke of Worcester (Richard
Roxburgh, Mission: Impossible 2).
The
trouble is that the Duke and Christian are after the same girl
– a courtesan from the Moulin Rouge named Satine (Nicole
Kidman, Eyes
Wide Shut), who happens to be the star of the play.
The story, which has now evolved into the tale of a woman
torn between the love of a penniless writer and the wealth of an
aristocrat, has begun to parallel the real goings-on between
Satine, Christian and the Duke.
Then the sparks begin to fly.
It's
quite a simple story, but the whole thing is jazzed up with
song-and-dance numbers set to popular music, like Bowie,
Nirvana, Queen and the Police.
As soon as any of the characters open their mouths to
sing, Rouge becomes a mass version of Name That Tune
and, brother, if you've never heard the person sitting behind
you belt out an Elton John tune in their own little personal
duet with Mr. McGregor, I envy you.
God, do I envy you.
Writer/director
Baz Luhrmann, the guy responsible for the pretentious radio hit
"Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen," is certainly no
stranger to dancing (Strictly Ballroom) or manipulating
the setting of a film (William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet).
There's a Pavement tune in which Stephen Malkmus warbles
that he's "got style for miles and miles; so much style
that it's wasted." Luhrmann
has a similar amount of talent, and he packs as much of it as he
can into Rouge. The trouble is that it's just too much of a good thing,
leaving the film to literally burst at the seams with panache.
It's like when one of those tubes of Pillsbury biscuits
busts open before you're ready to use it – one big frigging
mess.
Rouge
could have been edited by a crack-addicted ferret with ADD who
just downed a half-dozen Pixie Stix.
It makes Armageddon look like The
Thin Red Line. The
film is exhaustive when it should have been exhilarating, and I
think Kidman was lucky to escape production with only a
fractured rib and a damaged knee.
Watching Rouge is like taking a beating; it's as
garish as the home-decorating skills of a mobster's wife.
Something this overwhelming is better suited for a music
video, or a television commercial, but definitely not a
130-minute film.
Rouge's
singing, which was all done by the acting talent involved, is
impressive, as is most of the technical package, which could see
some activity at Oscar time. Kidman starts off as an annoying 85-pound Chihuahua but gets
a bit more likeable as the film progresses.
McGregor does well and his Christian marks his first role
where he hasn't whipped out his piece or a light saber.
But anything with Leguizamo is an automatic -2 on the
Planet Sick-Boy rating system.
| 2:08
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for
sexual content |
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