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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 - PG-13 for sexual content
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