Three Movies in One: All of them Bad

Rating: 2/10 (9 June 2001)

The Moulin Rouge is a theater in Paris known for its elaborate and and somewhat racy shows, now a favorite for tourists visiting the city (I myself have fallen into that category). With all of the media attention bestowed on this project because of Nicole Kidman, and the fact that this was a musical, I was curious to see how it had turned out (plus my girlfriend wanted to go).
The film begins quite promisingly, with an elaborate computer generation of Paris in 1899, including some whimsical touches, showing very interestingly the area of Paris in which the Moulin Rouge ("Red Windmill" in English) is found. I was reminded immediately of Tim Burton's work, with the attention to detail, and slightly surrealistic atmosphere; (I was also reminded of Disney's "Mary Poppins" with its rooftops of London scenes). This alone makes the movie worth seeing (well, almost).
The movie starts out cheerfully, and somewhat goofily, in a good natured way, to introduce the protagonist, an aspiring writer on sojourn from London. When he begins to sing "The Hills are Alive (With the Sound of Music)" as suggested lyrics for a show on which his bohemian upstairs neighbors are laboring to produce for the proprietor the Moulin Rouge, the movie takes a turn into what I thought was parody, but sadly, was a harbinger of what to expect for the next two hours.
Nicole Kidman is a prostitute employed by the moulin Rouge as a singer, but she refers to herself (and her occupation) by the more noble sound epithet of "courtesan". This may elevate in some way her status in the film, but unfortunately for her, it does nothing to help her singing, which is generally on the level of a medium sized high school musical. Editing techniques vary from styles lifted directly from the (very) old 1960's TV show The Monkees" to the frenetic MTV music video genre. All of this is pasted onto a very tired old plot about star-crossed lovers and a buffoonish wealthy rival for Miss Kidman's affections. Anachronistic uses of modern songs become jarring, like some Saturday Night Live skit that drags on and on; (some in the audience laughed heartily, blissfully unaware that it wasn't supposed to be funny).
By the film's end, it is nothing more than a poorly scored and overbloated opera, or Shakespearean tragedy.