Elating and exasperating; a peculiar combination.

Rating: 8/10 (18 June 2001)

There have always been movies that have spawned countless hours of debate and controversy, be it for their subject matter or presentation. "Moulin Rouge," like Baz Lhurmann's previous endeavor, "Romeo + Juliet," is the type of movie that is argued over because of its presentation. Unlike "Romeo + Juliet," however, "Moulin Rouge" is not the type of film that should have never come into existence. It's not without its fair share of problems, but unlike most other movies today, it displays heart and is not self-conscious enough to concern itself with what people think about it; it is what it is, and doesn't seem to be pretentious enough to laud its own sense of creativity.
The story centers around Christian (Ewan McGregor), an aspiring writer who wishes to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and above all things, love. The only problem is that he's never been in love himself. As he realizes this while he's typing in a hotel room in Paris, a random chain of characters and events lead him to the helm of a stage musical called "Spectacular, Spectacular," whose script is to be presented to the resident courtesan and performer of the Moulin Rouge, Satine (played by Nicole Kidman with the calculating air of a businesswoman and the charming, seductive type of quality that makes it possible for a man to become completely infatuated with a woman upon first sight).
The Moulin Rouge, despite its consistently packed house, is in financial shambles, so the owner introduces the Duke of Monroth (Richard Roxburgh) to Satine in what in her business one would consider a formal meeting. After a somewhat coincidental rendezvous with the writer of the new musical, the Duke agrees to finance the club, the only condition being that he possess all the rights--business and personal--to Satine. Christian and Satine then fall in love and strive to keep the affair a secret, and the movie follows the established formula that leads to the Duke's discovery of the affair and the final winner-take-all confrontation.
Narratively, the film fails in two aspects. From the very beginning, we're told that Satine died and Christian never got to follow the relationship through to its desired point; it renders the main conflict of the movie a little useless, though it strives to pull all the right strings in an effort to make the movie a poignant experience for the viewer. The second problem? In order to do this correctly, you'd have to make the viewer be able to relate to both of the lovers personally. Christian's nature is discussed just fine, but Satine is presented as nothing more than what her business requires her to be. We see her go through the motions, but by the end, we really don't care too much for her character; Christian is the one whom we pity, and that only makes the movie half the success that it could be in this aspect.
In terms of presentation, the louder numbers tend to be a little distracting and offsetting in comparison to the rest of the movie. The opening scene gives the movie somewhat of a grim prospect, so it's a little surprising when Christian and Satine first burst into a full-out love song. It all quickly becomes second nature, though, and by the time that the characters burst out into songs from this point forward, just like in any good musical, it couldn't seem more natural. Most of the songs do an exceptionally good job of letting the viewer know what the characters are feeling, but they feel a little contrived. Case in point: Satine and Christian's revelation of their love for one another. A medley of all the possible songs you could hear in contemporary soft radio stations, it ought to tell us something about the society that we're living in. Either we're primarily concerned with making money at the expense of honesty, or we're incapable of truly describing how we innately feel, thus the quoting of every possible song in the world into a single number.
Despite the blatant commercialization, though, the movie succeeds in a somewhat paradoxical sense: it feels very, -very- honest. How could this be? It's difficult to describe, but it appears as though this was Baz Luhrmann's primary intention, and somehow he managed to see it through to the end. Perhaps it was the sheer potency of certain numbers, like the tango-esque "Roxanne," which wove all the feelings of the movie into a tight little ball and had them explode in an aurally and visually overwhelming manner. If as much care had gone into the characterization, I'm certain that this would have received a lot more critical acclaim. As it is, you're possibly in for a bit of exasperation, elation, and the type of wonderment that's elicited when you see something completely, utterly new. In today's world, that's somewhat of a rare accomplishment; it's always better to savor it before it's emulated and commercialized, as ironic as it may sound.
8/10