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 One
of the biggest points of contention during the recent Writers Guild
contract negotiations was the use of the so-called "possessory credit."
All those movie that begin, "A Film by…" The WGA, quite rightly, contends
that in most cases the director of the film is not the primary creative
force and has no right to claim it above the writers who came up with
the story, imagined the characters and put words in their mouths.
There are exceptions, however, filmmakers whose vision is so distinctive,
and whose films are artistic statements as individual as paintings.
Baz Luhrman falls into the latter group.
His first
appearance on the scene was with 1992's Strictly Ballroom,
a low budget romp through the world of Australian ballroom dancing
which wowed them in Cannes. The story was simplistic old Hollywood
hokum, but the humor, the verve of the performances, the saturated
colors and unforgettable dance numbers made it all work. Luhrman
was clearly an exceptional new talent.
But not a
speedy one. We had to wait four years before his next flick, William
Shakespeare's Romeo+Juliet. Here, with a larger budget and all
the skills of a Hollywood crew at his disposal, he produced the
second of his so-called "Red Curtain" movies. A reinterpretation
of Shakespeare's classic set in a dreamlike Miami, where the claustrophobic
intensity of color and emotion fed into each other, leading inexorably
to the tragic conclusion in way which most modern-set Shakespeare
plays do not.
And now the
final film in the Red Curtain trilogy is here: Moulin Rouge.
The culmination of everything that has gone before, it is a virtuoso
exhibition of filmmaking while at the same time betraying many of
the same weaknesses as Luhrman's earlier work. Story, for example,
has clearly never been particularly important to him, and working
with long-time collaborator, Craig Pearce, he has stripped it down
to its very barest essentials. So bare, in fact, that it really
precludes any real emotional involvement on the part of the audience.
Still, it could be argued that it is not the tale that is important
(for example, we know from the beginning that Nicole Kidman's character
dies), but the journey. A similar argument can be made for most
operas, which have simplistic plots but live and die on the music.
It's the old
tale of the young naïve dreamer who comes to the decadent city against
his family's wishes. Christian (Ewan McGregor) wants to be a writer
and rents a small room in Montmartre, across the street from the
legendary Moulin Rouge. He is befriended by the colorful bohemians
who inhabit his building, led by Toulouse Lautrec (John Leguizamo).
They decide that he should write their play, the aptly named Spectacular
Spectacular, which they are eager to see performed at the Moulin
Rouge. In order to do this, they must convince the star performer,
Satine (Nicole Kidman) to promote it to the Moulin's owner, Zidler
(Jim Broadbent). For his part, Zidler wants his club to become a
legitimate theatre, and to do that he must raise money. Enter the
sinister Duke (Richard Roxburgh). Satine must seduce him and get
him to come on board. The Duke duly provides the money, but only
in return for the deed to the Moulin Rouge and the guarantee of
Satine's exclusive companionship. Which would be fine if she hadn't
fallen in love with penniless writer, Christian.
You can see
where this is going. It's no accident that McGregor's character
is named Christian - the whole thing is a retelling of Orpheus
and The Pilgrim's Progress, with hefty chunks of La
Bohème thrown in for good measure. Christian leaves his
safe home and descends into an underworld that he doesn't understand,
a world roiling with passion and music.
Another problem
arises with the supporting characters, who are mere cartoons with
no other purpose in life other than to interact with our heroes.
In Strictly Ballroom there was some evidence of this, but
the mother and the dance instructor were given real inner lives:
they may have become grotesques, but we knew that they hadn't started
out like that and understood the disappointments that had made it
happen. In Moulin Rouge, on the other hand, the character
shorthand is so minimal as to be positively Kabuki.
Still, such
complaints seem more than a little curmudgeonly given the visual
and aural feast that is set before us. Color and music take the
place of character and drive the story forward with a force that
leaves you dizzy. One of the few places with little or no color
is Christian's room, but from the moment Lautrec enters his life,
color surges in. Not the color of nature, but the colors of theatrical
paint and gaudy costume. His first visit to the Moulin Rouge itself
is overwhelming, as we share his feelings in this weird, wild place,
crowded with strange people and wildly pulsating music. The images
fly by so quickly that it's difficult to take them all in; like
Christian we are stunned and disoriented. It is only as this world
also becomes Christian's that things slow down and begin to adopt
the pace of life. Everything on screen is a reflection of his emotions,
and the music is an intrinsic part of that.
Ask anyone
to name their favorite movie musical and two films crop up more
than any other, Singin' in the Rain and The Band Wagon.
One of the things that these two movies have in common was the use
of an eclectic range of songs, from early twenties numbers through
those specially written for the soundtrack. Moulin Rouge follows
this tradition, the songs are a virtual catalog of the last thirty
years of popular music, all disorientingly juxtaposed to great effect.
Nicole Kidman turns out to have a pleasant singing voice, but it
is Ewan McGregor who is a revelation, letting go with a depth, range
and ease that really does harken back to the legendary days of the
Freed Unit at MGM. The same can't be said for the dancing of the
principals, but I guess you can't have everything.
Jim Broadbent's
rendition of "Like a Virgin," is gritty and salacious (has he ever
put in a mediocre performance?) and the dancing waiters are a scream
in their off-kilter portrayal of every dancing waiter in every movie
musical. Luhrman's background may be theatre, as is obvious in his
presentation and deliberate distancing of the audience, but he also
has a real love of the old musicals. There are homages everywhere,
from the waiters, to umbrellas, Fred and Ginger, the backstage story,
and even the malevolent Tinkerbell-like green fairy that flies out
of the absinthe.
Moulin
Rouge isn't for everyone. If you like your storytelling straight
and you thought Titanic was a great piece of filmmaking,
you would probably be better off seeing something else. But if you
enjoy the art of film and thrill to see someone take genuine risks
(even when they occasionally don't work), at a time when most people's
idea of innovation is more cars and bigger explosions, then dash
out and get your ticket now.
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