 | Moulin Rouge Starring: Nicole Kidman, Ewan McGregor, John Leguizamo, Jim Broadbent, Richard Roxburgh, Jacek Koman |
Moulin Rouge: Sophomore soporific I don't know about you, but Baz Luhrman's "Strictly Ballroom" gave me the willies. I felt as if I were peeking into a cedar lined box of keepsakes containing unnaturally preserved miniature dolls owned by an old woman whose hair has grown long and stringy, upon whose chenille covered bed, tucked away in some bayou of insanity, lay dozens of stuffed childhood animals, all seeking to anthropomorphise into Chucky. The dolls and/or stuffed animals came alive in Luhrman's film and there were moments when I thought I would howl from the sheer horror as the animated mannequins cavorted. They seemed to exist in not only another time, but a time outside the bounds of any reality shared by sane, inquiring people. Like Christian fundamentalists on LSD, they jerked and twirled as if they were evil, grinning marionettes with painted on rosy cheeks. "Moulin Rouge" is nowhere near as weird, but I had to ask myself -- I think it was during the interminable singing scene atop the elephant: how can such a flashy, bedazzling film be so ... so boring, so unimaginative? Granted, the first 20 minutes was a hoot. Zany cinematic energy and digital wizardry produced lots of laughs, especially when Kylie Minogue appeared as the absinthe fairy. Hopes, indeed, were high. But then, here came Nicole Kidman down the well used rope-or-whatever from the ceiling singing the old MM song. From that point I felt trapped in Luhrman's reprise of that very alien world where people sing songs into each other's faces. At one point someone's mobile phone went off a few rows behind me; I almost cheered for the distraction. I fear this film marks Nicole Kidman's decline as an actress.** From "Deep Calm" to this? I felt embarrassed for her. The girl can't dance, she's not very funny, and, as for singing, I hope we are not seeing a new trend in famous actresses trying to make hit songs. God knows, Gwyneth Paltrow's recent effort is enough to make you head for the hills where Telstra maintenance men are never known to roam. Admittedly, Kidman summoned her talent towards the end of the film, trying to give substance to Luhrman's shallow portrayal of love's sweet tragedy. I just hope she's not left with nightmares from being so close for so long to Ewan McGregor's whimpering gob. As for McGregor's writer, I found myself praying for the Duke's assassin to shoot the snivelling wanker. Men who shed too many tears in films are a turn off, don't ask me why. For the rest of the cast, John Leguizamo as Toulouse Lautrec was a caricature totally off the mark, Jacek Koman's narcoleptic Argentinian looked like a Latin serial killer, and Richard Roxburgh's Duke has been done to death by Hollywood. Only Jim Broadbent as Zidler managed to engage, even though his was the umpteenth caricature of the harried entrepreneur. (Personally, I would rather not be reminded of S.Z. "Cuddles" Sakall!) Luhrman and Craig Pearce supplied us with nothing less than a high school drama class attempt at dialogue. The use of everyone else's song lyrics to fill in the gaps was clever at best, as was the choreography, which at worst, was like amateur hour on the set of "Father Knows Best". One positive for those who worried that Luhrman would make a mess of the real Moulin Rouge and the decades surrounding its fame: it's so far removed that the French couldn't possibly take umbrage. Any more than they would at George W. Bush eating a croissant for the first time, which is probably yet to happen. Someone should check Luhrman's DNA to make sure he's not an alien. His take on life appears to be gleaned from the odd radio signal picked up in a far away galaxy. Forget all those film critic apologists trying to pass off his vision as "tongue in cheek"; if he is indeed an earthling, then this bloke lives in the madwoman's keepsake box. ** Glad I was wrong. Equally glad she didn't win best actress for this film. Not that the decision of that bunch of wankers comprising the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science matters. At least not where Art is concerned. Harold Hark |