The bankrupt mess that is "Moulin Rouge": A short catalog.
The nominal heroes claim that they stand for four "Bohemian principles" of "truth, beauty, freedom and love." Which of these are they illustrating when they approach a wealthy man with the stated intention of ruthlessly manipulating him to get at his money? When, late in the movie, the hero is moping about believing that his girlfriend just pretended she loved him to get what she wanted, it would perhaps have been more moving if he hadn't spent the past two hours encouraging her to do exactly the same thing to somebody else.
I've no objection to movies in which all the characters are swine, but only if the movie appears to know that. The high moral point this movie has to make: You can behave as badly as you like if it 1) gets you what you want and 2) only hurts people you don't like. While that may very well be an accurate perception of modern morality, I refuse to accept it as romantic, much less heroic.
Just a few of the problems with the script and its execution: A dated-50-years-ago "She has to sleep with the villain to save the show" arc is played out, in full, twice. There is no reason for the club owner to want to convert his club to a theater to help his hooker star become "a real actress" -- particularly since he knows she is dying. How does he plan to make his money back after she drops dead? Ewan McGregor never gets in the same area code as the correct pitch; he is off-key, at the top of his lungs, for two hours. Additionally, his accent wanders the British Isles, though his character is stated (for no particular reason, as it happens) to be English.
The end of the "Like a Virgin" segment leaves the queasy (and we hope unintended) impression that the club owner is about to have sex with the villain -- while not resolving the plot point (ha!) that it is intended to resolve. There is an endless, dull-witted slapstick sequence during the initial approach to the wealthy victim that seems to have dropped in from some episode of "Animaniacs," or perhaps "Looney Tunes." Before that, Nicole Kidman is made to roll about orgasmically, for a really, really long time, to McGregor's insipid (and off-key, naturally) rendering of "Your Song." Baz Luhrmann must hate actors. The much-vaunted look of the production is just an ugly, vaguely Nouveau pastiche that looks derived from old Ken Russell movies. In fact, if this movie had to be made at all, Ken Russell would have done it better. I am not a fan of Ken Russell.
A sleazy, hypocritical piece of trash, and a shameful waste of the time and talent of everyone involved except Luhrmann, who is, I suppose, doing about the best he can.
The nominal heroes claim that they stand for four "Bohemian principles" of "truth, beauty, freedom and love." Which of these are they illustrating when they approach a wealthy man with the stated intention of ruthlessly manipulating him to get at his money? When, late in the movie, the hero is moping about believing that his girlfriend just pretended she loved him to get what she wanted, it would perhaps have been more moving if he hadn't spent the past two hours encouraging her to do exactly the same thing to somebody else.
I've no objection to movies in which all the characters are swine, but only if the movie appears to know that. The high moral point this movie has to make: You can behave as badly as you like if it 1) gets you what you want and 2) only hurts people you don't like. While that may very well be an accurate perception of modern morality, I refuse to accept it as romantic, much less heroic.
Just a few of the problems with the script and its execution: A dated-50-years-ago "She has to sleep with the villain to save the show" arc is played out, in full, twice. There is no reason for the club owner to want to convert his club to a theater to help his hooker star become "a real actress" -- particularly since he knows she is dying. How does he plan to make his money back after she drops dead? Ewan McGregor never gets in the same area code as the correct pitch; he is off-key, at the top of his lungs, for two hours. Additionally, his accent wanders the British Isles, though his character is stated (for no particular reason, as it happens) to be English.
The end of the "Like a Virgin" segment leaves the queasy (and we hope unintended) impression that the club owner is about to have sex with the villain -- while not resolving the plot point (ha!) that it is intended to resolve. There is an endless, dull-witted slapstick sequence during the initial approach to the wealthy victim that seems to have dropped in from some episode of "Animaniacs," or perhaps "Looney Tunes." Before that, Nicole Kidman is made to roll about orgasmically, for a really, really long time, to McGregor's insipid (and off-key, naturally) rendering of "Your Song." Baz Luhrmann must hate actors. The much-vaunted look of the production is just an ugly, vaguely Nouveau pastiche that looks derived from old Ken Russell movies. In fact, if this movie had to be made at all, Ken Russell would have done it better. I am not a fan of Ken Russell.
A sleazy, hypocritical piece of trash, and a shameful waste of the time and talent of everyone involved except Luhrmann, who is, I suppose, doing about the best he can.