Labelling a film "an exercise in style over substance" is hardly a compliment, but I doubt Baz Luhrmann would take it to heart. His back catalogue provides ample evidence that he's prepared to sacrifice every aspect of a film's production to the gods of visual flair, and falling short of true greatness is a price he's evidently willing to pay.

Strictly Ballroom and Romeo + Juliet were by no means unassailable masterpieces, not the least because involving characters and finely-tuned narratives were conspicuous by their absence (though you can thank the Bard for the latter film's failings in that area). However, high-grade eye-candy and toe-tapping musical accompaniment can fill an otherwise-empty vessel, leaving us with something which is, if not exactly the nectar of the Gods, at least halfway-palatable.

In Glengarry Glen Ross Al Pacino's character, Ricky Roma, takes time out from peddling investment properties to sagely proclaim that "Great meals fade in reflection". He's telling us that the pleasure of gorging ourselves rests in the moment, that once the final truffle is digested the memory loses its substance, for the experience lacks the meaty emotions which would see it ensconced in our personal hall of fame (love, tenderness, triumph - the usual suspects). However, this is no reason to live on a diet of seaweed and hard-packed rice balls - like so many things in life, the moment is indeed the thing.

Which brings us to Moulin Rouge, Luhrmann's latest testament to the joys of living as if there's no tomorrow. It's the celluloid equivalent of a one-night love affair - ultimately insubstantial, its shortcomings painfully apparent in the cold light of day - but while you're wrapped in its passionate embrace it’s a thing to be amazed by.

The plot, such as it is, centres on Christian (Ewan McGregor), a 1900's Bohemian, and Satine (Nicole Kidman), a turn-of-the-century courtesan. Satine plies her trade at the Moulin Rouge, a decadent Parisian nightclub, and it is here that she falls for Christian's poetically-phrased declarations of eternal love. Unfortunately, she's also caught the eye of the Duke (Richard Roxburgh), and promises him boundless carnal delights if he agrees to finance Christian's unwritten play. The majority of the film's running time is devoted to chronicling the misadventures of our star-crossed lovers, and Luhrmann's decision to tell his story through twisted versions of modern tunes steers it into some very strange territory indeed.

It should be apparent from the above that we're not dealing with a human interest story on a par with Dancer in the Dark, which is one of the few musicals which could conceivably have succeeded as a purely dramatic endeavour. However, Luhrmann and co-writer Craig Pearce are obviously crafting a fable, and this almost excuses them from the need to concern themselves with such matters as a compelling narrative and involving characters.

I say almost, because even for a fairytale these aspects of the film's production are thin on the ground. It's difficult to gain an investment in the fate of the characters, for what little emotion they are permitted to exhibit is either grossly exaggerated or depressingly superficial. The plot is hardly compelling, since it plays out exactly as you think it will, and it's washed down with lashings of screwball humour, which will have all but the most devoted fans of such shenanigans hard-pressed to raise even a ghost of a smile (the witty, knowing repartee which made the likes of The Princess Bride so appealing is nowhere to be found).

If the delectable Ms. Kidman leaves you cold, her performance will not raise her in your estimation, since Satine's status as a personality-free zone affords little opportunity for flexing her acting muscles (whether she has any to begin with is an issue for another time). McGregor fares somewhat better, but his rough-and-ready charm is rendered unusable by Christian's sensitive romanticism, leaving Roxburgh and Jim Broadbent to carry the show (Broadbent is blessed with that timeless vaudevillian stereotype, the blustering buffoon, while Roxburgh, in true storybook style, conspires to invest the villain with considerably more life than the nominal heroes). The rest of the cast (including, sadly, John Leguizamo) fade into insignificance, since they're reduced to playing bit-parts in a film which doesn't want for underwritten characters (everyone can hold a tune, however, which is an important consideration for a film which hangs its hat on the musical numbers).

By now you're probably wondering how I could possibly bring myself to recommend this film, since its paper-thin characters and pedestrian storyline represent an appalling abuse of substance. However, the same could be said of The Matrix, and that didn't prevent millions of moviegoers (myself included) from leaving the cinema in a state of rapturous delight, proving that filmmakers can occasionally atone for their sins through stunning visuals and an electrified atmosphere.

It will be impossible to sell this film on the strength of the trailer or the soundtrack alone, since taking the individual scenes and musical numbers out of context is like feeding someone raw eggs and cheese and calling it an omelette. Luhrmann combines his raw materials over a roaring bonfire, and once you lock into his off-kilter worldview you'll find yourself enjoying scenes which, when viewed individually, border on idiocy, and tapping your toes to whacked-out versions of popular tunes that would normally see fans of the originals shouldering Luhrmann to the hanging tree. The glorious picture-book set design is breathtaking, and the film's frenetic, gaudy atmosphere envelops you like an oversized coat, inviting you to leave your preconceptions at the door, and there are few who will be able to resist the call of the parade.

And what a show it is. Certain sequences are nothing short of astonishing, and such is the proliferation of wonders that it's difficult to choose a favourite. Could it be McGregor and Kidman's magical rendition of the otherwise-pedestrian Your Song, which the visuals invest with a power that even Elton would be amazed by? Is it the mind-blowing routine in which Christian and his cronies describe the plot of their creation to the Duke, which features a series of images that would not be out of place in an opium-den fever-dream? Perhaps it's the extended introduction to the wonders of the Moulin Rouge, which is so tightly-wound that it invites sensory overload? And what about the show-stopping rendition of Roxanne, which builds to the intensity of a jackhammer to the solar plexus?

It's a magical mystery tour, with unexpected delights around every corner, and when it's over you'll be left with nothing but admiration for Luhrmann's seemingly-boundless creativity. There's certainly a few bum notes here and there (the opening homage to The Sound of Music is disconcertingly ill-advised, and the sight of Christian and Satine trading lines from various contemporary songs is simultaneously sweet and sickening), but any film which not only features a dance-hall rendition of Like a Virgin, but somehow makes it work, is deserving of our respect.

I suspect that Moulin Rouge is destined to be loathed by many, since if you don't hear the music it'll leave you colder than a mammoth's grave. The lack of substance prevents it from assuming the mantle of true greatness, and the film's charms, like Ricky Roma's meals, are transient pleasures. It's another exercise in style over substance, but I really can't bring myself to care, because the fact remains that at the end of the final number I had to physically restrain myself from leaping to my feet and applauding like a madman, and I can't remember the last time a film elicited that kind of joyous reaction from my jaded soul.

It's not a film for the ages, but it's a film for the moment, and sometimes that's just as good. My hat's off to Luhrmann and his crew - like all good bedtime stories, it takes us to places we left behind long ago, and that's a gift few of us can afford to ignore.


Recommended:
Yes