As someone born this century, I am extra finicky when it comes to classic films - of course, there is a collection of them, but typically they seem to me too dry, too long, too dull, or a mix of all three.
Moulin Rouge, a biopic (of sorts) about artist Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, manages to detail life in late-19th-century Paris by skillfully telling the story of a painter troubled by both his persisting leg disability and, maybe subsequently, alcoholism.
Through elaborate routines carried by Katherine Kath and Muriel Smith (and somewhat cheapened by Zsa Zsa Gabor's lip-syncing), Jose Ferrer's blunt portrayal of Toulouse-Lautrec matched with Colette Marchand's annoyingly effective Marie Charlet, and an overall drunkenness, Moulin Rouge combines the traits you would expect from a mid-century film with the universal lessons applicable today.
The film loses steam about halfway through, but picks back up once new characters cross paths with Toulouse-Lautrec. The artist, while not necessarily the focus of the film, serves as a canvas off which all of the others can work. He can be seen painting at the film's titular location, opposing Gabor, Marchand, and Suzanna Flon, and dealing with his own mental struggles. Ultimately, though, it is the quotable lines delivered so earnestly that they resonate deep within.
Moulin Rouge is dim in color, both within buildings and in the various scenes that take place on the streets. One of the more powerful scenes comes toward the latter half in which Toulouse-Lautrec encounters a former dancer, now in ruins. Despite a time remembered so vibrantly, there is a somber and utterly human backdrop to it all. Fashion takes a backseat, yet many memorable looks stand out. The costume department clearly researched the camp and gaudy fashions of the 1890s' socialites.
The film, however, is a product of its time, with nearly all of the women solely existing as an extension of Toulouse-Lautrec. There is little movement from beginning to end, leading to it dragging on at certain points. That being said, the theme is timeless: both the Moulin Rouge itself and Toulouse-Lautrec suffer the consequences of fame; his success causes the venue to lose its sacredness, and the pressure consumes the artist.
Moulin Rouge, a biopic (of sorts) about artist Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, manages to detail life in late-19th-century Paris by skillfully telling the story of a painter troubled by both his persisting leg disability and, maybe subsequently, alcoholism.
Through elaborate routines carried by Katherine Kath and Muriel Smith (and somewhat cheapened by Zsa Zsa Gabor's lip-syncing), Jose Ferrer's blunt portrayal of Toulouse-Lautrec matched with Colette Marchand's annoyingly effective Marie Charlet, and an overall drunkenness, Moulin Rouge combines the traits you would expect from a mid-century film with the universal lessons applicable today.
The film loses steam about halfway through, but picks back up once new characters cross paths with Toulouse-Lautrec. The artist, while not necessarily the focus of the film, serves as a canvas off which all of the others can work. He can be seen painting at the film's titular location, opposing Gabor, Marchand, and Suzanna Flon, and dealing with his own mental struggles. Ultimately, though, it is the quotable lines delivered so earnestly that they resonate deep within.
Moulin Rouge is dim in color, both within buildings and in the various scenes that take place on the streets. One of the more powerful scenes comes toward the latter half in which Toulouse-Lautrec encounters a former dancer, now in ruins. Despite a time remembered so vibrantly, there is a somber and utterly human backdrop to it all. Fashion takes a backseat, yet many memorable looks stand out. The costume department clearly researched the camp and gaudy fashions of the 1890s' socialites.
The film, however, is a product of its time, with nearly all of the women solely existing as an extension of Toulouse-Lautrec. There is little movement from beginning to end, leading to it dragging on at certain points. That being said, the theme is timeless: both the Moulin Rouge itself and Toulouse-Lautrec suffer the consequences of fame; his success causes the venue to lose its sacredness, and the pressure consumes the artist.