Moulin Rouge

There are few things I love more in life than a good, old fashioned romantic tragedy.  I’d enjoyed musicals, costume dramas, and Ewan McGregor for years, but never dreamed they could be combined anywhere near as stylishly and heartbreakingly as in Baz Lurhmann’s genius extravaganza.  I was pretty sure this was the film for me from the moment those red curtains parted to reveal the titles, but by the time top hatted johns started signing Nirvana lyrics to petticoat flashing courtesans, my brain exploded and I was lost.  The film is fast passed, by turns funny and sad, and has an excellent soundtrack.  

Nicole Kidman has never looked more beautiful (which is truly saying something) even while coughing up blood, but Ewan McGregor steals the show as lovesick playwright Christian, who drops to his knees in the rain and bellows his beloved’s name at the top of his lungs.  That’s hot.  In the height of my obsession, I was known to watch this film several times a week (and once, even twice in one day).  It’s in my blood now, and it’s coming to the island.    T