THE CLOSEST WE’LL EVER COME TO FANTASY MISSION FORCE 2

Moulin Rogue

A Movie Review by Mighty Doom

            What a baffling film this is.  Baz Luhrman’s Oscar-nominated Moulin Rouge seems to garner one of two reactions.  Girls love it and think it’s romantic and charming and EEK, BISHIE KAWAI BAKA SEMPAI EWAN MCGREGOR IS SOOOO KAWAII! Guys, most of whom have never seen it in the first place, reaffirm their heterosexuality by saying this is a Gay Fagit movie that sucks because it’s for Faggets.  It utterly escapes me, however, that no one sees this movie for the terrifying spectacle it truly is.  Are Doom and his loyal friends, the Horrendous Niggaz, the only people in the world scared shitless by Moulin Rouge? I first saw this film in Mississippi, under the influence of any number of mind-altering substances ranging from Jolt Cola to The Marijuana Cigarettes, so it could have been that—or it could have been Jim Broadbent dressed as a FLYING DEMON MARSHMALLOW IN A TOP HAT.

            Moulin Rouge starts out looking like it might be a fairly interesting movie.  Ewan McGregor stars as a would-be playwright hoping to join the Bohemian revolution.  Sounds good so far—wait a sec, a narcoleptic circus strongman and an awful voodoo nun midget played by John Leguizamo just showed up! They start singing The Sound of Music, and then drink some absinthe and watch multiple Kylie Minogues dance around in green sequined leotards, and then they all fall into a windmill and fly to the Moulin Rouge, where Satan Marshmallow runs the show with his inhuman speed and acrobatic cunning.  The Moulin Rouge is host to a colony of fat, unattractive whores and an orchestra conducted by Colonel Sanders in a tutu.  Yes, all this is actually in the movie.

            Our heroes are having a grand old time in this hellish milieu when Nicole Kidman, the human Chihuahua, begins yipping weirdly at people while the evil marshmallow tosses her assorted jewelry.  Voodoo Midget arranges a meeting between Kidman and McGregor inside a giant blue elephant that happens to be on hand, but their courtship is interrupted by the arrival of The Duke—no, not John Wayne, the villain, a potential investor who promises to fund a massive production for the Moulin Rouge provided he’s given exclusive rights to Kidman as a sex toy.  This is fine by the Stay Puft Moulin Rouge Man, but Kidman and McGregor have other plans—namely, have a lot of sex behind everyone’s back and hope The Duke (he has no proper name—everyone just calls him The Duke) doesn’t find out.

            All this, believe it or not, is actually pretty entertaining when you’re not cowering under the table.  The movie slows down a bit about halfway through and is boring for a while, but the film crew soon finds their lost stash of crack cocaine, and normal chaos is quickly resumed.  I can’t believe people are able to watch a narcoleptic Argentinean circus strongman sing “Roxanne” by the Police and then say, with a straight face, that this movie was a fun and charming love story.  It simply does not compute that Doom is the only one who sees the soul-destroying horror at the center of this film.  I neither like nor dislike Moulin Rouge as a piece of cinema.  It scares me so badly I find myself unable to form any opinion of it at all.  It belongs with that bizarre, psychotic subgenre that includes Fantasy Mission Force, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension and Dolemite II: The Human Tornado.

            You have been warned.  Watch at your own risk.