The Pirate Review - The Mark of Baz

Two movies, same director. Why do I despise one and love the other?

One of my sisters is ever so slightly obsessed with the movies of Australian director Baz Luhrmann (you know who you are, Jenny). She has watched every one of his three feature films, dubbed the "Red Curtain Trilogy"—Strictly Ballroom, Romeo + Juliet and Moulin Rouge!—and found reasons to love them all. But it took sheer peer pressure on New Year's Eve 2003 to get me to break down and watch Moulin Rouge! on DVD. Why? Because my first exposure to Baz Luhrmann's film style was Romeo + Juliet, and I absolutely loathed it. I've resisted seeing any Luhrmann-directed films ever since—Jenny has tried to get me to watch Strictly Ballroom, but I've only seen about 15 minutes of it. (I'll make no further comment on this film since I haven't seen it in its entirety.)

Now Luhrmann fans are probably screaming at their screens, "You didn't love R&J? What's WRONG with you?" While the answer to that latter question is beyond the scope of this editorial, I'll tell you why I hated the Luhrmannated version of Romeo + Juliet. It's not because of the updated locations—writers have been setting Shakespeare characters in unlikely situations for years now, and for the most part these re-imagined productions are creative and interesting. I can't complain about Luhrmann's re-imagined Verona Beach setting, considering I don't mind the tale being set in 1950s New York for West Side Story. Nor do I really have trouble with the deliberate substitution of firearms for cutlery, since it would be more than a little odd to have contemporary thugs thrusting rapiers at each other. The biggest problem with Romeo + Juliet is that Luhrmann sacrificed the poetry and flow of Shakespeare's language for the sake of spectacle.

Some people get twitchy at the very thought of Elizabethan English, because it can be challenging. It's sometimes difficult to follow Shakespeare's plays because English is not a static language; words that meant one thing in the 1600s can have different, even opposing, definitions today. "Awful" described something capable of filling spectators with awe, not disgust; "meat" meant any kind of solid food, not just animal flesh; "nice" meant something scrupulously specific, not vaguely good. Nonetheless, Shakespeare's plays continue to touch modern audiences primarily through the beauty of his language. The rhythm and cadence of his phrases, the careful selection of words, conveyed through the skill of talented actors, combine to paint luminous landscapes in the audience's minds. That is why a 400-year-old play can be performed on a bare stage with minimal props, the actors clad in T-shirts and jeans, and audiences will still be spellbound. It is William Shakespeare's language—not the convoluted plots, nor the flashiness of the productions—which continues to make his work popular and relevant.

For Baz Luhrmann, spectacle is paramount. He is heavily influenced by MTV, as is evident in his quick cuts, flowing changes of locale and music-video timing of a scene. His style is one of saturated hues and candy-coated tones, of visual texture so bright and brassy as to be overwhelming to the senses. You can see this in Moulin Rouge!, where lovers sing together in a chamber transformed by rockets and fairy dust, where master of ceremonies Harold Zidler careens through the air in a floating cartwheel, where even the louche of the absinthe is a glowing green. It's not accidental that both films contain drug use—the aforementioned absinthe in Moulin Rouge!, the acid-soaked sugarcube in Romeo + Juliet—because Luhrmann's films can be seen as an on-screen attempt to create the heightened visual aesthetics of a drug trip. None of this is meant to disparage Luhrmann's style—indeed, his films are absolutely visually stunning. It's been over a week since I saw Moulin Rouge!, and I cannot stop thinking about the visceral power of the scenes. It's a beautiful movie.

But it is precisely this overarching concern for spectacle that caused Luhrmann to shoot himself in the foot when he chose Romeo + Juliet on which to work his magic. Because visuals are vastly more important than language to Luhrmann, he chose to race over the narratives and soliloquies or omit them altogether in favor of additional rich visuals. The subtle nuances of the language are lost—indeed, they even seem lost on the actors, as Luhrmann seems to have cast based primarily on youth and beauty over understanding of the material. Leonardo DiCaprio sleepwalks through this film, and Claire Danes rarely seems to grasp the meaning of her lines. Luhrmann's take on Shakespeare is about as refined as a ball-peen hammer to the skull—he makes even Steven Spielberg seem subtle by comparison. Shakespeare whispers, "Listen," while Luhrmann screams, "LOOK!" The two styles are mutually exclusive; it's like a peanut butter and cat food sandwich. Luhrmann simply should have chosen more compatible material on which to impose his vision.

Happily, the plot of Moulin Rouge! provides material that is eminently compatible with the BazMark style. Some have complained that the plot is whisper-thin and that the first three minutes give away the ending of the film. This is true, but a familiar plot does not usually poison us against enjoying the opera, ballet or theater. Others have commented on the anachronism of 20th-century pop music in Belle Epoque Paris. Luhrmann has defended his choice by explaining that patrons of the real Moulin Rouge were serenaded with familiar 19th-century tunes which would be obscure in our time; he substituted songs that would be equally familiar to his modern audience. There are a few places where this choice goes awry, as when upper-class slummers at the Moulin Rouge belt out, "Here we are now, entertain us!" and the audience giggles helplessly, or when Zidler, attempting to deceive the Duke, performs a version of Madonna's "Like A Virgin" that can only be charitably described as bizarre. But there are also places that are wonderfully right, as when the Moulin Rouge dancers perform a passionate tango to a raw version of The Police's "Roxanne" as a backdrop to a tense scene of love and jealousy. This is meant to be a stylized experience, not a reflection of life; Luhrmann never lets you forget that you're watching a movie, and yet by the end you genuinely care about the ultimate fate of the characters.

Many have claimed that Baz Luhrmann's distinct style isn't right for everyone. Additionally, I would suggest that his style isn't right for everything. Luhrmann appears to perform his best with simpler plots that let his fantastic visuals shine through. He has not yet demonstrated that he can work well with the complex, convoluted or subtle. But that's all right; not everything has to be highly refined in order to be worthwhile.