Moulin Rouge

As Technicolor extravaganzas go, Moulin Rouge is the best I have seen. Director John Huston has captured bawdy, naughty Paris at the turn of the century, and he portrays equally well back street cafes and fashionable clubs. Yet I think Technicolor was the wrong medium. The blaring red, white, and blue type of photography considerably weakens whatever artistic subtlety the film has. Although sometimes Hustson subdues the color with dawn light or smoky pallor, many scenes seem ridiculously gaudy.

If the only reason for using Technicolor was to exploit Toulouse-Lautrec's paintings, it should not have been used. The paintings flash across the screen for at least five minutes, boring the non-cultured and leaving the art appreciators gasping. Further, I do not think the use of greens and mauves in haggard faces conveys either realism or artistry.

The story revolves around the life and loves of Henri Toulouse Lautrec, painter of Paris seamier side. With his legs pinioned beneath him, Jose Ferrer portrays the dwarfed, crippled Lautrec. Very few across can underplay a role and be convincing , but Ferrer does just that in Moulin Rouge. Ignoring the highly emotional aspects of his character, he gives great realism to Toulouse Lautrec's pathetic figure.

Collette Marchand, as a warped bawd from the slums, is Lautree's first love. She plays the temperamental procuress with gratifying relish. Wonderfully French, Zsa Zsa Gabor sings and twitters her way through the role of Jane Avril, the toast of the Moulin Rouge. And Suzanne Flon, the woman who loves embittered Lautrec too late, is sadly appealing as one of the few unkept women in Paris.

Without Technicolor, Moulin Rouge could have been an excellent film. But the glittering colors becloud rather than claborate its sensitive pathos.