Music, the Musical, and Postmodernism in ’s Moulin Rouge Author(s): Ann van der Merwe Source: Music and the Moving Image, Vol. 3, No. 3 (Fall 2010), pp. 31-38 Published by: University of Illinois Press Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/musimoviimag.3.3.0031 Accessed: 21-10-2018 20:29 UTC

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This content downloaded from 146.57.3.25 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms From Music and the Moving Image Vol. 3, Issue 3.

Music, the Musical, and Postmodernism in Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge

Ann van der Merwe

This essay examines Baz Luhrmann's approach to preexisting music in Moulin Rouge within the broader contexts of the Hollywood musical and postmodernism. Six musical quotations are analyzed in detail, demonstrating specific techniques Luhrmann uses and how they contribute to the work as a whole.

Signature elements of the Hollywood musical and of postmodern are readily identifiable in Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge (2001). Its characters not only sing and dance; they do so in the traditional guises of the film musical. Songs function as narrative, as dialogue, and—in the special manner of the —as show-within-a-show production numbers. Similarly, Luhrmann's abundant use of pastiche, a typically humorless or blank treatment of preexisting material, exemplifies postmodernism as defined by Fredric Jameson.1 Combined with his disjointed camera work—one manifestation of the fragmentation also recognized by Jameson and others as a hallmark of the postmodern— and his unconventional treatment of time and place—the story is set in Paris circa 1900, but any sense of historical context is minimized by anachronistic references—the film seems an unusually strong candidate for the label postmodern. But if it is a musical, and if it is postmodern, does it follow that Moulin Rouge is a postmodern Hollywood musical?

James Leve, in his discussion of the 2002 film version of Chicago, has suggested that director Rob Marshall and his collaborators "understood that the postmodern Hollywood musical needed to incorporate music more realistically than did its Broadway counterpart, and that one does not hear, or listen to, songs in film in the same way as one does in a Broadway musical."2 As a result, Marshall constructed the film so that all of the production numbers—originally situated in a nonrealistic theatrical space known as "limbo"—take place in the imagination of one of the leading ladies, thereby facilitating more realistic storytelling in the context of musical film. Characters do not burst out in song and dance except in Roxie Hart's mind. Marshall's approach, as Leve suggests, was probably the one best suited to Chicago. The realism that makes it work, however, makes one question whether it is truly a postmodern version of the Hollywood musical. The film is innovative, adding freshness to a piece already noteworthy as a departure from the conventions of musical theater and film, but it does not seem postmodern.

By virtue of its obvious postmodern traits and its adherence to most conventions of the film musical, Moulin Rouge comes closer to embodying the notion of a postmodern Hollywood musical than does Chicago. Yet even it defies postmodernism in one key way. For someone who relies so extensively on preexisting material, Luhrmann has left an unusually distinctive mark on the film.3 Notably, it is not the eclectic nature of his score that accomplishes this. As he himself recognizes, variety of musical style is certainly germane to his work, but it is neither his most obvious stamp nor his invention. He even acknowledges that his process of song selection is largely indebted to the work of his predecessors. The use of anachronistic musical style, for example, is "a very old idea in musicals," he says, "like when sings 'Clang clang clang went the trolley,' in Meet Me in St. Louis, that's set in 1900. She is singing big band music from the 1940s, the music of her time, to let you into the characters of another time and another place." He further acknowledges that "in an old musical, the audience had a relationship to the music generally before they went in."4 Thus, he recognizes that the incorporation of familiar melodies into a new musical is hardly innovative.

Where Luhrmann departs from both the traditions of the Hollywood musical and the collage techniques common to postmodernism is in his choice of songs that cannot be considered popular standards in the conventional sense. The relationship his audience has with these songs is unusually specific. They are not recognizable simply as the romantic ballad or the up-tempo comedy number but as unique entities, songs belonging not only to another time and place but to another performer. They are not only—like "The Trolley Song"—stylistically disconnected from the story's setting; they are also full of connotations related to their original performance contexts. Their interpolation into the film thus carries these meanings into Luhrmann's story and enhances it. It is this dimension of Moulin Rouge that makes it special, for it shows that Luhrmann is as eclectic in his methodology as he is in his musical tastes. He does more than weave together diverse musical strains; he intertwines the scoring practices of the Hollywood musical with the more recent film and— perhaps to a lesser extent—the musical. This makes his authorial voice unusually present for a postmodern filmmaker, but it also exemplifies the spirit of postmodern eclecticism on a deeper creative level.

In the soundtrack film, as Ronald Rodman has articulated, compilation scores "decentre the role of the unique musical work, and draw upon discourses around the musical work such as style and celebrity."5 Luhrmann's score is no different; his musical quotations evoke images of the original performers and their respective celebrity identities. Notably, This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2531 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms these are frequently as important to his storytelling as are the melodies and lyrics themselves. Every element of the original is significant for Luhrmann, and he went to great lengths to find the best possible matches for his plot. As he notes, he and his collaborators "spent a great deal of time scanning, scanning, and scanning songs to identify which song would actually tell a particular moment or reveal a ."6

In Bollywood, songs play an even more central role than they do in the Hollywood musical. As Heather Tyrrell and Rajinder Dudrah point out, songs come first in the Indian , both literally and figuratively. Film are released well before the in which they will be heard, and the "song-picturisations"—choreographed song-and-dance numbers—are shot before anything else in the film.7 Bollywood productions are thus more similar to the revues and musical comedies seen in American theaters in the early twentieth century than to the Hollywood musicals from a decade or two later, for they are more intimately connected to the marketing of popular songs. Luhrmann's compilation score for Moulin Rouge may not have been designed to popularize the songs represented within it, but its content certainly suggests the kind of marketing more common to Bollywood, Broadway, or even the soundtrack film than to the Hollywood musical. For example, recording stars who do not appear in the film contributed significantly to the marketing of its soundtrack. Christina Aguilera, Lil' Kim, Mya, and Pink even starred in a of "Lady Marmalade" used to promote the film and this new version of the song.

Music is also unusually central to Moulin Rouge. It has a symbolic significance and omnipresence found in relatively few musicodramatic works. Claudio Monteverdi's Orfeo (1607) is one such example, and one that shares its inspiration with Luhrmann's film. Both are based on the Orpheus myth, a tale ripe with musical references and thus unusually well suited to musical treatment.8 Luhrmann further demonstrates his familiarity with earlier versions of the Orpheus myth when he includes music from Jacques Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld (1997). Indeed, Luhrmann's knowledge of opera also shines through in his rather extensive dramatic extractions from La Bohème and La Traviata. Christian may be largely extracted from the Greek myth, but Satine is as similar to La Traviata's heroine as she is to Orpheus's beloved Euridice. He attempts to save her from the Underworld of the Moulin Rouge in Orphic fashion, complete with music. She, however, is not a largely undeveloped character but a courtesan, who—like Verdi's Violetta— falls in love only after considerable convincing and dies before she can fully enjoy her reconciliation with Christian.

Of course, setting the film against the backdrop of the Moulin Rouge adds another dimension to the musicality of the plot. Such a locale automatically creates a backstage musical, and several of the songs function as performance numbers within the nightclub. More interesting, though, is the cultural meaning of the Moulin Rouge. It is, both in reality and in the film, a venue of popular culture. Yet Satine seeks to move beyond her status as an object of male desire to become a legitimate actress, and Zidler, the proprietor of the Moulin Rouge, wants that to happen at his theater. These characters, and by extension the place they inhabit, thus represent a crossing—or at least an attempted crossing—of the line between popular entertainment and artistic endeavor. The same might be said for Luhrmann's film. It is undeniably a product of popular culture, but Luhrmann is not one to see that as something entirely separate from art. He recognizes that "popular culture today becomes classical culture tomorrow," pointing to Shakespeare and Puccini as obvious examples.9 The diversity of musical and theatrical sources from which he borrows in Moulin Rouge only reinforces this ideology. Whether Luhrmann's body of work will become classical remains to be seen, but his allusions to this artistic boundary- crossing in the film demonstrates yet another manifestation of postmodernism, one that can help us better understand the piece. As M. Keith Booker writes, "the postmodern questioning of traditional standards of aesthetic judgment leads to a general mode of playfulness and satire in which postmodernist art, often resorting to campy self-parody, seems to have difficulty taking itself seriously."10 Such is certainly the case for Moulin Rouge.

Given the complexity of musical meaning in Moulin Rouge, Baz Luhrmann's use of music, and in particular his use of musical quotation, merits more detailed consideration than it has heretofore been given. A better understanding of how he uses music, both literally and figuratively, provides us with a more comprehensive view of the film and its relationship to both postmodernism and the Hollywood musical. What follows is therefore an examination of six musical quotations in the film. Though hardly an exhaustive treatment of the film's score, these examples collectively demonstrate the various ways in which Luhrmann treats the material he borrows. They exemplify his attention to detail and his use of every creative tool available.

"The Sound of Music"

Upon moving to Paris, the aspiring writer Christian quickly becomes acquainted with a Bohemian theatrical troupe when one of the members, a narcoleptic Argentinean, falls through his ceiling from the apartment above. The group, which also includes fictionalized versions of painter Toulouse-Lautrec and composer Erik Satie, is rehearsing a play, but they cannot agree on the lyrics. Audrey complains to Satie that the music is drowning out his words while the others argue about the words themselves. Christian, who has temporarily stepped into the role of the Swiss goat herder while the Argentinean sleeps, stands atop a prop ladder listening and then interrupts the argument by singing his suggestion—"The hills are alive with the sound of music." Garnering a positive response from everyone except Audrey, Christian continues with another lyric—"with songs they have sung for a thousand years"—and the group expresses their amazement at his gift for This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2532 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms words. Ultimately, the Bohemians invite him to write the script for their new musical production, Spectacular, Spectacular. Significantly, this opportunity enables him to meet Satine, the courtesan and aspiring actress of the Moulin Rouge, who is to be the show's leading lady.

Luhrmann borrows the melody and lyrics of "The Sound of Music" without alteration. Anyone familiar with The Sound of Music will also appreciate the humor added by the retention of certain details of the film, from the alpine setting of the Bohemians' play to Toulouse-Lautrec's nun costume. Luhrmann carefully reorchestrates the accompaniment, however. There is no lush orchestra that swells just before Christian sings the line. Indeed, before he makes his suggestion, the Bohemians argue about the lyric without any musical underscoring, and they speak rather than sing their ideas. Christian even tries to interject his lyric as spoken word, but he cannot get the attention of his new friends. When he sings the line, however, the bickering stops. His voice, accompanied by a full orchestra, suspends the action. Music can and often does redirect a film scene simply by virtue of the contrast it offers to spoken dialogue. In this particular case, however, the use of music is especially meaningful. Christian's ability to sing the lyric to the melody immediately identifies it as musical and thereby differentiates it from all the spoken suggestions offered beforehand. As such, even before Satie acknowledges that the lyric "fits perfectly" with his music, Luhrmann has conveyed the same message with his scoring of the scene as a whole.

This clever use of accompaniment enhances what Luhrmann draws from the act of musical quotation itself. He specifically depicts Christian as author—rather than performer—of this familiar lyric and melody, and his use of a widely recognizable tune ironically makes this characterization more believable. Had Luhrmann attempted to express Christian's creativity with a newly composed lyric and melody, the Bohemians' overwhelming response to it could easily have seemed contrived, having the potential to be read by audiences as an assertion that Luhrmann and his musical staff— rather than Christian—are masters of music and lyrics. With Christian singing one of the best-known excerpts of the Broadway repertoire, however, he appears as the acknowledged master of theatrical song—in this case, as Oscar Hammerstein.

Luhrmann essentially appropriates "The Sound of Music" on Christian's behalf. He uses this preexisting material in order to make his character credible as a creative talent and to establish his singing voice as a symbol of that talent. Though the effectiveness of borrowing the lyric and melody depends upon the audience's familiarity with its original performance, Luhrmann has nevertheless reidentified it as belonging to his leading man.

"Smells Like Teen Spirit"

In his new role as poet of the Bohemians, Christian is scheduled to meet with Satine and convince her that their play should be the one she chooses for the Moulin Rouge. Beforehand, he and the Bohemians are entertained by club owner Harold Zidler and a group of can-can dancers known as his "Diamond Dogs"—an allusion to the use of music by David Bowie. Lest anyone should misunderstand the true nature of their profession, the women introduce themselves with the well-known lyric of "Lady Marmalade"—"Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?" The gentlemen patrons respond to the dancers with an equally familiar lyric, but one that carries with it much more complex associations for the scene. They sing "Here we are now, entertain us" from Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

Notably, Luhrmann retains the grunge sound of the Nirvana song, complete with dissonant rock timbres and harmonies. As such, the quotation stands out significantly from what is largely a popular and theatrical sounding score. This musical contrast is not coincidental, for it points to a lyrical one; though Luhrmann quotes the lyric—and the music— exactly, the lyric's meaning in the film is precisely the opposite of its meaning in the original song.

Kurt Cobain's lyrics are anything but literal in their meaning, including and perhaps especially the line "Here we are now, entertain us." Given his well-known distaste for commercialism, it is not difficult to imagine this phrase as a mockery of what he saw as the audience for American popular music, an audience whose collective taste reflects the power of marketing more than the power of music and whose desire to be entertained generally exceeds their desire to be informed. Even so, the "us" is not readily identified. Indeed, its ambiguity may suggest rebellion more strongly than a more obvious attack; social criticism notwithstanding, Cobain's nonsensical words make a musical statement against the normative clarity of popular song lyrics. As Anthony DeCurtis wrote in an article for Rolling Stone in 1994, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is "a political song that never mentions politics, an anthem whose lyrics can't be understood, a hugely popular hit that denounces commercialism, a collective shout of alienation," and "an immensely satisfying statement about the inability to be satisfied."11

Luhrmann's interpretation of Cobain's lyric in such a literal manner thus creates one of the most daring quotations in the entire film. He endows the line with a meaning that is not only unambiguous but entirely mundane. When the "us" becomes a group of Parisian gentlemen waiting impatiently for their favorite performer, the phrase "Here we are now, entertain us" becomes an ordinary declarative sentence rather than a rock band's attempt to obscure the role of language in music and to question both musical and social authority. This simplification mocks the complexity of the original, to be sure, but the parody runs even deeper. The group of men who sings the lyric is precisely the kind of mass audience to This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2533 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms which Cobain seems to refer. By evoking this common interpretation of the Nirvana anthem, Luhrmann thus touches on both the ambiguity of the original lyric and what may well be its most likely meaning. Moreover, it parodies the most problematic contradiction of the song—its overwhelming popularity with a broad audience.

Beyond the humor it generates, this quotation also characterizes the Moulin Rouge and the individuals who represent it, especially Harold Zidler and Satine. It marks the venue as a place entrenched in popular culture, somewhere patrons want to be entertained rather than educated. The use of grunge music even suggests the cultural dirtiness of the place; it is not mainstream popular culture but part of the seedy, dark underworld. Like Nirvana, however, the Moulin Rouge is not entirely comfortable with its identity. Both Zidler and Satine want to turn the club into a legitimate theater, surpassing the artistic, moral, and philosophical standards of popular culture. To be sure, this goal differs from the social and musical rebellion of Kurt Cobain, but Luhrmann nevertheless evokes the fundamental desire to escape the confines of the popular with his quotation and parody of "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

As with "The Sound of Music," Luhrmann here chooses to alter only the contextual, leaving the musical and lyrical content of his quotation essentially intact. This decision is remarkably poignant here, for it is in retaining the original sound and flavor of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" that Luhrmann is able to endow the quotation with the meaning he desires. He needed a clear and recognizable statement of the original in order to create his contradiction. He needed Nirvana's voice to be heard in order to make his own message about the Moulin Rouge shine through their words and music.

"Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend"

"Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" marks Satine's first appearance in the film and her first performance of the evening for patrons of the Moulin Rouge. The song dates from 1949, when Carol Channing introduced it to Broadway audiences as Lorelei Lee in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Just four years later in 1953, Marilyn Monroe performed the same role on film, and her rendition of "Diamonds" has since become iconic. It is a fitting vehicle to introduce Satine, for she is similar to Lorelei Lee. She is also a beautiful entertainer who relies on her sexuality to manipulate men both on and off stage. She is not, however, a woman who seeks her material wealth in the form of a husband, nor is she a performer who makes her living on the legitimate stage. As such, a largely unaltered quotation—such as those Luhrmann used in the two previous examples discussed here—is not appropriate; it would only suggest similarity between the two women and not their differences. Luhrmann therefore acknowledges the shared traits of his heroine and the song's original protagonist but also identifies the key characteristics that distinguish them through careful alterations to the staging, costuming, musical content, and lyrics of what his audiences would undoubtedly identify as the original version of the song—that of Marilyn Monroe.

In Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Lorelei Lee performs "Diamonds" on stage, as a show-within-the-show production number. She could just as easily have performed it within the context of the drama, however, for the lyrics represent her offstage values as much as her onstage persona. This is not true for Satine; for her, the number is entirely production. As she declares near the conclusion of the song, she aspires not to great fortune but to be, in her words, "a real actress." Luhrmann's use of familiar material is therefore dramatically symbolic in itself: it automatically reinforces that Satine is not performing her own identity for the patrons of the Moulin Rouge. It is also meaningful, however, that the character she assumes enjoys the career she would choose if she could. Lorelei Lee is what she would describe as a real actress—an entertainer who is not a prostitute.

Luhrmann communicates these differences between Satine and Lorelei by distinguishing his rendition from that of Marilyn Monroe. Monroe appears on the nightclub stage with a group of male dancers, and it is only them with whom she interacts. Satine, however, interacts directly with numerous gentlemen at the Moulin Rouge, only a few of whom are employed as performers there. Her engagement with the audience in this manner points to the fact that Satine is not yet, as she desires to be, a legitimate actress. She is instead a courtesan, a woman whose sexual engagement with her patrons extends far beyond playful gestures and suggestions made on stage. She even straddles her legs over the waist one of the men who is lying on the floor in the audience. Nothing so blatantly sexual occurs in Monroe's performance; indeed, materialism is far more apparent in her performance than is sexual desire.

This choreography is complemented by Luhrmann's alterations to the original lyrics. Satine straddles her patron while singing an interpolated lyric and melody from Madonna's "Material Girl"—"We are living in a material world and I am a material girl." Luhrmann's incorporation of the popular hit is hardly surprising given Madonna's well-known pastiche of Marilyn Monroe in her music video. It is nevertheless significant that he chose to coordinate this lyric with this bit of staging. In their new context, these words represent not the sexual politics of finding a wealthy husband but the seedy exchange of sex for money. Luhrmann extends this trope by incorporating additional, more explicit lyrics. As Lorelei, Monroe declares in practical fashion that affection cannot "help you at the automat." As Satine, Nicole Kidman suggests instead that it cannot help you "feed your pussycat." Even Satine's costume defines her as a prostitute. Diamonds cover her entire body, and she supplements her costume with a heart-shaped codpiece for the conclusion of the number. In appearance alone, then, she resists any and all subtlety. In contrast to Monroe, diamonds are not an adornment for the sensual areas of the female body but a demonstration of her monetary value at the Moulin Rouge. She is, in the most This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2534 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms troubling sense, the venue's "sparkling diamond."

Luhrmann distinguishes Satine's performance of "Diamonds" from that of Monroe's Lorelei in one more key way. He does this not to characterize his heroine further but to foreshadow her demise. Satine sings the opening lyric more slowly and deliberately than does Monroe's Lorelei, describing in a foreboding voice how the French are glad "to die for love" and how they "delight in fighting duels." She sings without accompaniment, in free rhythm, and surrounded by darkness; she appears suspended from the ceiling on a swing while the theater goes black. Originally comical, these words now musically and contextually allude to the impending battle for Satine between Christian and the Duke, as well as to her own death. The song quickly proceeds into a flashy, fleshy production number, but it eventually returns to a gloomy vision of the future when Satine faints and falls from her swing before singing her last note.

Luhrmann clearly seeks both to compare Satine to, and to distinguish her from, Lorelei Lee, a task he accomplishes through careful reconstruction of familiar material. He does this remarkably well, for Satine's performance is familiar yet distinctive, both musically and dramatically. His alterations are small but significant, enabling viewers to recognize both the original content and the new meaning Luhrmann wishes to convey with it. His version of "Diamonds" is therefore unique, specially created for his leading lady.

"Your Song"

Luhrmann's incorporation of 's "Your Song" begins not as a musical quotation but as a lyrical one. Christian begins performing the lyrics for Satine as spoken word, an example of the poetry he could provide for a new stage production at the Moulin Rouge. Satine, however, initially sees his performance as a bizarre sexual game. Not until Christian begins singing the lyrics does she view him as a creative talent. As was true for the Bohemians, she is instantly mesmerized by his ability to set words to music. The words engage her differently when they are rendered in musical form. Once again, music functions as a symbol of Christian's creative gift.

To be sure, the words of "Your Song" are important. Without any alteration, they represent Christian as he has already been defined—a man whose creative talents far surpass his material wealth and who is more likely than most to offer the gift of song to the woman he loves. Moreover, their romantic message accounts for Satine's declaration of love at the conclusion of the song. It is readily apparent that Christian's original words still linger in her mind when she hears his subsequent quotations from other well-known love songs; the medley concludes with her performance of a line from "Your Song." Luhrmann nevertheless relies heavily on music to enhance the dramatic effectiveness of the words. When Christian first bursts into song, for example, he immediately gains confidence. He is nervous and flustered as a speaker, but words flow comfortably when he sings. Music is thus not only the symbol of his creativity but also the force that guides his actions. It enables him to communicate more effectively and even to understand his own thoughts and feelings with greater clarity. When speaking, he is largely focused on demonstrating his talent. He rejects Satine's obvious sexual overtures and gives little indication that he might feel anything other than mild physical attraction. When he sings, however, he comes to realize that his words may very well stem from affection. He becomes as taken with Satine as she is with him, and he becomes aware of this through musical expression.

Notably, Christian begins singing without accompaniment, as though he is truly singing spontaneously in the manner of a nonmusical film scene. He is then joined by a solo piano performing the figurations made famous in Elton John's recording. Because the piano is physically absent in the scene, this textural change transforms Christian's opening lines from a realistic scene into a musical fantasy. Luhrmann makes the most of this transition; he fills out the accompaniment with choir and orchestra and shows Christian and Satine dancing in the clouds while Placido Domingo sings as the voice of the man in the moon. This fantasy only proclaims the extent to which music has transformed the scene.

It is significant that "Your Song" is not heavily coded with cultural symbolism or a particular performance context. As such, Luhrmann is easily able to draw on the inherent meaning of its lyrics and the eloquent simplicity of its music without evoking much more. Indeed, unlike each of the other borrowings presented thus far, he undoubtedly chose "Your Song" not because its familiarity would lend special dramatic meaning to the scene but because its message is simply as well suited to the moment as any new composition might be. Moreover, the inherent flexibility of the material—including lyrics that can be meaningfully extracted from their melody and an accompaniment that can withstand reorchestration—has enabled Luhrmann to establish recurring dramatic themes in the film's score, including a contrast between speech and song and the dramatic use of musical accompaniment. Therefore, even though the song is altered less than many of Luhrmann's other borrowings, it is equally integrated into the score. It has become Christian and Satine's song.

"Like a Virgin"

"Like a Virgin" provides a moment of comic relief at an otherwise dramatic juncture in the film. Satine's illness has left her unable to meet with either Christian or the Duke, both of whom are expecting her. Jealousy consumes the two men, each suspecting that she has chosen to spend the night with the other. Harold Zidler must find an explanation for the Duke, This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2535 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms and he concocts a story that she has gone to confession so that she might feel "like a virgin" for their first night together. The absurdity of this excuse is made manifest through Luhrmann's over-the-top staging of the number. A chorus of male dancers, for example, serves no other purpose but to symbolize the romantic fantasyland of the Hollywood musical, one of few settings in which Zidler's tale could appear even remotely credible. Though metaphorical even in Madonna's version, the notion that a woman of considerable sexual experience can renew herself in any way is portrayed here as ridiculous— as unrealistic as a dinner party that turns into a full-scale song-and-dance routine. To make this point abundantly clear, Zidler parodies Madonna—both her song and her chosen stage name—by wrapping a lace-trimmed tablecloth around his head in a manner that suggests the Virgin Mary.

Notably, though, this mockery is ultimately directed toward the Duke. Although Zidler assumes the guise of a woman, it is the Duke who appears emasculated and insecure. He believes Zidler largely because it boosts his fragile ego. The idea that Satine wants to renew herself for his sake is so irresistible that he cannot help but believe it. Even if Zidler had known that Satine was actually ill rather than with Christian, such an excuse would not have provided the Duke with such a self-satisfying scenario. It is also worth noting that the Duke performs very little in the number. When he does sing or dance, it is only because he has been swept into it. Luhrmann has already established the Duke as an essentially nonmusical character, a clear contrast to Christian the creative genius. Here we see this reaffirmed, for the only musical number about the Duke is one that is performed almost entirely by others.

Luhrmann's ability to mock one of his characters with borrowed music demonstrates yet another facet of his approach to quotation, and one that is especially noteworthy. Parodies of original songs and their singers abound in musical theater and film, but rarely does one encounter such a device effectively employed within an alternative dramatic context. Luhrmann accomplishes this by generating layers of parody in which multiple targets emerge; the Broadway song-and-dance number, for example, is mocked as much as is Madonna. This process facilitates the integration of the parody into the scene and the scene into the parody, enabling Luhrmann to redirect his arrows toward the Duke. He is able to use the parody for his purpose, which is, first and foremost, to characterize his villain as a buffoon.

"El Tango de Roxanne"

Despite his initial acceptance of Zidler's story about Satine, the Duke is still consumed by jealousy. The same is true for Christian, who is left without explanation for her absence from his bed that same night. A quotation from the Police's "Roxanne" is therefore entirely fitting for the climax of the film: the protagonist is a man in love with a prostitute who is overcome with suspicion and distrust, a situation shared by both Christian and the Duke. Yet Luhrmann makes his choice even more dramatically appropriate by staging the song as a tango, a dance that has long been associated not only with physical passion but also, unfortunately, with prostitution. Indeed, the narcoleptic Argentinean begins the number with his account of a dance "from the brothels of Buenos Aires" that reveals the ill-fated nature of men who fall in love with women who sell themselves. Tango underscoring begins as he speaks and continues as he starts to dance with one of the Moulin Rouge courtesans. This underscoring remains when he sings the opening melody and lyric of "Roxanne," which translates surprisingly well to such a different musical flavor than its original synthesized sound. Others soon join in the dancing, and the number becomes a full-scale production.

As he has done throughout the film, Christian proclaims his reaction musically. He sings a newly composed countermelody as he walks amidst the dancers, describing his own feelings for Satine. Notably, he alludes not only to love but to distrust and uncertainty. He eventually moves outside the Moulin Rouge, at which point he can see Satine in the tower: she has been having dinner with the Duke, as shown via brief clips during the dance number. Satine sees him, too, and she restores his faith by singing the title lyrics of "Come What May," one of the few entirely new musical selections in the film and one that was supposedly written by Christian as a secret way for he and Satine to express their feelings for each other. Christian's confidence in the power of love is momentarily restored, but things quickly turn ugly. The Duke sees that Satine is singing to Christian below and, understanding that she will never truly be his and his alone, he attempts to rape her. Back inside the Moulin Rouge, the tango dancers depict the rape scene through more aggressive movement. Near the conclusion, the female dancer who began the number with the Argentinean is passed roughly from man to man only to be thrown to the floor violently. Luhrmann flashes back and forth between the dance and the rape, also showing Christian in a gut-wrenching scream at the thought of what is happening to his beloved Satine. Finally, one of the male dancers of the Moulin Rouge intervenes to save Satine, and the choreographic representation of her rape comes to a halt.

"Roxanne" is one of the most transformed musical quotations in the film, largely because Luhrmann is limited in what he can draw from the song itself. Its lyrics are the only element that can contribute to his scene. Nothing about its original performers or their recording is relevant; indeed, the song's heavily synthesized pop timbres do nothing but distance it from the context of the film, and such contrast would not be dramatically useful as in the case of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit." This no doubt accounts for Luhrmann's reorchestration of the song, and his evocation of the tango is an especially significant choice, one that blends physicality, musicality, and theatricality together.12 Christian's countermelody and lyrics are also dramatically relevant, for they reinforce his creative talent. Even though Christian's musical ability is not essential to the dramatic action at this precise moment, Luhrmann's allusion to it demonstrates This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2536 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms continuity of characterization. Most interestingly, though, is Luhrmann's filming. Nearly every other musical number in the film is situated either within the story, as dialogue or production number, or outside the story, as narrative. The symbolic nature of "El Tango de Roxanne" places it somewhere between the story and the narrative, however. The song begins diegetically but does not remain there. Indeed, with such frequent shifts between the dance scene and the tower scene, between actual events and metaphorical ones, the number seems simultaneously both real and imagined. It is therefore truly distinctive, not only from its original source but also from the other quotations in the film. Such individuality only heightens the climactic nature of the moment in which it appears and, in turn, speaks to Luhrmann's facility with preexisting material.

Music & Moulin Rouge

Music functions at every level in Moulin Rouge, from the sound of pitches and timbres to the meaning of lyrics and contextual references. Such treatment is undoubtedly an outgrowth of Luhrmann's attention to detail, something for which he is both admired and despised. The result is a rich musical film full of ideas. It is a veritable maze of quotations and allusions that, while easily recognizable, are also complex in their dramatic significance. It is at once a celebration of popular culture and a piece that begs its viewers to think critically about that culture. I would argue that, whether it proves to be the next generation's classical culture or not, Moulin Rouge does succeed in crossing the boundary between art and popular culture in a distinctly postmodern manner. It is playful yet powerful, ridiculous yet real.

Craig Pearce, one of Luhrmann's collaborators, has offered a description of the film that poignantly situates it in this cultural netherworld: "Moulin Rouge wears its heart on its sleeve, but it hides its intellectual credentials. More thought went into Moulin Rouge than a lot of so-called European art-house films that critics might love. They [those films] wear intellectual and artistic credentials on their sleeves and bury their heart."13 This characterization of Moulin Rouge epitomizes what the film represents to its creators and to many of those who admire it. Like the traditional Hollywood musical, it is unashamedly emotional, spectacular, and fun. Beneath this, however, lies a postmodern treatment of popular culture that lends depth and artistry to the piece. If it is not a postmodern Hollywood musical, then it is at least indebted to both postmodernism and the film musical and is important to the history of each.

Endnotes

1 Fredric Jameson is widely recognized for his discussions of pastiche as a hallmark of postmodernism, especially when used in lieu of the more comical parody. Many use Jameson's definition as the foundation of their own. See, for example, Booker, Postmodern Hollywood.

2 Leve, Kander and Ebb, 98.

3 Jameson has described postmodernism as the "end of individualism." See "Postmodernism and Consumer Society," 111–25.

4 Kubernik, Hollywood Shack Job, 227–28.

5 Rodman, "Popular Song as Leitmotif," 121.

6 Kubernik, Hollywood Shack Job, 228.

7 Tyrell and Dudrah, "Music in the Bollywood Film," 195–97.

8 The film's creators have openly discussed their reliance on the Orpheus myth. See, for example, Muir, Singing a New Tune, 169–70.

9 Kubernik, Hollywood Shack Job, 229.

10 Booker, Postmodern Hollywood, xvi.

11 Rolling Stone, 2 June 1994; reprinted in DeCurtis, Rocking My Life Away.

12 Luhrmann is building on attributes of the original "Roxanne" in his evocation of the tango. In his memoir, Sting even identifies the song as a "hybrid tango," suggesting that the emphasis on the second beat of each bar gives it an "Argentinian gait" (see Sting, Broken Music: A Memoir, 385).

This content downloaded from 146.57.3.2537 on Sun, 21 Oct 2018 20:29:40 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 13 Muir, Singing a New Tune, 177.

References

Booker, M. Keith. Postmodern Hollywood. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2007.

DeCurtis, Anthony. Rocking My Life Away: Music and Other Matters. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998.

Jameson, Fredric. "Postmodernism and Consumer Society." In The Anti-Aesthetic: Essays on Postmodern Culture. Ed. Hal Foster, 111–125. Port Townsend, WA: Bay Press, 1983.

Kubernik, Harvey. Hollywood Shack Job: Rock Music in Film and On You Screen. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2006.

Leve, James. Kander and Ebb. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009.

Muir, John Kenneth. Singing a New Tune: The Rebirth of the Modern Film Musical, from "" to "De-Lovely" and Beyond. New York: Applause, 2005.

Rodman, Ronald. "The Popular Song as Leitmotif in 1990s Film." In Changing Tunes: The Use of Pre-existing Music in Film. Ed. Phil Powrie and Robynn Stilwell, 119–136. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2006.

Sting. Broken Music: A Memoir. New York: Dell, 2003.

Tyrell, Heather, and Rajinder Dudrah. "Music in the Bollywood Film." In Film's Musical Moments. Ed. Ian Conrich and Estella Tincknell, 195–208. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006.

Filmography

Hawkes, Howard, dir. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Twentieth Century Fox, 1953.

Lambert, Mary, dir. Music Video of "Material Girl." Ren-Mar Studios, 1985.

Luhrmann, Baz, dir. Moulin Rouge. Twentieth Century Fox, 2001.

Wise, Robert, dir. The Sound of Music. Twentieth Century Fox, 1965.

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