Like most films where the art and cinematography departments shine the screenplay/story shop is kind of, well, shopworn. Anthony Veiler's and John Huston's dialogue tends to be on the nose ("I drink to hide my loneliness, ugliness, and the pain in my legs") and between the rousing opening at the eponymous Paris nightclub and the poignant ending, where a dying artist envisions said nightclub, Veiler and Huston's story and Huston's directorial pacing sag quite a bit with, basically, a tale of two rather doleful, pallid love affairs. And speaking of boringly doleful one wearies of the twenty four seven pity party that constitutes Jose Ferrer's acclaimed performance. Give it a generous C plus for Oswald Morris' evocative camera and art directors Paul Sheriff and Marcel Vertes' ability to make us not notice or care that most of it is filmed at a studio or on a back lot. And then watch Minnelli's "Lust For Life" to see how it all should have been done.
Review of Moulin Rouge
