Pragmatic Satine (Nicole Kidman) can’t hide her love for Christian (Ewan McGregor) in Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge.

There is definitely something going on at Moulin Rouge. Or, more accurately, inside the psyche of director Baz Luhrmann, who is no stranger to creating magic in previously wonderful efforts Strictly Ballroom and William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet. Both of those films had so much heart and audacity to them – whether in their cheekiness or postmodernist flair, respectively.

  In Moulin Rouge, Luhrmann is certainly going for something audacious, taking some of the cheekiness of Ballroom and a lot of the postmodernist flair of Romeo + Juliet. But just what exactly is his ultimate goal seems elusive.

  Unless, of course, it’s what Christian (Ewan McGregor), the tortured poet declares to Satine (Nicole Kidman): "The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return." A simple message, indeed. Luhrmann knows this is the poet’s great credo – nothing new here – and so it will be the delivery that will determine whether he succeeds in this Orpheus-style love story.

  And does it succeed? Well … um … it entirely depends on the grading system, you might suppose. Moulin Rouge is filled with brilliant visual imagery, cheeky dialogue, grandiose set and costume design, and rapid-fire musical references to every "silly love song" ever made. In fact, it gets to the point where Luhrmann says "what the hell" and even includes a reference to Paul McCartney’s cornball song.

  Come to think of it, there’s innocence everywhere, played with a slightly ironic wink, in many of the musical numbers, which feature so many song references they feel like micro-medleys. And in those flash-quick moments, Luhrmann perhaps shows where his heart is. Whether introducing "Like a Virgin" in dialogue form, or putting a tango spin on a song title best left unspoken, it’s as if one of cinema’s great stylists is showing how timeless and even shapeless love songs can become.

  These updated nods build to a dizzying climax in "Elephant Love Medley," which references in dialogue and song everything from "Up Where We Belong" to Kiss’ "I Was Made Loving You" as McGregor and Kidman state their cases (love vs. money).

  In McGregor and Kidman, Luhrmann is blessed with two romantic leads who dive into their roles (as a material-girl courtesan and her lover) with glee, and who have surprisingly good singing pipes. McGregor especially excels, both as a lover and singer, taking Elton John’s "Your Song" and damn near making it his own. Kidman isn’t as impressive as a singer, but holds her own, and makes up for it by playing a rather stock character (Sally Bowles, anyone?) in the same way she handled To DieFor: as a farce.

  But still, Luhrmann sometimes does in his own vision with what feels like a hollow core – a risky criticism about a film that is unashamedly stylistic, to be sure. His Moulin Rouge is supposed to evoke all the ideas of the Bohemian movement: truth, beauty, freedom, love. But there’s only patches of some and barely any of others.

  The most criminal thing Luhrmann does is start the film off with what appears to be a tribute to Paris’ most infamous nightclub at the turn of the last century and then provide very little context. Everything is to be assumed as the camera sweeps into the club and we see (in very quick edits) the well-to-do, the Bohemes, and of course the can-can dancers. We even know that artist Toulouse-Lautrec is on the scene (but without, curiously enough, any of his famous Moulin Rouge posters).

  Anything more than that, forget about it. For a movie named MoulinRouge, we get nary a subplot, save for the dealings between club owner Zidler (Jim Broadbent) and the evil Duke (Richard Roxburgh, looking way too much like David Spade). So we barely get to know the dancers or the artists (John Leguizamo plays Lautrec only for laughs, which is a pity).

  That puts the burden of the story almost squarely on our two lovers, which is a pretty heavy burden.

  More strangely that that, with so much flash-cutting going on, we barely have a chance to soak in any of the beautiful images. Which is a pity; Catherine Martin and Angus Strathie’s period costumes, and the set crew of production designer Martin, set decorator Brigitte Broch and art director Ian Gracie are nothing short of stunning. It’s almost like Luhrmann’s just tossing his images out there to show what he can do, but he doesn’t necessarily believe in them. Or maybe he’s just saying beauty is fleeting. Who’s to say?

  As fleeting, dizzy – and ultimately empty – as Moulin Rouge may be in comparison to Luhrmann’s previous works, it’s hard to summarily dismiss it. Audacity buys a lot of credit these days, though it’s more fun to watch him on the follow-through. .