I’ve always been fond of Moulin Rouge, and its brilliance in walking the line between the sublime and the ridiculous. By extension, I’ve always liked the music; but for some reason only bought the soundtrack a few weeks ago. This afternoon I found myself lying under a table, as happens frequently, disentangling cables (in skirt, pantyhose and heels mind you – dress code matters), and listening to El Tango de Roxanne. I’m sure some people hate it, I’m sure for some people it crosses the line, but it always did break my heart. I lay there for a minute, staring at the underside of the table.
It reminds me of Iris, which no, I won’t actually play that, that would be overkill. You bleed just to know you’re alive. No, instead I’ll follow the soundtrack to the sweet, quiet song – which by the way captures the era beautifully – Rufus Wainwright’s Complainte de la butte.
“princesse de la rue/sois la bienvenue/dans mon coeur brisé”
And I should be good and translate that, but frankly I’m out of poetic sentiment just at the mo.
Moulin Rouge feels just about right today. If only real life distress had such good costumes. Which in turn reminds me of Emilie Autumn’s rather amusing Marry Me.
Too many musical references, I know, but it’s all I’ve got today (yes we have no bananas).