As we know from having our senses hit by several glasses full of glitter, hyperactive and blinding, Baz Luhrmann’s films don’t speak, they scream. The Sydney-born author practices a cinematic ethos that he and veteran publisher Jill Billcock (who cut his first three films: the “red curtain trilogy”) wisely described as “frame photography.”
Luhrmann is a polarizing director, as everyone and their dog have pointed out. The trick to making sense of Luhrmann is to understand that he doesn’t really consciously manipulate, or even necessarily believe, the subtext. Everything is always on the surface. There are broad and consensual meanings; for example, Romeo + Juliet and her new film Elvis are obviously tragedies. Problems arise when his work cries out for a considered layer of themes and messages, only for viewers to discover that there is always little under the hood.
Luhrmann is at his best when he focuses on musical inspirations and performative elements. His two best films are very good; its two worst are cataclysmically horrible; and the rest are shows that are nothing but intoxicating. Here they are, ranging from lemon to (sorry) Luhrmannastic.
7. Australia (2008)
Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman in Australia. Photography: 20 Century Fox / Sportsphoto / Allstar
Luhrmann’s superhuman ego is imprinted in every frame of this surprisingly sheep-brained epic: a thick, buttery mass of creepy-inducing stereotypes and melodrama, told in a style of an extreme kind of jibbering. visual jabber. Putting the title of the film “Once Upon a Time in Australia” could have given a softer reception and suggested that the director’s tongue was not so far from his cheek. But no, Luhrmann could not be avoided. The film rightly sparked a storm of debate, including a widely read retreat from Germaine Greer showing a review of yours.
Hugh Jackman, with pectorals the size of a refrigerator, stars a driver convinced by station owner Nicole Kidman to move cattle through many miles of treacherous land, in a plot reminiscent of The Overlanders. The film seems to last for an eternity, stepping between the commercial romance of shampoo, the retrograde depictions of the natives as magical mystics, and an endless parade of Hollywood clichés.
6. The Great Gatsby (2013)
Rare is the literary adaptation that makes you think, “I’m sure the director didn’t even read the book.” F Scott Fitzgerald’s brilliant critique of the American dream uses the excess of the jazz era to build a chimera: the illusion of happiness provided by splendor, glamor, and opulence, masking the foundations of broken dreams and the uselessness. In Luhrmann’s hands, the parties organized by the enigmatic Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio) are a purely fabulous and dreamy show: a misinterpretation of the original material.
As usual, Luhrmann literalizes the symbolic meaning; when narrator Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) reflects, “I was him too, looking up and wondering,” the director cuts out a picture of Maguire, looking at Maguire and wondering. This brilliantly crazy picture book approach reduces all human interactions and makes its actors powerless.
5. Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman at the Moulin Rouge !. Photo: Allstar Picture Library Ltd./Alamy
This intensely flashy jukebox musical initially struck me as a huge, horrible alien plant that never stops blooming – I wanted to dive in and kill it from within, like Rick Moranis in Little Shop of Horrors. Later, I approached it, or at least made peace with it. Red Mill! it’s a carnival experience with wild, charming energy, even before Kylie Monogue appears as an absinthe fairy singing “the hills are alive”.
Ewan McGregor’s poet describes the titular nightclub as “a realm of nocturnal pleasures”; Moulin Rouge fans! they can see the film in a similar way. McGregor and star performer Satine (Kidman) fall in love, singing several songs to very subtly and in no way obviously reiterate the point, such as I Was Made For Loving You Baby. Largely lacking in narrative, with an anachronistic splash of styles and genres, with a modus operandi to evoke pure stage spectacle, this is “pure” Luhrmann.
4. Elvis (2022)
Elvis is less of a biopic than a circus act, with an absurd performance by Tom Hanks as the king’s evil manager, Colonel Tom Parker, set between Foghorn Leghorn and a bad Bond. Framing the story through Parker opens an unexpected path to the life of the titular superstar, who is used and abused by his corpulent puppet master in search of the world’s greatest show (and to win a lot of effective).
As usual, Luhrmann literalizes, turning Suspicious Minds into a comment on the nose about the tense relationship between Elvis (played sensationally by Austin Butler) and the colonel.
By taking an unusual route, the director avoids some of the biggest drawbacks of the biopic genre: luckily, there are no silly light bulb moments trying to simplify the creative process. It’s long and exhausting, the film’s energy comes and goes in waves, but when it reaches its peak, Elvis offers an unusually disturbing intensity that will reverberate after the credits.
3. The Get Down (2016)
La Baixa. Photo: courtesy of Netflix / Myles Aronowitz / Netflix
Luhrmann’s two-part Netflix series, themed about disco culture and the rise of hip-hop in New York City in the 1970s, began with a 90-minute episode directed by Luhrmann before passing the baton to other directors. Unlike many of Luhrmann’s joints, The Get Down doesn’t feel rushed or frantic; in fact, it feels almost measured, or at least has a more developed sense of time and place. And yes, literally, Luhrmann strikes again: in an early scene, when a performer raps the phrase “I see the light, it’s right there, in the tunnel,” of course he cuts to a bright light inside a tunnel.
The centerpiece is a disco and dance sequence (with some sweet movements by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II) that sets a large part of the first episode. The human elements shine in a way that they rarely do in Luhrmann’s productions, thanks to a fresh-faced cast that includes Justice Smith as the young poet Zeke and Herizen F Guardiola as the aspiring singer Mylene. You like these people, you want to spend time with them. The story is about dreaming big, making mistakes and growing.
2. Romeo + Juliet (1996)
I recommend watching Shakespeare’s extravagance a̶d̶a̶p̶t̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ by Luhrmann with the subtitles enabled, with the text size enlarged if possible. In this way, The Bard’s words are absorbed into the visual fabric of the film and better compete with its crazy sound. The introductory scenes that display images of rapid fire and show text inserts announcing the cast feel like a trailer for the film itself: one of humanity’s best-known and most beloved condemned romances, reduced to the language of shorthand marketing.
But the broader experience actually fits strangely well, fusing the dense, archaic loquacity of Shakespeare’s writing with Luhrmann’s sensory chutzpah. This tale has even been adapted, but the set design and design of the production feel wonderfully fresh: from the ruined theater on the beach, to the cathedral full of neon blue candles and crucifixes, to the ‘now classic first scene among the titular lovers, capturing each one. the gaze of another through the glass of an aquarium.
1. Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Tara Morice and Paul Mercurio at Strictly Ballroom. Photography: Rank / Allstar
As Orson Welles said, “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.” With its smaller budget, by far, Luhrmann’s debut forced him to stay based on human characterization and performance, directing his actors towards striking cartoon qualities and bringing a lot of movement to the camera. . At one point, a grandmother tells Paul Mercury’s dancer that he knows nothing of rhythm, though the opposite applies to the film itself, beautifully edited by the great Billcock, to an unforgettable ending. where Scott (Mercury) and Fran (Tara Morice) competing in the Pan-Pacific Grand Prix Dance Championship.
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The homemade quality of the film initially makes some aspects feel restless, even a little uncomfortable. But ultimately, this works in their favor, providing an appealing homemade texture that smoother, more expensive films can’t convey. The famous Coca-Cola dance scene on the roof is one of the most beautiful product placements in cinema; the emotions of the moment not only surpass the ad, but make it something brightly beautiful.