A/N: A little idea that popped into my head one night. Here before you
will be a collection of vignettes from different character's POV during key
musical moments in Moulin Rouge. Some have been excluded for various
reasons.
Part I: Your Song (Satine)
What is wrong with him? Why isn't he responding to my advances? They always do. But not this one. He stands there, looking very uncomfortable and very innocent, staring at me like I'm some wild jungle cat.
Which, I suppose, he has a right to think. I am rolling on the floor wrapped in the blankets, screaming and howling like some seductive tigress. "Oh! Give me more!" I howl, raking my nails through the fur.
He fumbles for his words, face turning redder than the Red Room itself, and then turns his back to me. Staring out upon moon-bathed Paris, he begins to sing.
"My gift is my song!"
Suddenly, as though his voice is a current of electricity, all the lights in my beloved city turn on. The Eiffel Tower is lit up like a thousand stars are laced through it. I stop for a moment, hanging on his words. The strains of his magnificent voice linger on the heated air. "And this one's for you," the young man sings softly, turning to face me. "And you can tell everybody that this is your song."
Oh, my God. Here I am, wrapped up like an Eskimo in my furs, staring like an enraptured child. He must think I'm crazy. But here he is, standing before me, singing his song. "It may be quite simple now that it's done." Am I dreaming? Is this lovely young man singing to me? Satine, the insane courtesan with a penchant for diamonds and champagne?
I stare into his clear blue eyes for a moment, wondering what he's thinking. I can see myself reflected there, and something foreign astounds me. Is this the light of love in his eyes? Does this young Duke love me? Well, I'm used to "love." Men always claim to "love" me.
"I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!"
I think I may have turned to stone. I cannot move; I can only blink. I'm hanging on his every word and my mouth hangs open, awaiting the next glorious notes of his splendid tenor to spill forth into the night. The fur robe drops to the ground in my amazement.
Now, grinning to display even teeth, albeit British teeth, he continues. "Sat on the roof, and I kicked off the moss. Some of these verses, well, they got me quite cross. But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song. It's for people like you that keep it turned on."
For me! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he's written this for me? Christ, now what have I gotten myself into? I need someone to pinch me; where's Nini when one needs her?
His handsome face is alight with happiness when I allow him to take my hands and pull me close. Upon inhaling, I detect smoke, soap, and Absinthe, warm bohemian scents I've come to be used to. "Excuse my forgetting, but these things I do," he sings, making my diamond hard courtesan heart pound against my will. "You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue. And, well, the thing is, what I really mean, is that yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen!"
And now what is happening? In my dazed state, I seem to be floating on air, dancing on cerulean fluffy clouds, showered with glitter. ""You can tell everybody that this is your song! It may be quite simple now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!" Triumphantly he serenades me, whirling me about, sending exquisite feelings from my heart to my brain.
Did someone put absinthe in my punch tonight? Seriously. I know the stars do not sing along with the operatic moon. I know that you cannot fly across the tops of Paris, dance across the sky.
Why are we doing it then, pray tell? Why am I laughing and beaming like a lovestruck schoolgirl, making doe eyes at this singing and dancing duke?
Music and starlight have gone to my head. I think I've gone completely mad.
"You can tell everybody that this is your song! It may be quite simple now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world."
Oh, thank God, we're back inside the elephant. I have an oddly giddy sensation tingling throughout my whole body, a floating, flying feeling. He's got me in his arms, his pretty lips dangerously close to mine. Christ, don't let me . . .
Oh, hell, I've fallen in love already.
Please call the doctor, for I've gone insane.
Do you want to know something very odd? I like it.
Part I: Your Song (Satine)
What is wrong with him? Why isn't he responding to my advances? They always do. But not this one. He stands there, looking very uncomfortable and very innocent, staring at me like I'm some wild jungle cat.
Which, I suppose, he has a right to think. I am rolling on the floor wrapped in the blankets, screaming and howling like some seductive tigress. "Oh! Give me more!" I howl, raking my nails through the fur.
He fumbles for his words, face turning redder than the Red Room itself, and then turns his back to me. Staring out upon moon-bathed Paris, he begins to sing.
"My gift is my song!"
Suddenly, as though his voice is a current of electricity, all the lights in my beloved city turn on. The Eiffel Tower is lit up like a thousand stars are laced through it. I stop for a moment, hanging on his words. The strains of his magnificent voice linger on the heated air. "And this one's for you," the young man sings softly, turning to face me. "And you can tell everybody that this is your song."
Oh, my God. Here I am, wrapped up like an Eskimo in my furs, staring like an enraptured child. He must think I'm crazy. But here he is, standing before me, singing his song. "It may be quite simple now that it's done." Am I dreaming? Is this lovely young man singing to me? Satine, the insane courtesan with a penchant for diamonds and champagne?
I stare into his clear blue eyes for a moment, wondering what he's thinking. I can see myself reflected there, and something foreign astounds me. Is this the light of love in his eyes? Does this young Duke love me? Well, I'm used to "love." Men always claim to "love" me.
"I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!"
I think I may have turned to stone. I cannot move; I can only blink. I'm hanging on his every word and my mouth hangs open, awaiting the next glorious notes of his splendid tenor to spill forth into the night. The fur robe drops to the ground in my amazement.
Now, grinning to display even teeth, albeit British teeth, he continues. "Sat on the roof, and I kicked off the moss. Some of these verses, well, they got me quite cross. But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song. It's for people like you that keep it turned on."
For me! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he's written this for me? Christ, now what have I gotten myself into? I need someone to pinch me; where's Nini when one needs her?
His handsome face is alight with happiness when I allow him to take my hands and pull me close. Upon inhaling, I detect smoke, soap, and Absinthe, warm bohemian scents I've come to be used to. "Excuse my forgetting, but these things I do," he sings, making my diamond hard courtesan heart pound against my will. "You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue. And, well, the thing is, what I really mean, is that yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen!"
And now what is happening? In my dazed state, I seem to be floating on air, dancing on cerulean fluffy clouds, showered with glitter. ""You can tell everybody that this is your song! It may be quite simple now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world!" Triumphantly he serenades me, whirling me about, sending exquisite feelings from my heart to my brain.
Did someone put absinthe in my punch tonight? Seriously. I know the stars do not sing along with the operatic moon. I know that you cannot fly across the tops of Paris, dance across the sky.
Why are we doing it then, pray tell? Why am I laughing and beaming like a lovestruck schoolgirl, making doe eyes at this singing and dancing duke?
Music and starlight have gone to my head. I think I've gone completely mad.
"You can tell everybody that this is your song! It may be quite simple now that it's done. I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world."
Oh, thank God, we're back inside the elephant. I have an oddly giddy sensation tingling throughout my whole body, a floating, flying feeling. He's got me in his arms, his pretty lips dangerously close to mine. Christ, don't let me . . .
Oh, hell, I've fallen in love already.
Please call the doctor, for I've gone insane.
Do you want to know something very odd? I like it.