Smile Stays On
A series of one-shots from the characters in Moulin Rouge!. Note: They are
not in order and it is highly unlikely that they'll make any kind of chronological sense. However, I will provide you with full details of which
part of the movie they're taken from. I think most will be from the end
when it's all angst, but we'll just have to see...
Christian's feelings during and immediately before 'Roxanne'...Chapter 23 on the DVD, I believe...
1: Christian
'More Than I Can Stand'
The Moulin Rouge, under construction, is full yet silent. Gone are the days when the singers would dance to flashing lights and riotous crowds. Now, everything is quiet, and those who fill the vast hall are not whore-hungry punters but the cast and crew.
I sit, muffled in a trench coat and scarf, in a corner, thinking only of Satine, my beloved Satine, at the gothic tower with the evil Duke...
Someone hands me a virulent-looking drink, a potent and cloudy mixture of God-knows-what. I drink it back in one, and wince as it blazes a fiery trail to my stomach. It's probably lethal, but I don't care. It never hurt Toulouse, did it? Look at him there, happy as always, if his drunken cheer is subdued slightly tonight. I stare over at the rows of silent Bohemians, the Children of the Revolution. I have never seen them so quiet. The atmosphere is not just subdued, it is funereal. Gone are the voices raised in lusty song; gone are the impromptu dances and giggling kisses; gone is any type of frivolity, to be replaced by graveness, ashen faces...and this terrible silence.
It hangs in the air like a sentient cloud, hovering, waiting, a smothering blanket trying to murder us all.
"Don't worry, Shakespeare!" Deep in my melancholy thoughts, I did not notice Nini appear. She clambers onto my lap. I glare, but am too apathetic to attempt to do anything else. "You'll get your ending!" Her common accent jars, particularly after Satine's flowing speech. Satine...I feel sick as I remember why she has gone to the gothic tower. My fault. All my fault. If it weren't for me, she would not have been...have to be...I close my eyes to block out the truth, but cannot close my ears. Nini speaks again. "Once the Duke gets his. End. In."
I lose all control and push her off me. I don't care that she's a woman, I don't care that she's a whore, I don't care that only weeks ago I wanted her...Now I just want to hurt her. I reach to hit her, but we've been split up. The Argentinean grabs her and strokes her hair, calming...and two more Bohemians reach for me, but I'm still trying to hit her, to hurt her, to make her feel the pain I am feeling, the pain Satine is feeling...Satine. It is more the thought of her that stills me, and I allow myself to be restrained.
"You keep your hands off me!" Nini says with the twisted dignity of a streetwalker. From Satine that dignity is natural, almost instinctive...but Nini just sounds all the more common, all the less admirable.
Calming her still, (how can he bear to touch her, to stroke that scrawny arm?), the Argentinean turns to me. "Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself." He speaks it quietly. "It always ends bad!" He shouts the last word, so it echoes in the dusty silence. I want to shout, to punch him, to kill him, and to throttle the life from her bony throat...but I stay silent. His gritty voice has that power over me, and over the rest of the Bohemians.
The spell is broken as he stops talking. I look around, suddenly realising how many people are staring at me, and blush, embarrassed. The Argentinean continues to pace, up and down the empty stretch of dancefloor, where girls in long skirts and stockings used to dance the can-can each night for thousand-strong audiences. Tonight it is deserted, strangely sad, except for the Argentinean, pacing, pacing, pacing...
"We have a dance, in the brothels of Buenos Aires!" he says, his shoes tapping on the wooden floor. He nods to Satie, who begins to play the piano, a dark, tormented tune. The violins start to hum. A switch is flicked and a spotlight falls on him, leaving the room darkened.
"It tells the story of a prostitute..." The spotlight falls on Nini at the top of the steps, where Satine has stood. The people laugh and whistle, and she lets out a great bark of laughter and goes to the Argentinean, smiling in her despicable, repulsive way.
"And a man who falls in love with her." He steps forward, and they begin to dance, a beautiful, intricate combination of footwork, moving almost as one.
"First, there is desire! Then, passion!" He grips Nini's outstretched hand. Other dancers, men, approach. Nini reaches out for them. I can't take my eyes off the dance, though the tears are welling up as I think of Satine.
"Then, suspicion, jealousy, anger, betrayal!" In his granular voice each word is sinful. The drumming of shoes on the floor and the screeching of the violins is all that can be heard over his speech as he continues, "Where love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy – yes, jealousy will drive you mad!"
My eyes are stinging with tears. I'm disgusted, yet I'm captivated. The beauty of the dance and the fire of my fury blend and I can no longer remember anything except Satine, and Nini, and the Duke, and now.
"Roxanne!" His deep voice searches out the word as he pronounces it perfectly, with the inflection of emotion that I have been trying to teach him for weeks. "You don't have to put on that red light. Walk the streets for money, you don't care if it's wrong or if it is right." Dancing with two men, Nini is almost cackling in her witchlike state as the spotlight follows her from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth...
"Roxanne! You don't have to sell your body to the night!" One of the men lifts Nini, high above his head in her black outfit. More dancers join the dance. Now everyone is dancing, but the scene could not be further removed from the playful, light-hearted dances of before. Now the dancers are in a strict order, dancing in silence, each moving at the same instant...they concentrate fiercely. This dance is different. This night is different. I hate it, and turn to go.
Suddenly, as I move to leave, all the emotion and feeling I'm hiding comes spilling out of my mouth. Though I'm repulsed by the dance, I cannot help but sing, more to myself than anyone there. "His eyes upon your face...his hand upon your hand...his lips caress your skin...it's more than I can stand!" I shout the last line, my voice unrecognisable in its hatred.
"Roxanne!" The Argentinean's voice rises above the music again, the orchestra unable to compete with that one voice...
"Why does my heart cry?" There are no tears, now. My voice is still abhorring, but my hatred has composed itself. "Feelings I can't fight! You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me and please, believe me when I say, I love you!"
Everything goes quietly. The humming of the violins is all that continues for some moments. We can sense something, but then, suddenly, the orchestra comes crashing back and the Argentinean sing out the word, "Roxanne!"
I push open the doors and breathe in the fresh night air, grateful to be out. "Why does my heart cry?" I sing still, heading down the deserted, silent road. "Feelings I can't fight! You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me and please, believe me when I say, I love you!"
I stop dead as I reach the gothic tower.
She is there. Satine, my Satine, on the balcony...and the Duke is behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her...I feel sick with jealousy. Oh yes, the jealousy has driven me mad.
I see her lips move, but I can't decipher what she says, and I have no real wish to hear her messages of undying love to the Duke. I know she is acting, but the stabbing dagger through my heart is real enough, as is the evil glint in his eyes.
I turn, my heart broken, and walk back through the streets toward my garret, the garret that not so many weeks ago seemed full of promise and Bohemian hope...now it is just a living place, a place I hate, a place I despise, second only to the Moulin Rouge...
I slam open the door and walk in, still singing – "Please, believe me when I say, I love you!" – but suddenly, the dull ache of my heart becomes an acute blade slicing it in two. I walk over to my window and through it open, the familiar red sails of the Moulin Rouge grey and unlit, and I scream, like a werewolf howling at the moon...all I know is I no longer feel human, something, some part of me, is torn, ripped away – and I can never go back. No, I can never go back.
I hear screams answering my own; they seem to come from all around, the Moulin Rouge, the gothic tower, and I no longer know whether they are real or the product of my fevered mind...
And suddenly, all is silent, and I am too. The night has never seemed darker, the blackness at my window closing around me like a suffocating blanket.
I lean my head against the cool brick of the window frame and feel better.
A series of one-shots from the characters in Moulin Rouge!. Note: They are
not in order and it is highly unlikely that they'll make any kind of chronological sense. However, I will provide you with full details of which
part of the movie they're taken from. I think most will be from the end
when it's all angst, but we'll just have to see...
Christian's feelings during and immediately before 'Roxanne'...Chapter 23 on the DVD, I believe...
1: Christian
'More Than I Can Stand'
The Moulin Rouge, under construction, is full yet silent. Gone are the days when the singers would dance to flashing lights and riotous crowds. Now, everything is quiet, and those who fill the vast hall are not whore-hungry punters but the cast and crew.
I sit, muffled in a trench coat and scarf, in a corner, thinking only of Satine, my beloved Satine, at the gothic tower with the evil Duke...
Someone hands me a virulent-looking drink, a potent and cloudy mixture of God-knows-what. I drink it back in one, and wince as it blazes a fiery trail to my stomach. It's probably lethal, but I don't care. It never hurt Toulouse, did it? Look at him there, happy as always, if his drunken cheer is subdued slightly tonight. I stare over at the rows of silent Bohemians, the Children of the Revolution. I have never seen them so quiet. The atmosphere is not just subdued, it is funereal. Gone are the voices raised in lusty song; gone are the impromptu dances and giggling kisses; gone is any type of frivolity, to be replaced by graveness, ashen faces...and this terrible silence.
It hangs in the air like a sentient cloud, hovering, waiting, a smothering blanket trying to murder us all.
"Don't worry, Shakespeare!" Deep in my melancholy thoughts, I did not notice Nini appear. She clambers onto my lap. I glare, but am too apathetic to attempt to do anything else. "You'll get your ending!" Her common accent jars, particularly after Satine's flowing speech. Satine...I feel sick as I remember why she has gone to the gothic tower. My fault. All my fault. If it weren't for me, she would not have been...have to be...I close my eyes to block out the truth, but cannot close my ears. Nini speaks again. "Once the Duke gets his. End. In."
I lose all control and push her off me. I don't care that she's a woman, I don't care that she's a whore, I don't care that only weeks ago I wanted her...Now I just want to hurt her. I reach to hit her, but we've been split up. The Argentinean grabs her and strokes her hair, calming...and two more Bohemians reach for me, but I'm still trying to hit her, to hurt her, to make her feel the pain I am feeling, the pain Satine is feeling...Satine. It is more the thought of her that stills me, and I allow myself to be restrained.
"You keep your hands off me!" Nini says with the twisted dignity of a streetwalker. From Satine that dignity is natural, almost instinctive...but Nini just sounds all the more common, all the less admirable.
Calming her still, (how can he bear to touch her, to stroke that scrawny arm?), the Argentinean turns to me. "Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself." He speaks it quietly. "It always ends bad!" He shouts the last word, so it echoes in the dusty silence. I want to shout, to punch him, to kill him, and to throttle the life from her bony throat...but I stay silent. His gritty voice has that power over me, and over the rest of the Bohemians.
The spell is broken as he stops talking. I look around, suddenly realising how many people are staring at me, and blush, embarrassed. The Argentinean continues to pace, up and down the empty stretch of dancefloor, where girls in long skirts and stockings used to dance the can-can each night for thousand-strong audiences. Tonight it is deserted, strangely sad, except for the Argentinean, pacing, pacing, pacing...
"We have a dance, in the brothels of Buenos Aires!" he says, his shoes tapping on the wooden floor. He nods to Satie, who begins to play the piano, a dark, tormented tune. The violins start to hum. A switch is flicked and a spotlight falls on him, leaving the room darkened.
"It tells the story of a prostitute..." The spotlight falls on Nini at the top of the steps, where Satine has stood. The people laugh and whistle, and she lets out a great bark of laughter and goes to the Argentinean, smiling in her despicable, repulsive way.
"And a man who falls in love with her." He steps forward, and they begin to dance, a beautiful, intricate combination of footwork, moving almost as one.
"First, there is desire! Then, passion!" He grips Nini's outstretched hand. Other dancers, men, approach. Nini reaches out for them. I can't take my eyes off the dance, though the tears are welling up as I think of Satine.
"Then, suspicion, jealousy, anger, betrayal!" In his granular voice each word is sinful. The drumming of shoes on the floor and the screeching of the violins is all that can be heard over his speech as he continues, "Where love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy – yes, jealousy will drive you mad!"
My eyes are stinging with tears. I'm disgusted, yet I'm captivated. The beauty of the dance and the fire of my fury blend and I can no longer remember anything except Satine, and Nini, and the Duke, and now.
"Roxanne!" His deep voice searches out the word as he pronounces it perfectly, with the inflection of emotion that I have been trying to teach him for weeks. "You don't have to put on that red light. Walk the streets for money, you don't care if it's wrong or if it is right." Dancing with two men, Nini is almost cackling in her witchlike state as the spotlight follows her from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth...
"Roxanne! You don't have to sell your body to the night!" One of the men lifts Nini, high above his head in her black outfit. More dancers join the dance. Now everyone is dancing, but the scene could not be further removed from the playful, light-hearted dances of before. Now the dancers are in a strict order, dancing in silence, each moving at the same instant...they concentrate fiercely. This dance is different. This night is different. I hate it, and turn to go.
Suddenly, as I move to leave, all the emotion and feeling I'm hiding comes spilling out of my mouth. Though I'm repulsed by the dance, I cannot help but sing, more to myself than anyone there. "His eyes upon your face...his hand upon your hand...his lips caress your skin...it's more than I can stand!" I shout the last line, my voice unrecognisable in its hatred.
"Roxanne!" The Argentinean's voice rises above the music again, the orchestra unable to compete with that one voice...
"Why does my heart cry?" There are no tears, now. My voice is still abhorring, but my hatred has composed itself. "Feelings I can't fight! You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me and please, believe me when I say, I love you!"
Everything goes quietly. The humming of the violins is all that continues for some moments. We can sense something, but then, suddenly, the orchestra comes crashing back and the Argentinean sing out the word, "Roxanne!"
I push open the doors and breathe in the fresh night air, grateful to be out. "Why does my heart cry?" I sing still, heading down the deserted, silent road. "Feelings I can't fight! You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me and please, believe me when I say, I love you!"
I stop dead as I reach the gothic tower.
She is there. Satine, my Satine, on the balcony...and the Duke is behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her...I feel sick with jealousy. Oh yes, the jealousy has driven me mad.
I see her lips move, but I can't decipher what she says, and I have no real wish to hear her messages of undying love to the Duke. I know she is acting, but the stabbing dagger through my heart is real enough, as is the evil glint in his eyes.
I turn, my heart broken, and walk back through the streets toward my garret, the garret that not so many weeks ago seemed full of promise and Bohemian hope...now it is just a living place, a place I hate, a place I despise, second only to the Moulin Rouge...
I slam open the door and walk in, still singing – "Please, believe me when I say, I love you!" – but suddenly, the dull ache of my heart becomes an acute blade slicing it in two. I walk over to my window and through it open, the familiar red sails of the Moulin Rouge grey and unlit, and I scream, like a werewolf howling at the moon...all I know is I no longer feel human, something, some part of me, is torn, ripped away – and I can never go back. No, I can never go back.
I hear screams answering my own; they seem to come from all around, the Moulin Rouge, the gothic tower, and I no longer know whether they are real or the product of my fevered mind...
And suddenly, all is silent, and I am too. The night has never seemed darker, the blackness at my window closing around me like a suffocating blanket.
I lean my head against the cool brick of the window frame and feel better.