The Moulin Rouge

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Before we left for Paris, Partner got us tickets for the Moulin Rouge. The tickets were hard to get; the show sells out very quickly.

 

 

And now I know why.

 

 

First of all, the neighborhood is exactly what you want it to be: it’s a slightly less grubby version of the old Times Square in Manhattan, or Boston’s late lamented Combat Zone. We arrived early and had a drink in a sidewalk café, and watched a pretty young prostitute pick up a nice young man at the next table. Romance!

 

 

The show was old-fashioned burlesque: big costumes, big musical numbers, and a little dash of Cirque du Soleil. The theme was “Feerie”: Fairyland.  There were two jugglers, one serious, one very funny. There was a big “exotic” musical number that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be Indian, or Chinese, or Japanese. There were little ballads. There was, of course, the Can-can. (We were seated at a table with two very serious Frenchwomen, who only applauded the Can-can.)

 

 

Then there were the breasts.

 

 

They were everywhere, and they gave me quite a turn. I think I must have seen seventy or eighty of them. They were (mostly) very pert. (There were lots of bare behinds too, but they made less of an impression on me, for some reason.)

 

 

There was very little beefcake. There was one very nice number with two handsome acrobatic male dancers, one shirtless and the other in a t-shirt, who did elaborate handstands and carries. I could have done with a little more of that.

 

 

Upon leaving the club, I realized I’d left my American cap behind. To hell with it! I thought. I went to a street vendor and bought a very rakish hipster hat for seven euro.

 

 

So now I take a piece of the Moulin Rouge wherever I go, and my little American cap is floating around Montmartre somewhere.

 

 

Who knows? Maybe that prostitute has it.

 

 

Vive l’amour!

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All the way with Cam Gigandet

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Partner and I saw “Burlesque” a few weeks ago. We though it was pretty entertaining, and I learned a few things:

 

 

• Christina Aguilera can actually act.

• Cher can still sing. Pretty well, too.

• I could watch Stanley Tucci bake muffins, and I'd still give him a standing ovation.

• Cam Gigandet is adorable.

  
  

 

Young Cam plays Christina's love interest. He takes off his clothes several times during the movie, which is all the burlesque I need. There is a slow striptease/seduction scene, beginning with winsome boyish Cam in baggy flannel pajamas and concluding with naked Cam holding a box of snacks in front of his crotch. Tears of joy and longing ran down my face as I watched.

 

Trolling the Net after we got home, I found that Cam was linked with the “Twilight” franchise, but I had no recollection of him there. So I consulted my friend and coworker Apollonia.

 

Apollonia, like me, was born before the Kennedy Administration. She was a perfectly normal person until she discovered Stephanie Meyer. Now – well, if Twilight were a religion, Apollonia would be the Pope. I know for a fact that she owns a life-sized cardboard cutout of Robert Pattinson, which she used to keep in the office. She took it home finally because she was afraid someone would vandalize it. All right, she was afraid I might vandalize it.

 

Anyway, Apollonia drew her breath in sharply when I mentioned Cam Gigandet's name. “James!” she said. “You remember. He's a vampire. A very, very, very bad vampire.”

 

Ah. Now I remember. He's the roguish villain who kidnaps Bella and fights with Robert Pattinson at the end of the first movie. “He was up for the part of Edward,” Apollonia continued, in full search-engine mode, “but naturally they picked Robert Pattinson."

 

“Naturally,” I said.

 

“But,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm, “they offered Cam Gigandet the part of James.”

 

“He would have been cute as Edward,” I said. “He's a little – hmm – beefier than Robert Pattinson.”

 

“Hmm,” Apollonia said, narrowing her eyes. “No. All wrong for the part.”

 

It's unwise to belittle Robert Pattinson in front of Apollonia. She has no sense of humor on the subject. “You're not going to write about this, are you?” she said warningly. “If you do, it'd better not be snarky.”

 

“I promise,” I said.

 

I lied.

 

Cam Gigandet is much cuter than scrawny malnourished milk-white fluffy-haired Robert Pattinson.

 

 

Gotta run to the store to see if I can get a life-sized cardboard Cam Gigandet cutout. Later, kids.

 

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