Drownout France

Low, Low, Low. The Low Point

Last night at the Moulin Rouge. Let me dispense with post hoc commentary and give you the live feed:

Falling Stocks. 05 Aout.

"This sucks. Oh God, this is terrible. What time is it? It's only been one minute? Crap. This sucks. This sucks. I can't believe they just did that. [...edited for length...]"

The ultimate Parisian tourist trap. What, in fact, is the Moulin Rouge?

As the film would tell you: to the north of Paris there was a village called Montmartre, a bit of a laisser-faire district for the unusual characters. More or less, a red-light district. And so it is still, though Paris has grown to encompass this part of town (and McDonald's has installed itself there).

The Moulin Rouge ("red windmill", named after the way the girls kick their stockinged-legs in windmill fashion) is perhaps one of the oldest or grandest but surely the most famous.

And now they have a bawdy show there, twice a night with an additional dinner sitting. On average $100/seat.

Bawdy show? Think of the lowest, most miserable, tinny-music, painted-dancer, glitter-and-feather-costume, wooden-choreography splash you saw on your last lame bachelor party in Las Vegas. Except it's 2 hours long. Worst part: as the performers lazily rehearse their parts I could not escape the impression that they were thinking, "Keep on clapping you moron tourists!".

Posted by amol at August 8, 2002 10:17 AM