Moulin Rouge! (Piccadilly Theatre, London)
Verdict: More rouge, please!
Rating: 
Baz Luhrmann's 2001 film starring Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor was perhaps best described as a super-massive sugar rush — a Molotov cocktail of music and dance meant to blow your mind.
The West End stage version of Moulin Rouge, which has finally opened at the third attempt, always had its work cut out living up to that legacy.
It may have been a hit on Broadway, but Alex Timbers's London production, which was repeatedly stymied by Covid over Christmas, needs more crackle.
The story about the fin-de-siècle Parisian nightclub, burns prettily enough, but it doesn't blaze.
With a plot fusing Cabaret, La Boheme and The Rocky Horror Show — plus a soundtrack stitched together with everything from Talking Heads to Rihanna — it's extravagant, but never really daring or reckless.
The West End stage version of Moulin Rouge, which has finally opened at the third attempt, always had its work cut out living up to the film's legacy. Pictured: Liisi LaFontaine as Satine
Nor is the seedy atmosphere of Soho's neighbouring red-light district allowed to stain Derek McLane's stunning set design, which reminded me of the PM's controversially redecorated private rooms at Downing Street.
Imagine Ann Summers lingerie transformed into trompe l'oeil wallpaper.
And a huge blue elephant and neon-lit red windmill (our 'moulin rouge') looming either side of the stage, like ancient statuary in Egypt's Valley of the Kings.
And yet, for all the bombast, the performance that's meant to blast us with beliefs about beauty, truth, freedom and love boils down to a sexed-up panto, with suitably wooden dialogue by John Logan.
As the nightclub's star attraction Satine, Liisi LaFontaine is set up as a Beyonce-style love goddess.
This would be a stretch for anyone; but LaFontaine's performance is driven by costume changes and melodramatic flourishes — including clutching furniture for strength, while belting out Adele- sized agonies.
There's no doubt the girl can sing (despite the consumption allegedly ravaging her character's lungs), and she also keeps up with the double-jointed can-can chorus.
But her helter-skelter, train-wreck passion for her beloved Christian barely flickers.
It may have been a hit on Broadway, but Alex Timbers's London production, which was repeatedly stymied by Covid over Christmas, needs more crackle
As her impoverished inamorato, Jamie Bogyo — a rangy pin-up with flowing curls — looks the part, but feels way too comfortable in the role.
Breezily familiar with the audience, you can see him planning his next move . . . and looking well satisfied by its execution.
Apart from his frame, he may have been cast for his voice which, like
