Moulin Rouge in Paris, France
The home of the cabaret Moulin Rouge is in the heart of Paris' red light district. It isn't clearwhich came first but look above the shady shopfronts and billowing nets from the lap dancingclubs and you can't miss the eighteenth centurywindmill protruding into the skyline. Don’t get too excited though, it‘s nowhere near as huge or as glamorous as the film would let you believe. On the plus side there’s no sign of any cardboard cut out Nicole Kidman.
Think of the worst song you would ever want to listen to whilst trying to woo your partner, yes, Please Release Me sung by Paris’ answer to Sonny and Cher.
Before the show you can enjoy a three-course meal and a bottle of champagne per couple. There are three menus to choose from so you can pick your budget. This intimate venue is well staffed with male waiters and maitre'd's keen to show you into the auditorium and even more keen to get the first course out of the way. A good view from most tables is guaranteed in this half moon theatre. Parisian music, however, is not. Think of the worst song you would ever want to listen to whilst trying to woo your partner, yes, Please Release Me sung by Paris’ answer to Sonny and Cher.
Depending on the company will depend on whether this is your ideal of a romantic night out for two. Even if you've watched the film it isn't likely to prepare you for the sight of perfectly formed breasts on parade, nipples graced in jewels, leather and anything else to match the genre of the set. Not a silicone implant amongst them. These women are finally honed athletes with not a shred of orange peel.
But 'ou est l' can can?' This dance was born from male curiosity and female enterprise. In the nineteenth century Parisians frequenting the Moulin Rouge could expect to see fully clothed housewives kicking their legs in the air in the hope of catching more than a glimpse of their bloomers. Now, one hundred years later it's mostly half naked dancers attracting Europeans and Japanese coach parties.
Tonight though The Can Can did not top the bill. It arrived about mid way through the evening and it was the first and last time you would see these dancers clothed above their midriff; probably making it the most tasteful performance a punter could expect to see along the Montmartre that evening. A final fandango ended with a look into the future; it was pink, neon and accompanied by a bad piece of techno music. Close your eyes and it's easy to imagine a Nicole at the tower; Blackpool rather than the Eiffel.
