Admittedly, it’s a bit much to handle, an explicit display likely to paint a blush across the cheeks of even the most brazen viewer. If the sensuality doesn’t discomfit you during your first viewing, the disorienting camera work, oddly anachronistic musical score, or seemingly erratic editing probably will. I walked out of the theater in 2001 decidedly confused—not about the film’s premise, but whether I could allow myself to appreciate the piece from an artistic or thematic angle. Moulin Rouge, which loudly proclaims “freedom, beauty, truth, and love” as the hallmarks of a late nineteenth-century, bohemian ideal, will come across to many as simply too adolescent, too sordid (and sinful?) to enjoy. The movie does display plenty of surface beauty—something relatively simple to do given Hollywood’s cadre of beautiful male and female actors—and its characters exhibit a moral freedom (of sorts), but deciding whether it has anything meaningful to say about “truth” and “love” may require a second, even third glance.

Satine’s work as a professional lover—the most desirable and highest paid cancan dancer in Harold Zidler’s “Diamond Dogs” troupe—has learned to eliminate any expectations of real love from the dazed and confused men who stumble into her bedroom. When amateur playwright Christian shows up with stars in his eyes and twinkling toes, Satine is finally swept away by one whose desire reaches past her alluring skin to stroke the soft curves of an untouched heart. The romance Christian offers is more than physical: it is relational and long-term. And his earnest overture is the more profound because of the alternative lying before Satine, a future that mirrors the empty present so closely, uncomfortably detailed in the film’s opening. Satine’s life as temptress may seem alluring at first glance—hordes of wealthy men chant her name when she appears, and a later business deal appears to promise stardom in a play-acting theatre—but from the first tubercular cough through to the inevitable end, Lurhman reveals how horrible this glitzy lifestyle can be. Unlike Pretty Woman (1990), which romanticized prostitution, this movie allows its used, more realistic heroine to suffer physical abuse, near rape, and, ultimately, death from a contagious disease likely passed on by a client.

Love comes too late to save Satine, but the aptly named Christian has succeeded in relating to us his important tale of love’s power, a story that suggestively echoes Christ’s profound love for his creation.

Unfortunately, the church only rarely claims romantic ardor as a symbol, or reflection, of God’s own, wild love for His people. Pastors, theologians, Sunday school teachers, and even Christian counselors habitually downplay romance and passion. Tracey and I have done it ourselves in marriage ministries at our church. It's always very practical advice, going something like this: marriage is first and foremost a matter of commitment; we need to listen carefully to one another’s changing needs and serve sacrificially, to recognize the Lord’s hand in this holy institution and work hard to please Him within it; and we must recommit ourselves to the relationship every day, regardless of how we feel upon waking. Effort, perseverance, effort, dedication. As Madeleine L’Engle exhorts in The Wind in the Door (1973), “Love isn’t how you feel, it’s what you do.”

But what if what you “do” lacks passion? If duty alone drives us, we may lose track of not only our spouse’s heart, but God’s own. The creatures He shaped fall in love instinctively, after all; there must be something valuable about that experience. Perhaps adults should think twice about writing it off as the product of juvenile priorities and hormones, and counselors reconsider dismissing that similar, euphoric period in some marriages as a passing “honeymoon” period never to be regained. As Randall Smith has often reminded me, we are called to pursue our spouses throughout our marriages, not just at their outset. Surely, loving a spouse as Christ loved the church means more than just sticking around till death . . .

What if that kind of wild, obsessive rapture for our lover--as recurring an experience as we allow it to be--is a promise of far greater, divine ecstasy to come? What if in downplaying excitement, desire, and passion in a life-long relationship, we are overlooking a God-given gift meant to prepare us for experiencing His overwhelming presence?