REVIEW: Nine (Marshall, 2009)

It's time to play catch-up!


Nine (Marshall, 2009): It is unfortunate that the film adaptation of Nine has the aura of complete critical and box office failure. While very flawed, the film is also very watchable, a refreshingly dramatic musical in an age where musical cinema leans heavily upon the comedic and light. Italian film great Guido Contini (Daniel Day-Lewis, far more capable here than detractors credit) is a director in creative crisis: he has no idea how to craft his ninth feature. A multitude of women from his life inform his tortured process in a parade of Academy Award-winning actresses. And then Kate Hudson and Fergie. 


For those who have seen the stage production or have enjoyed the inspiration for that work, Federico Fellini's masterpiece 8½, this is all very familiar.  Rob Marshall attempts to bridge the stage and the cinema in this version, crafting musical set pieces Contini's massive Cinecittà soundstage. These numbers are a manifestation of Contini's torment and searching. His creative process is revealed as the women of his life take stage, alternating between the sparkling and the somber. Contini ultimately unable to fashion his film despite these muses. Yet over the course of Nine, these encounters form the very film that eludes the filmmaker. In its finale, the director finally calls action on set but the viewer has already seen his completed work in the preceding minutes.


Marshall uses the same stage-as-prespective approach employed in Chicago (2002). The execution is more abrupt and distracting here, with exaggerated cross-cutting between the real and the cerebral that rob most numbers from cohesiveness. The impact of number like "Folies Bergere" (with Judi Dench as Contini's trusted costumer, Lilli), is dampened because Marshall seems unwilling to allow a viewer to experience the visceral without constantly reminders that these moments are, indeed, internal. In a parallel to his lead character, the director of Nine seems to be his own worst enemy.


Yet moments shine throughout and admirably prop up filmmaker missteps. Penelope Cruz, in particular, energizes in her scenes, balancing the melancholy with slinky, sexy allure. But it is Marion Cotillard who holds the film together as Contini's put-upon wife, Luisa. Her scenes ache with heart in a film sometimes too cold and her two musical numbers most successfully bridge the internal and external anguish of Guido through the sympathetic pleas of his wife.