Review of Nine (2009) by Sherry M — 09 Jun 2010

Nine's not the harbinger of cinematic apocalypse as most critics seem to call it, but the serendipity of its colossal failure when it's about a film that's a colossal failure is too delicious to ignore. It's an essentially character-driven piece powered by a handful of vignettes, like Chicago in hyperdrive, but unfortunately the work of both the writers and some of the performers causes this fragmented approach to film making to not quite succeed. It seems most appropriate to discuss the film from performer to performer, as that's what Nine lives and mostly dies by.

Perhaps the most shocking disappointment is Daniel Day-Lewis; though his charisma is apparent in bursts such as the press conference, he cannot sing at all and his physicality seems labored. The man's pushing 50, so it's pretty sensational that he can pull off what he does in the first place, but it doesn't keep his gymnastic first number from feeling any less awkward. The nadir of Guido's journey for inspiration comes to us via Kate Hudson, a competent dancer and terrible singer slurring her way through a mindless, bizarrely sexy hymn of praise to Italian cinema. Her subsequent disappearance from the film only goes to highlight the value of her contributions. A similar fate befalls Fergie, though she can actually sing and her number at least benefits Guido's character, subtly explaining the origins of his love for and appreciation of women. Judi Dench's only shining moment is her musical number, where she is allowed to be broad and jubilant and excitable, something I feel like I never see from her. (Disappointingly, the song itself is dull.) In character, she's predictably terse and foresighted, a Dench performance to the last drop. Penelope Cruz's performance is decent but A Call From the Vatican just doesn't buzz like it should; the camera's shameless ogling of her lady parts seems like a cheap substitute for the undersold musical number itself. She was not worthy of an Oscar nomination, if I do say so myself, and I say this as a relatively recent convert to the church of Cruz. Nicole Kidman stands on similar ground, evincing the untouchable movie star persona that Claudia Janssen's part calls for. Everything seems to light up around Guido when she finally splashes into the movie. Unfortunately, her number is dull as dirt, and she's a proficient but totally uninteresting singer. Sophia Loren is in the movie for less than five minutes. And finally, after all this drubbing, the good part. As you've surely heard from everyone who's seen Nine, the MVP is Marion Cotillard, who sings and dances and acts like she could do it in her sleep. Rob Marshall knows it, too - her killer performance of My Husband Makes Movies gets the most focused, flattering editing of anything else in the movie. All the better for us to transfix on her sterling voice and the emotion that she effortlessly suffuses it with. She embarrasses Hudson right out of the movie.

To be fair, I haven't seen 8 1/2 (I KNOW!), so I'm not sure what the magnitude of utter bastardization here is. As an independent work of cinema, it's a whole lot of peaks and valleys. Marshall seems to be a director who has made a lot of promises to a lot of pretty people, some of which worked out better for him than others. The end result of their combined efforts is kind of a hot mess, a movie that is sometimes fun and sometimes touching but that you finish feeling utterly empty and unaffected. Its disposable nature wouldn't be so offensive, were it not for its clear ambitions; Marshall was gunning for more Oscar gold here, but fell sadly short. Like with Chicago, fans of the musical will eat this up, but everyone else probably won't find much to appreciate in it.