REVIEW: "NINE"

NINE
Nine is half the movie you hoped it would be, half the movie you dreaded it would be. What did you want?? To swoon at the beauty of the Italian locations, be blown away by Daniel Day Lewis's latest thespian high-wire act, applaud the twelve musical numbers arranged by the guy who gave you Chicago, and, let's face it, see if all these famous people would A) give competent or better vocal performances or B) bellow and bleat like dying animals. And, in it's glorious first fifty minutes, the film totally delivers. We are introduced to (friggin' deep breath) Guido Contini (Lewis, turning in a nicely shaded, if not earth-shaking performance, sporting a competent tenor) , the inspiration starved director, his costume designer Lilly (Judi Dench, a sassy wonder with a decent alto), his late Mama (Sophia Loren, whose stylish screen presence makes up for her nip-and-tucked facial features and husky singing voice), his mistress, Carla (Penelope Cruz, sexy, with a purring soprano that could hold its own in a piano bar), a whore who haunts his memories (Fergie, who does come-on carnality well, but you already knew that), a flirty American journalist (Kate Hudson, hot as the month of August and a Broadway-worthy belter), and his sweet, wounded wife Luisa (Marion Cotillard, best in show) in a flurry of spangly songs, drool-worthy costumes and witty dialogues. Fellini, who directed 8 1/2, upon which the musical that this film was adapted from is based on (got that?), would be proud. A few special shout-outs are necessary here; Marshall gives the film a fantastic prologue featuring all the leading ladies, devises brilliant jungle-gym choreography for the famous "Guido's Song", imbues Fergie's number with a fiercely erotic flair worthy of Chicago, and then smartly steps back and leaves Cotillard alone onstage to do her thing. Cotillard, whose lack of English-language mastery I bitched about when reviewing Public Enemies , is now not just comfortable with said mode of speech; she is a master, turning in a performance as grabbing and heart-breaking as her Oscar-winning one in La Vie En Rose. But oh snap. We've reached the second half, where the film becomes what you feared; an aimless excuse for a lot of famous people to prance about looking lovely. Nicole Kidman is introduced as an actress, and she looks lost-rightfully so. The movie has re-jiggled the structure of the stage show and original film, and she no longer fits in. But she's there, because that lady who was so hot in Moulin Rouge sells tickets, dammit. Having established all these characters, Marshall doesn't really know what to do with them. They all yell at Lewis alot and look luxurious sitting next to pretty scenery and feel awful but don't sing about it, because there's apparently some unwritten rule that each actress is only allowed one number. Songs are cut-off awkwardly mid-sentence, as if the editor just wanted to get this whole thing over with. Guido's crucial final epiphany, the thing he's supposed to be building towards throughout the past 90 minutes, comes off as murky. A film's message. Murky. Not good. Nine had some similar issues onstage. Perhaps this is the best film that could've been made of what is ultimately a very average stage musical, and I guess it's appropriate for a movie about searching for elusive meaning that I don't know quite what to think. I'm dissappointed and fulfilled all at once. I so thoroughly enjoyed the first half of the film, and found a little to like in the second (Hudson's runway strut, mainly), that I'll leave it at this; it's a movie about a Roman Catholic. So perhaps it's appropriate that it's best enjoyed with the spirit of forgiveness in mind. B-
PS. When you're making a musical called Nine, cutting the musical number "Nine" that fills you in on the movies title is probably not the best idea. Upon my exit, I heard someone say matter-of-factly, "it's the number of girls in the movie, stupid." There are seven. I'm losing my faith in humanity, people.