Johnny Simmons

Nine, along with The Lovely Bones and Chéri from the unholy trinity of films from 2009 that I liked much more than the most.

    

I don’t find anything inherently dubious in the fact that I liked all three. However, my unreserved love of Nine makes me occasionally question my objectivity, the film was the one I was most excited to see last year in a way I wonder if I willed myself to like it. I’d seen 8 ½ once and my memory of it was not expansive. (like Alvodomar and Bergman, my knowledge of Fellini and other non-English directors is unfortunately sparse). I anticipated Nine because I’d had the Broadway Recording with the delectable Jane Krakowski on repeat ever since I ever found out that there was someone called Maury Yeston and read the book of the musical. From an adaptation perspective (using the musical and not Fellini’s film as the base) Nine is almost blasphemous. The bulk of the score remains (although key numbers are excised) but the screenplay bear little resemblance to the musical’s book. It is such that Nine (the film) most daringly inventive aspect is also its most exasperating.

It’s difficult to parlay my thoughts on Nine into a succinct or comprehensible review without sounding esoteric, supercilious or confused (hence this post). It’s understandable, Nine was notably panned by the majority or “important” people. Not since Le Divorce have I been so dismayed at the critical response to a film (that includes The Lovely Bones, Running with Scissors and Chéri) – incidentally that was another Kate Hudson piece with a cast to salivate over (Naomi Watts, Glenn Close, Leslie Carron, Stockhard Channing, Bebe Neuwirth). Apologies, I’ve digressed. Yes, Nine’s concept is so outlandish that it really is more abstract than realist, I’d even go as far as to approve its intentions and execution as something of an intricate piece of artwork…

Before I continue, though, I must express the slightest bit of confusion. It happened with Burton’s Alice in Wonderland and it happened with Marshall and Nine. Why are directors held accountable for the (perceived) flaws in a screenplay? With Nine the lines are admittedly more blurred. The quasi-reality of Guido’s musical consciousness becomes an enigma – one I’m not sure is the work of Marshall, Tolkin or Minghella (who’s dead and cant’ speak for himself). Perhaps, it’s some odd hybrid of all three. Though structurally Nine is only a distant relative of its stage incarnation (complete with Yeston’s approval, though) one of the things that some forget is that musical wise it’s difficult to make Lilli’s rapturous ode to French coalesce with the pseudo European pop beats of the dancing whores or the delightfully wordy and very Broadway opening number of Guido. In many ways, I expect the stage is kinder – we’d be more willing to accept the disparity in themes there.  Cinema is different. Each song almost exist on different parts of the spectrum and ignoring the exception to the rule – consistency in musical forms is essential to a musical. Nine’s solution (a tentative word choice) lies blatant in the script – ten scenes in the life of a man. With the bulk of the original significance in the actual number 9 out of the film and with the eponymous number oddly absent, it’s any question that the film just wasn’t called Ten. add the eight principal vocalists together with Guido’s younger self and Dante and we’ve acquired the ten most important faces of the film. The bulk of the film occurs in the ten days leading up to the making of it, ten numbers are song: “Ten sequences, each one set in a different period”…

This amidst its supposed cheer (so very deliberate). Nine is not about Guido’s demise but Guido’s eventual epiphany in ten numbers. There is no thread to bind the ten episodes, but the man himself. One of the final shots of Nine is a picture of the actual film’s title card, only this time Guido is making it. Nine (the one we’re watching) is the actual Nine that Guido’s trying to create. Am I being naïve in seeing the film as a literal creation / therapy session for our protagonist? Up until the epilogue with him and Lilli precisely the sort of slightly incongruous, oddly charming, delightfully schizophrenic thing that the “new” Guido would create. Remember, all he can make now is a film about a man trying to win back his wife. Pity may not always lead to love, but it’s close enough and it’s just the sort of thing that Guido would make for Luisa.

Nine is so obviously NOT rooted in reality. Marshall not-so-subtly tells us from the inception. Isn’t it odd that Stephanie – a Vogue reporter that Guido has yet to meet (chronologically at least) appears in the overture which celebrates the women in Guido’s life? The prologue acts as a beginning of our relationship with Nine but it’s all happened before – we’re now getting to see it. Measure it against the second appearance of the ensemble (sans Luisa) and the significance of the roll-call becomes more obvious.

I had a greater respect for seeing Nine this time around. Before it was just thrilling to watch and such, but I found even more method in Marshall’s ostensible madness, amidst the original fun – well as fun as a morose rumination on talent wasted can be. It is such that Daniel Day Lewis’ first impassioned (misguided) plea for world dominance is final look at the completely decadent Guido that is only hinted at. Though it’s still not my favourite actual number (look to Fergie) or my favourite song (look to Nicole); I feel great fondness for that first song. The more I see Nine (and I’ve seen it many times now) the more I come to appreciate his performance. His sensibility is precisely the type we need for Marshall’s concept. It also makes me appreciate the placing of this number as the first song in the musical – we can almost group the songs chronologically. We move from the present – Guido’s “wanting” of appreciation, his “wanting” of pleasure with Carla (which is reciprocated) and Lilli’s “wanting” of the music, the life and the laughter. Lilli yearns for fun in the moment, but she casts the narrative backward. She explicitly warns him not to do that, “That’s death.”, but he’s not known for listening. He’s looking back to Saraghina – already past. Incidentally, Luisa is looking back too, living in Guido’s past (just as Stephanie is, oddly). Guido is a bit like a hollow, albeit affable man. There is nothing to him but his movies. “My husband makes movies.” That’s it. Stephanie is not enticed by Contini, she’s enticed by Contini’s Cinema Italiano. What happens when the talent fades? Even Saraghina’s passionate urging to Be Italian doesn’t tell us much. what is it to be Italian? I don’t think Guido knows either. He isn’t helped by the fact that his mother wonders, “Do you think that so many will love you like I do?” She doesn’t answer, but she thinks no – Guido thinks so too, that’s his problem – he can’t give all of himself because there’s nothing to give.

As we head into the final trio of numbers (the three that resonate the most, despite – or because of – their bleakness) Claudia seems to be looking back but she’s moving forward really. Kidman’s “I’d rather be the man” just might be the most layered line reading of the entire film (in retrospect, her Claudia is the film’s biggest enigma). It’s this time around I notice – for the first time – the potential play on words in “Unusual Way” . Guido has made her whole by making a “hole” in her. An unusual way? Definitely – that’s why she’s moving forward without him, like Luisa. Like Guido too, actually. Guido, the man, is leaving Guido, the artist. He thinks he’s reached the epiphany – he’s wrong. The movie’s not the problem. He is. He’s such a mess of conflicting emotions that he doesn’t realise that he can make this movie – everything he needs is around him. He needs to realise that by making Nine (the movie within the movie) – a bit of catharsis, really. Notice how in that final roll call he looks not once at his supporting cast. He only has eyes for himself (well, the younger incarnation of himself). He’s not necessarily a “better” man – but he has the ability to become a more focused “artist”.

I am curious, though; does Luisa take him back when the film is complete? She’s masochistic enough, probably. The thing is, everyone wants Guido to give them more – they want all of him. What they don’t realise is that he’s giving all that he has to give. Nine came off to many as cloying, turgid, uninspired and [insert negative adjective]. I’m the opposite. For me it’s difficult to separate Nine from its protagonist. I love it for that. Am I the only one?

Good God, this is late...even for me. In March, while recapping 2009 I listed my favourite beginnings, my favourite scenes and was supposed to list my favourite endings...well never too late - here they are.
                    
The last few minutes of a film can completely change our feelings of it. A fair film can be changed by a surprise ending and a good film can be destroyed by a poor one. Surprise endings have a better chance to be remembered, but sometimes an ending can be equally satisfying without being a shock. In 2008 there was an embarrassment of richest when it came to endings. There were the subtly surprising like Revolutionary Road and Burn After Reading. Both took secondary characters and made them the focal point for arresting and startling conclusions. There were the tense like Doubt and even In Bruges to an extent. As much as I am reiticent about Streep’s work in the former, she excels in the end. And In Bruges endings is not the copout many claim it to be. There were important closing shots of our protagonists like in The Wrestler and Changeling but my favourite was the sweetness that was The Curious Case of Benjamin Button – episodic, I know, but a lovely ending.

              

Now, on to 2009…Here are the ten closings that were memorable, the top 5 in particular made their films all the better for it. Ummm, spoilers ahead. Obviously. (Couldn't find pictures for the exact scenes in all, apologies), click on the links for my reviews.

Runners Up: A Single Man, Three Blind Mice, Bright Star, Avatar, The Road

I liked 500 Days of Summer, even if I was a bit disappointed. Nevertheless, the ending with all the pithiness that I love was just the right amount of tongue-in-cheek. After Tom finally reaches the 500th day of Summer he meets a girl at a job interview. She doesn’t seem interested, but eventually she acquiesces. Her name? Autumn.You have to love that sort of self awareness in comedies...

       

I know some weren’t too fond of Brothers, but I was. Tobey MaGuire did make my list of favourite actors and though his breakdown scenes are what many remember it is this confession to Portman that sticks with me (not pictured above). Sheridan knows when to tone it down, and it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for. As Sam tells Grace about his role in the death of his friends and as the tears roll down his eyes while U2’s 'Winter' plays in the background, I couldn’t help but be impressed.

      

As Rockwell launches himself to earth amidst the voices of news reporters speaking of his appearance on earth I realised that Duncan Jones had done something brilliant with Moon. It wasn’t my favourite film of the year or anything but it sure was a formidable debut and the way that a clichéd theme like cloning could seem so original impressed me.

          

I’m mixed about the ending of Inglourious Basterds. On one hand it lends an irreverence to the piece that’s notably good, but for some reason it doesn’t make my praise turn into anything particularly voluble – it’s probably the school boyish insolence of that final line. Still, as Landa is outmanoeuvred by the unassuming (or at least boorish) Basterds a sense of significance is felt. I won’t say it’s iconic, but it sure is memorable.

           

Drag Me To Hell is one of the better films of its genre and that depends – to a large extent – on the brilliance of Alison Lohman. As Justin Long takes out that envelope I already get that foreboding sense – though I know I can’t stop what’s coming. It’s a brilliant script decision and it’s so perfectly executed. What came before was good, but it’s the ending of this film that makes it worth it.

                     

The Fantastic Mr. Fox is so much fun, it should be illegal. When Fox carries his family, and best friend, up to the supermarket he’s found there’s a sense of ease that I love. Sure, George Clooney is voicing him, but on rare occasion he doesn’t annoy me – and this is one of them. With the imminent baby and the ensuing speech it only gets better, but what really cinches the brilliance is when the camera pans out and we see the owner of the supermarket that will soon be raided -  Pure brilliance.

               

In some ways Duplicity depended on having this twisty ending. Gilroy's script (though excellent) sometimes tried to do too much, so the audience expected something ludicrous to be the end-all – and it was. The solution for the mystery was satisfying and irreverent all at once. And our protagonists do end up together, although Julia’s Claire isn’t too thrilled at the prospect.

             

Unlike the others the genius in In The Loop’s ending comes form the incongruity of it all, as the credits roll  (not pictured above) and we see the fate of some of our characters. We see Toby leaving the office, Simon after being demoted; and I love Kennedy’s lines to the young (and voracious) up and coming politician as they sit and play Facebook chess.

            

When people say that Rob Marshall’s unoriginality in Nine was obvious I often wonder if they saw the ending. Sure, he wasn’t as inventive as he was in Chicago but as the melody from "Be Italian" and "Folies Bergeres" play and as I watch Guido’s imaginary world merge with his reality it’s easy to see where Marshall was heading, and I can’t help but respect the guy. Seeing Saraghina putting on her makeup next to a priest and watching Claudia and Stephanie having a conversation all combine and we watch him he actually sit down to make the movie we’ve just seen. It’s an ingenious idea and Marshall doesn’t always succeed, but it works here and concocts a truly memorable ending.

             

Bright Star wasn’t the only period piece unfairly ignored last season; at least it got an Oscar nomination. Pfeiffer’s face in the mirror has become an important shot but what makes Chéri work so brilliantly is the cold narration of Stephen Frears as he tells us of the suicide of the eponymous Chéri It throws the audience, but it’s not just for show. It’s an excellent bit of filmmaking and my favourite ending of the year.

                    

I’ve spoken enthusiastically about Chicago and about Catherine Zeta Jones in it before, and always my thoughts go to a particular scene in the film. I often refer to it as my favourite scene in the film, but the entire film is excellent – so I can’t be certain. Velma is at her wits’ end and knows that Roxie is taking so she goes to make her plea for a collaborative effort. It’s already funny because we’ve only just heard her tell Mama Morton that she would only suck up to Roxie “over her dead body”.

          

I love how she comes in so sanguine.

Mind if I join you? She's not being overconfident.She knows very well that Roxie does mind, but she's being the ultimate diva and ensuring that we never see her sweat. Then she takes out the box, oh so incidentally. Am I the only one who thinks that Velma probably confiscated the box of chocolates? Its seems like just the sort of thing she'd do, then go into her lie:

             

Roxie’s cold demeanour throws her though, even as she tries and tries to cajole mentioning her double act with her dead sister. I love her slight looks of fear like this one as she prepares for her “Act of Desperation”.  She's worried, and it's the first time we're seeing it.
 As she goes into the prelude for the number this particular short always amuses me.
Is that faux cheerfulness just for Roxie's behalf, is she imagining this double act with Roxie or remembering her departed sister? She starts out her number in typical diva fashion and I love how the camera cuts to Roxie’s bored face.
Say what you want about Renee, but she knows to sell her emotions with her face and doesn't she look so innocent in that costume? Nothing like the snake underneath. But back to Cathy, she attacks the number with fervour she's even frantic; just look at the shot below.
 It’s amazing watching her do her thing though,and I especially love the part where the music shifts into the Egyptian beats.

Cinematographer Dion Beebe makes her look so very good. It was an excellent year for the category, but damn I wish he'd taken it home. I heard a detractor comment that Catherine's height makes the scene awkaward, but I think it's her svelteness that makes her look so enticing, especially on that table.

 Pbbbbbt

 

Films on forms of artistic ventures are a dime a doze, but I love them anyways. We have cinema to thank for giving us glimpses of so many famous people – the literary kind, sometimes painters, singers so often and this year though it was not quite as abundant it was satisfying. The film that took it the furthest had to be Marshall’s Nine. Nine took it even further than its musical source. In fact the entire Act Two is amended that Nine (the movie) turns into a film about making itself, it’s dangerously tongue-in-cheek and not typical musical territory. A psychological musical? Haven’t heard that one before. Above all else, though, Nine was about the difficulty of creating. In fact Guido’s plight can probably be understood by Jeff Bridges’ Bad Blake. He’s washed up, Guido is too, in a way. So is Adam Sandler’s George Simmons. Bridges is obviously the most sympathetic of the lot. What’s interesting is that each of these artists – the comedian, the singer, the director – tries to reach out to women. The reason Funny People falls flat though is that this very reaching out, though featuring an in form Leslie Mann, seems like an afterthought. The Soloist’s Nathaniel Ayers is not even as lucky. He’s not just experiencing a transition; he’s at the end of his line. I’m a bit surprised no one went for Fox’s portrayal, though it’s not my favourite of the year (not even close) – it’s better than at least two of the Supporting Actors nominated at…, but I won’t go there. The Soloist’s problem is that I’m not sure if it’s Downey Jr.’s journalist story of Fox’s demented man. Still, The Soloist is much better than it’s given credit for, even it’s just a bit too spotless.

                               

Whereas these three men are grappling with losing their gift John Keats isn’t even sure he has one. It is unfortunate that all brilliant men couldn’t have experienced the brevity their work has had, and John Keats has always been one of the more depressing ones. Next to Charlotte Bronte, he’s probably the writer of the era who least realised the future profundity of their work. Bright Star isn’t really Keat’s story – it’s Fanny Brawne’s – but he is imperative to the success of Bright Star, and Ben Whishaw epitomises all that is John Keats and yet, resists falling into the clichéd traps of the “sensitive man”. Still, I can understand Keats’s plight – like Wordsworth his style was atypical to the age. And on that note we can understand the plight of Julia Child. Whatever my reservations of Streep’s Child may be Julie & Julia works as a satisfying tale of conquering personal demons, of sorts. It’s funny noting how Child finds it so hard to find a place for herself, of course I knew nothing of the woman prior to the film – but it’s interesting note how success is mountain climbed and not a prize discovered. I suppose that makes it all the more worth while.

              

We had a singer, a comedian, a musician, a director, a poet and a chef. Which of these creators impressed you most?