There are plenty of movies that I like. I suppose there are even more that I don’t. One of the ones I like the most, however, is ì8 1/2,” a classic Italian film from 1963. One I like much, much less, is ìNine,” a recent remake of the musical. Anyone familiar with the film would have their reservations with Robert Marshallís latest: a work modeled after the musical version of the 1963 masterpiece. In my humble opinion, there is never any need to remake a masterpiece. Not only is a remake unnecessary, but seemingly impossible to execute respectively, but itís rather interesting to try, isn’t it? It is almost never that a remake outshines its original. Why is it so frequently attempted?
The film is a mess for many reasons. Clearly, many of the cast members are talented actors and actresses. However, their efforts are wasted on lackluster writing, unimaginative dream sequences and, to be blunt, awful pop music.
Daniel Day-Lewis, starring as the protagonist Guido, a successful director suffering from a serious case of writer’s block, falls completely flat. Guido’s struggle to create another meaningful film is clouded by the many women, who, for some reason unbeknownst to the viewer, have all fallen madly in love with him. Penelope Cruz is downright scary and only wears decent clothing for a cumulative 10 minutes. Fergieís role is sadly just as laughable as Nicole Kidmanís is forgettable.
Marshall was the director of (arguably) the greatest musical to film adaptation of the decade, ìChicago.” In ìNine,” he employs the same scheme of binding the mind and personal fantasy within reality. Unfortunately, what worked wonders in ìChicago” could not be any less of a disaster in ìNine.” The fantasy scenes within ì8 1/2″ are still present in ìNine,” however, there are additional scenes embedded within these scenes. The film is littered with awkward meta-fantasies where over-simplified superficiality is king.
One of the greatest strengths of the original film is that it so deeply grasps at and expertly depicts the very uncomplicated panic of sporadic creativity. The absence of said creativity, though ineluctable and conventional, can be cause for anxiety. This can be especially true in the heart of a person whose income and reputation rely on the success of their artistic popularity.
Day-Lewis, as Guido, delivers a performance completely void of the expression of this crazed depression. Instead, the role is far less developed, and focuses mainly on immediate personal relationships. The panic of becoming more typical and eventually even phillistinic haunts Marcello Mastroianni, who stars as Guido in the original. Mastroianni unveils the character through the representation of this panic, and the self-realization he undergoes in the film is eerily relatable, run-of-the-mill existential crisis. It is, ultimately, this fear that irrevocably ruins all of his personal relationships, and causes him to lose control of his life. In ìNine,” it is untellable what causes this disarray. Nothing happens, and not in the beautiful way.
In short, it is this blemish of imperfection that assaults the human consciousness. While it is true that no performer or author can be expected to deliver a masterpiece at the start of every year or even decade, the efforts presented by the production of Nine is hardly reminiscent of the cinematic beauty that is ì8 1/2.” Nothing is perfect, but if itís really great, just let it be.