9 Songs

In 'the most sexually explicit film in the history of British cinema', as the hype reads, Lisa (Margo Stilley) and Matt (Kieran O'Brien) spend their free time snorting coke, looking rather bored at rock gigs, and boning each other.

Needless to say, there are plenty of moments of graphic nookie between stars Stilley (a little too young and inexperienced to be taking on such a daring film role, maybe) and O'Brien (who, judging by his DVD commentary, seems to have had a whale of a time), lots of rough and ready music footage shot at various London gigs, and some pretentious bilge about life in the Antarctic, all accompanied by a monotonous voice-over.

Is 9 Songs a bona fide work of art, voyeuristic porn masquerading as art, a realistic study of an intimate relationship, an exploitative piece of trash, or a risqué promo for up and coming rock bands? I have no idea: it really is very hard to fathom out what Winterbottom and Co.'s intentions were for making this film, although I'm guessing the real answer is, 'it's whatever you want it to be'.

Viewers will watch 9 Songs for their own personal reasons (to become aroused; for intellectual discussion at dinner parties; as ammunition for attacking liberal types; or just to see what the fuss is about) and enjoy it accordingly. I thought it passed 66 minutes quite painlessly—the action was hot and the music was cool—but for me, perhaps the most interesting thing about 9 Songs is seeing how the film will affect the stars' careers in the long term, and guessing where this whole 'real sex in cinema' trend will end (Brad and Angelina going at it on Screen 1 at the local multiplex?!?!).

This film is yet another example of Michael Winterbottom's versatility. One peculiar aspect of it is that the scenes of lovemaking are divided by songs (hence the title). The film is only a little over 60 minutes so we get 30 minutes of music and 30 minutes of sex. It's fairly gentle, loving sex, with a short foray into mild bondage at the end, but it is indisputably real sex. There is a rather wistful atmosphere because with the opening scenes of a light plane flying low over the Antarctic wastes it is clear that Matt (Kieran O'Brien) is reflecting on the past, on his short affair with Lisa, a younger American woman in London. Matt is a glaciologist who spends his time uncovering the secrets of the earth's past. Lisa's background is not sketched in. In fact we learn little about her except that she does rather like sex and doesn't have to fall hopelessly in love with someone to enjoy their body. Matt is left only with a few warm memories.

The 9 songs are mostly noisy rock numbers from bands playing in the cavernous Brixton Academy, though there is at least one decent Michael Nyman number. It seems Matt and Lisa both like the stuff (they first meet there) and the songs kind of punctuate the relationship, but again, there is not a great deal of meaning.

Matt is played by Kieran O'Brien, previously seen as Fitz's difficult teenage son in "Cracker", and he certainly meets the physical demands his role requires. Margo Stilley as Lisa plays her in an uncomplicated fashion. I thought they were both pretty brave to do this and I hope it doesn't hurt their careers. It was something of an achievement to get this film past the censors but it clearly falls into the "Art" rather than "Pornography" category. I do wonder though, as I did with "Shortbus," what's coming next. I don't think, even in adult love stories I want to see all the anatomical detail. I'd much rather have some crackling dialogue or even just some nice scenery.

When I saw Scorsese's "Last Waltz," I thought that I would never again see a concert film as true. And I haven't, until now.

The Band were the last popular musicians to tell stories, have nearly all those stories be in the third person and tell them without irony. To do this is impossible today, or at least non- commercial. Scorsese is a flawed filmmaker, his flaw being that he is overly invested in character-driven storytelling. The two: Band and Marty, were a perfect mix: cinematic rock. Pure, without that nightmare stew of MTV videos.

Now along comes Winterbottom. Nearly all viewers will be unable to accept a movie with sex in it as anything but a movie about sex. Shame on them. Confront it folks. That's his point: why is it so difficult to accept the difference?

But the hangups of the viewing public are less interesting to me than the way he constructed this experiment. It is a rock concert (with a Nyman interlude). Nine songs, with us participating in the songs themselves, participating in the going to the concerts to listen to the songs, and participating in the experience that the songs are about: namely obsessive sex. And also, remembering (or even inventing the memory of) the sex, drugs and rock and roll we've seen. This latter is done by our hero in Antarctica. He serves as narrator, by the way.

Thankfully, this intense sex avoids the theatrics of "Damage," and works to be as genuine as possible emotionally.

Is it a good movie? Could it change your life? Will it change cinema forever?

Probably yes.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

I came to this Michael Winterbottom film from one of his previous efforts starring Samantha Morton and Tim Robbins. I had never heard of him as a director and when Sight and Sound (the house magazine of the BFI) did an article on him I thought he was worthy of attention.

Another reason for seeing this film was the promise of being able to watch a couple having actual sex and no merely faked orgasms and suggested oral sex either and no pornography. I quite wanted to be reminded of the reasons why two people can get together because of what they have in common.

Winterbottom's film is not pornography at all. It is merely a study of a relationship seen through the context of real sex (what nearly all of us have experienced once we are a certain age (18+ usually) and are not bound by religious considerations ie the Catholic priesthood) and popular music. That's all. And the cast are two everyday folk. They are not artificially enhanced porn actors or glossed up dolls for the benefit of the viewer. It is a very much warts and all film, although I have much admiration for Winterbottom to persuade any actor to show the camera (and thus the audience) his real erection and later orgasm.

Once the novelty of watching real adult sex wears off, however, there is little else left and that's the real disappointment of this film. Nevertheless it is an adult movie and some may enjoy it.

I had read some reviews and comments from the Director before seeing "Nine Songs" so I had adapted my viewing mode accordingly. I armed myself with the kind of cold, intellectualized, high-culture glasses one uses to see relevant contemporary art. Most of the times it won't be neither an esthetically satisfactory experience nor a necessarily pleasant emotional experience but if we can see the point of the artist and if that point seems in resonance with one's curiosity and awareness of the world around, that will be good enough. From that somewhat minimalist expectations' level viewpoint, "Nine Songs" did the trick. I can see Michael Winterbottom's point. Why can a writer engage in sexual imagery with no restrictions and a film author can't do the same? There is also, I think, a honest experimental tone in all that. Something like "Let's see if it works to ask the actors to go all the way. Let's see if we can stay inside serious film making and not add an item to the increasingly inflated porn film list." I think MW managed to sail through. Yes, it can be done (but, at what a price for the actors it remains to be seen); yes, it's definitely miles away from porn. As to if this incursion into real sex in the picture is as effective as explicit sex in literature, I'm afraid that MW is no Houellebecq. Sex in the daring novels of Houllebecq retain a kind of legitimacy because in the center of the plot there is a couple where love between the two is expressing itself (although fed by some rather non-conventional sexual behavior). Sex in Sade or in other libertine writers was deliberately tabu-breaking, and liberating in a way. The extremely good quality of the writing (both in Houellebecq and Sade) is a crucial element in allowing the authors who engage in such edgy fields to get away with it. In "Nine Songs" the couple fails to touch us, there is no love there (not even the good chemistry of sexual love), and the "writing" in film terms is not that impressive. It resembles more a documentary, which in fact it is ("How to introduce explicit live sex in mainstream cinema"). We end up leaving the screening room with the frustrating sense that an opportunity was lost. Like a piece of rather cold contemporary art it challenges you, it makes you engage in argument with your friends, it makes you wish to write a comment on web site. But we enjoy good cinema, not merely relate to.Enjoyment is not there.