nine songs

I’ve decided it’s not such a good idea to read a heap of reviews before I write my own, so I’ll avoid that, though I might do some research on directors and such.
Michael Winterbottom is apparently gaining something of a rep as an enfant terrible of current Brit cinema. I’ve never seen a film of his before. I recall that Butterfly Kiss (1995) caused a bit of a sensation a while back, and Welcome to Sarajevo (1997) sounds familiar. My guess, from Nine Songs, is that he’s one of those directors who invites big loyalties, scathing detractions with a great gulf between.
Interestingly, he also directed Jude (1996), based on the Hardy novel which had such a powerful effect on my callow youth.
I had no idea what to expect from Nine Songs, a short film at about 69 minutes (though it really dragged at times). The nine songs of the title were performed live by various contemporary British bands (and the film composer Michael Nyman) at concerts attended by the young couple whose story is the focus of the film. Apart from Nyman and the Dandy Warhols I’ve never heard of any of the bands – and mostly the songs had a sameness to me (assisted by the blurred acoustic that was a deliberate part of the feel of the film) which made these moments the most tedious in the film. Having said that, I don’t blame the film-maker, I blame myself. It reminds me of why I gave up going to rock concerts twenty-five years ago (though I still enjoy seeing live bands at pubs). I was too much of a wet blanket, too egotistically resistant to the group mentality, the requirement – almost the raison d’être of the rock concert – to lose yourself in the moment and the atmosphere.
So these rock concert scenes only served to remind me of my alienation from that vibe, though I could well understand intellectually their purpose in the film, which was to help chart one of those intensely felt, young and physical relationships, full of instants of vitality, of pleasure and searing clarity and nakedness and trust and a oneness that, momentarily, seems eternal.
I’m sure that many would identify with this type of relationship. I’ve never experienced it myself, but I’ve witnessed it, though of course not quite in the detail in which we’re permitted to witness this.
I’m talking about a relationship between a perhaps unprepossessing yet surprisingly stimulating young man and a beautiful young woman who’s taking advantage of the situation and preparing, right from the beginning, to move on, knowing, or feeling, that she has the looks and the smarts to land someone else, completely different and equally interesting.
And having witnessed such a scenario, I’ve in the past tried to write about it as if I’ve experienced it myself, being abandoned after an intensely sexual, revelatory experience and feeling you have to take it in your stride because that’s what’s expected of you though it’s the last thing you want to do. Of course maybe this isn’t what it’s about at all, but my feeling is that it’s a modest, personal sort of film about abandonment, for a while, to the physical, a while that goes deliciously on and on and yet in the end is only fleeting.
When I first saw this couple (Matt and Lisa, played by Kieran O’Brien and Margo Stilley), between the sheets in their cramped but adequate-for-the-purpose bedroom, I was immediately reminded of Godard’s A bout de souffle, especially considering that O’Brien rather resembled a young Jean-Paul Belmondo. I’m not sure if there was an influence there, but Godard’s couple seemed like rank outsiders, in a vaguely exalted way, whereas Winterbottom’s lovers seemed a more everyday pairing, outsiders but tediously so, too commonplace in their outsiderdom to generate much romanticism from their status. Typical young concert-goers. This would’ve created an overly melancholy effect if we didn’t get hints of another life. Lisa is an American student, doing a course in England (presumably London) while Matt (whose story this essentially is) appears to be a scientist of some kind. The lovemaking and the concert-going are occasionally leavened by scenes of the Antarctic ice, with Matt’s voice-over, reflecting on ice-olation (sorry) and such, but also suggesting that there’s life after sex.
An intriguing film in a minor key, if a little voyeuristic for those of us with an inadequate sex life. I was amused that of the half-dozen viewers at this screening, there were two elderly Chinese-looking couples who probably, like me, wandered in with little idea of what they’d be seeing. I hope they enjoyed it.