9 Songs (or, Music, Fucking, Music, Fucking...)

I don't know why I missed this one in the cinemas. Like I said before, Winterbottom is one of my favourite directors and, let's face it, the film was controversial and if that is not an endorsement to see it then what is?

Yes, 9 Songs is THAT film. The one with the real sex... and the music... and little else (except for some sweeping shots of Antarctica).

I'd give you a rundown of the plot but that is pretty much it. Guy meets girl at a live gig, they go home and fuck, rinse and repeat.

There are snippets of their life in between the music and the fucking but not very much. And yet, within this framework the film is quite successful in creating an image of these characters and the way sex can mark, dominate and curdle a relationship. 9 Songs lets you into the domestic sex life of two people. For all its banality it is quite mesmerising. At times erotic, at times quite the opposite. It is a credit to Winterbottom that the film, for all its "real" rooting, stays well clear of porn. Something I found entirely refreshing.

And the music is excellent too. Elbow, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Primal Scream, Franz Ferdinand. The line-up plays like a who's who of British music. Unfortunately the songs don't overtly (or even subtly) tie in with the themes of the film or its narrative but they are great to watch nonetheless. Ironically, the most obscene moment of the film comes when we are put through a four minute rendition of "You Were The Last High" by the Dandy Warhols. I now have absoutely no desire to see these guys live. They may as well be asleep on stage and singing into Fischer Price microphones.

In the end 9 Songs won't be remembered for its characters or its story and yet it is a landmark film in the way that it deals with real sex in a real and truthful way. It isn't poetry, unless you see life as poetry, then...

Tags: movie review, Michael Winterbottom