Wilde said that life imitates art far more than art to life. Michael Winterbottom has taken to reverse this statement and, camera in hand, has made 9 Songs, a film that proclaims the relocation in the collective heritage of the boundary between pornography and cinema "conventional", calling for more oil this naturalism. Beyond indulging in public genital arousal that comes to theaters with a packet of Kleenex in your pocket and the willingness to use it, Mike says that the average viewer expects to find a story on the screen. And a transgressor. Those that contemplated under the yoke of strict moral Judeo-Christian will feel outraged, no doubt. And that end cinematic values of 9 Songs, to make matters worse, not even themselves. As if the first non-pornographic film showing explicit sex between the players!
Winterbottom tells (or so they would have us believe) the relationship between an American student and an English pichacorta during the year she studied in London. It does so by powders, one after another, and concerts (very good) to those attending the protagonists. Apparently, the relationship between the pair is deteriorating as the footage progresses, boredom and monotony are invade, so they get stripes like Cossacks: to overcome loneliness. A very deep and subtle reflection on love in these times, go. And as you think Mike is not clear with stripes, or a shared coffee in silence, stresses the idea rolling more silence. In the cockpit, getting up, brushing teeth ... all very arty and very conceptual. Same with the powder, of course. As in this film for modern is frowned upon to be counted in two scenes that can be lengthened unnecessarily for a whole movie because Mike applies the story, and if before the viewer was taken over by an asshole and had to repeat platitudes to climax for the capture, now is that if one is not able to appreciate the subtleties lefazo narratives between the ear and anal penetration, it is a garrulous, insensitive, or just someone who "does not understand" the movie. I must belong to the latter group, because the truth is that the film seems the most execrable crap I've seen in a long time.
certainly do not know if Winterbottom believes that portraying the monotony is necessary that the film is a pain infumable, but if you accept that this idea is valid, the art itself is dead. Making movies portray mediocre mediocrity, stupidity, stupid movies!
