9 Songs Issue #24

Directed by Michael Winterbottom

By Michael Hastings
Published: June 1st, 2005 | 4:28pm

Let us take this opportunity to sing the praises of hipster art-house porn. It's a genre that, if there's any justice in the world, will take root and flourish after British director Michael Winterbottom's dreamy, dippy, unrepentantly hardcore 9 Songs hits these shores.

Sure, the unsimulated orgasm and the full-on penetration shot wended their way into lugubrious French dramas a while ago, and Vincent Gallo subjected the poor Chloë Sevigny to his girthy ego in last year's The Brown Bunny. But at least until John Cameron Mitchell delivers his long-promised shag opus, there's nothing that can compare to Winterbottom's film, a fittingly 69-or-so-minute marathon of fucking, sucking, carpet-munching, concert-going, and Antarctic exploration that ultimately may not contribute much to the history of cinema other than artful envelope pushing — but what an envelope it is.

For a generation weaned on Brit rock, studly soccer stars, and waifish young women who look like Beth Orton, 9 Songs will be something of a revelation. Winterbottom and his two lead actors — the unknown Margo Stilley and the near-unknown Kieran O'Brien — tell the tale of Lisa and Matt, an American and a Brit who meet at a show and spend the better part of that evening (and the following year) screwing, talking, and going to more shows (provided by the likes of Franz Ferdinand, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and Super Furry Animals). And that's about it, aside from the would-be artful voiceover excursions to the polar icecaps that give the movie its flashback structure.

What Winterbottom accomplishes with 9 Songs may not be worthy of comparison to the Marquis de Sade, Anais Nin, or Last Tango in Paris, but he does convey the feeling of a tender, monogamous, uninhibited brief relationship between two young adults, the kind that begins and ends without a whole lot of effort or drama. Stilley and O'Brien never say anything to each other of great consequence, opting instead to express themselves physically. In O'Brien's case, expressing himself physically seems like what he was put on this earth to do. In other words, no, there were no special effects or stunt cocks used in the making of this picture, although scores of condoms may have been harmed. Whether all of this holds any lasting emotional value for the viewer will depend upon his or her own personal experiences, but this much is certain: When 9 Songs hits DVD, it'll be the cinematic equivalent of the ultimate hipster make-out album.