Holiday movies: singing guidos and jet-setting George

Ah, the holidays - a time for seeing family, friends, "Avatar" and "Avatar" again. Though I'm fond of James Cameron's imbecilic masterpiece, I'm sure I'm not the only one tired of talking about it, so I'll be reviewing two other big holiday releases instead. I can't, however, resist mentioning my favorite line about "Avatar" from film critic Ali Arikan. In reference to the film's stunning visuals and stunningly bad writing, Arikan aptly noted, "You don't go to Hooters for the food."

I suppose that brings us to the lovely ladies of Rob Marshall's musical, "Nine." Is that a chauvinist joke? Sure - but then, so is most of this movie. "Nine" is a colossal miscalculation, a film empty at its core that thinks it can get away with it if it throws enough women in lingerie at the screen (though, in fairness, there have been worse strategies).

The plot of "Nine" - such as it is - focuses on the struggles of Italian director Guido Contini (Daniel Day-Lewis) as he copes with writer's block and all the women in his life. The stalled creative process is perfect art-film territory (along the lines of "8 1/2," the film's ostensible inspiration), so it's a shame that Marshall decides to avoid that route completely. Forget any kind of psychological exploration at all: "Nine" has nothing of any depth to say about the creative process, whether in its script or in its vapid lyrics, and serves only as a string of encounters between Guido and his women, accompanied by songs that are serviceable at best.

Such a film could still presumably work, but "Nine" rarely does. I think all movie stars should have to face a trial by fire like "Nine," where a hopelessly lost director leaves them with only their own instincts to rely on. Because, let's be clear, Marshall is a hack. The man has no idea how to direct a musical number - his frantic cut, cut, cut filmmaking style destroys any fluidity and grace his dancers might display, and his settings are dull and unimaginative. Without a strong plot like the one he had in "Chicago," he doesn't know what to do with his actors, and they're left flailing all over the place.

So, who survives? Some winners and losers are easy to predict. Day-Lewis, probably our greatest living actor, seems to be having the time of his life as he slinks through his songs and scenes with an appealing lounge-lizard sleaze. Kate Hudson and Fergie, on the other hand, belt out numbers as loud and unpleasant as they are. The biggest surprise is just how thoroughly Marion Cotillard outpaces even her most talented co-stars. As Day-Lewis' suffering wife, Cotillard manages to say more with her eyes than the entire script does with words, and her climactic musical number is the film's sexiest and best because of the strong sense of real, suffering flesh and blood behind the thinly drawn character. She can't save the film, but this performance, along with her role in "Public Enemies," shows that she is one of the leading talents of her generation.

Myriad flaws aside, "Nine" did at least show some ambition, something that Jason Reitman's new film, "Up in the Air," could have used a bit more of. The critics that have made this the most over-praised film of the year would like you to believe that it's "the movie of our time" because of its recession backdrop. It feels more like downsizing fish in a barrel to me. The film revolves around Ryan Bingham (George Clooney), a consultant hired out to companies to fire their employees. Bingham spends most of his life in transit, shunning emotional connection until he meets a naive upstart (Anna Kendrick) and a sexy fellow traveler (Vera Farmiga). Shockingly, he has a change of heart.

Reitman has a talent for light-hearted comedy, and his actors certainly do shine in that mode. If Daniel Day-Lewis is our greatest actor, Clooney is our greatest movie star, and he certainly has a fun chemistry with Farmiga. When the film stays light and airy, it's pretty amusing, but the drama here is problematic. Reitman's social insights never rise above the superficial - all the non-principals are neatly sorted into soulless corporate drones and, as Alec Baldwin's character on "30 Rock" might say, "real American," salt-of-the-earth types.

The personal drama involving Bingham's existential despair and loneliness is admittedly much stronger, but it has troubling aspects of its own. Reitman has bookended his film with two montages of real victims of the recession, but instead of making the film more poignant, they do quite the opposite. In the first montage, these people talk about how losing their job was perhaps the worst experience of their life, a sentiment that the film generally espouses throughout the first half. But in the second half, the film wants to heighten Bingham's despair, which it does by intercutting his lonely self with a montage of the same people talking about how much they valued their family and friends in their time of need. They're not wrong, of course, but the montage has the effect of shifting the focus away from their troubles to the plight of the lonely rich man. The vast tragedy of America is sacrificed at the altar of George Clooney.

Reitman is improving as a director - "Up in the Air" is miles above "Juno" - but, like Marshall, he could have put a little more thought into his enterprise. Or maybe they just needed less thought and more 3D. If "Avatar" has proven anything, it's that all idiocy is forgiven if you're good enough at covering the eyes of viewers in magic, sparkling wonder goo.

NINE

2 Paws

Pros: Marion Cotillard is a goddess