I will begin with the admission that this is not a boring film. It succeeds in holding one's interest, as it might be one of the very least predictable movies I can recall. Essentially, without giving anything away, although you won't be missing much, it's divided into three vignettes. The first one acquaints us with a distressed Hollywood actor, Gary, under house arrest living in another person's house because he burned down his own. While confined, he is taken care of by both a chubby P.R. 'handler' and the sexy single mom next door, who may or may not be interested in him sexually. Over this time, Gary becomes convinced that he is being haunted by the number nine.
Then comes the next segment while we are reeling with curiosity. It follows a gay television writer, Gavin, played by Ryan Reynolds, who played Gary before, trying to get his pilot made. We raise an eyebrow when we find that the house he lives in is the house Gary later stays in. Hm. At some stage in the course of post-production, a television executive pushes for Gavin to ditch the unconventional (chubby) lead actress of his project, played by the same actress who played the PR rep before.
And then in the third act, a video game designer, again Ryan Reynolds and again a name beginning with "Ga," is lost when his car breaks down, a situation shown in Gavin's pilot. He leaves his wife and daughter with the stranded vehicle and meets a mysterious woman. By the time this act reaches its revelation, the wide-eyed look of curiosity on your face becomes an empty expression, a time void for your muscles, as the big surprise that binds these bizarre fragments and concludes. You will have been led on a wild goose chase and once you catch the goose, the filmmaker, John August, has been pandering to his own wishful fantasies of spiritual grandeur, under the oh-so-impressive guise of a film that explores the concept of simulated reality.
In any case, the film has no atmosphere, the cast surrounding Reynolds has no charisma in spite of decent deliveries, and when it's over, one only wants to forget about it. The only props I give are for its aforementioned success with its lack of probable expectations, even if it's all for the least satisfying pay-off. Imagine Sharon Stone flirting with you, playing footsie, offering you a ride home, putting her hand on your lap, then going to her place and finding that she enticed you there only to show off her collection of china patterns. On a smaller scale, that is what you will experience if you see The Nines.
