The film is made up of patchy and jilted musical numbers by each of the dramatic famous "Italian" director Guido Contini's (Daniel Day-Lewis) women. Now I use a possessive here because that is essentially the role each and every one of them hold. They fall subject to the unfortunately surface concerns of Guido's character, each only concerned with the role in relation to the man. Not one of these strong female characters seemed able to go beyond the man, and were therefore bound to the superficial portrait of his character. Each and every one of these actresses I have at least a small amount of respect for, yet all seemed subject to the simple relationship between this man and every woman. With the exception of Fergie's shockingly impressive role as the childhood spirit Saraghina, all numbers seemed more akin to a tacky knock off a Chicago stage performance. Marshall did not fail to mask the shallow nature of his content in his infamous glitter and sequins set against his spot-lit black background. In fact maybe that's my problem with this movie; with all the feathers, bosom and grainy black and white footage thrown at us, I was still wasn't even entertained. Forget all the referential film history crap, I was down right unimpressed by just about everything. There was no retreat, no truly catch numbers (with the exception for Fergie's "Be Italian") , or even some gripping plot line. Nothing. Nothing but a whole-lotta lingerie and moanin' and groanin'. Thumbs down. Not even worth my time.
