Inspiration can be elusive. For world-famous Italian film director Guido Contini, finding where to begin his new film, one that matches the glitz, glamour, and magic of his past films, seems to be an insurmountable and impossible task. In the past, Guido has relied on one sole source that has inspired him to create unparalleled cinematic masterpieces, relatable and appealing to audiences worldwide: women. As he finds himself in the beginning stages of yet another film, he is faced with the possibility and reality that renders him all but completely unable to do anything at all. That is the grim reality that his source is not as inspirational as he thought it would be and may just be dried up.

For the newest musical made into a movie by Rob Marshall (Chicago), Nine really is everything that one would expect it to be. The story has its roots based in reality and yet uses the imagination of its lead character, Guido, as he faces the hardships of creating an epic new film, to lead into dazzling musical and visual displays (led by some incredible leading women) that are nothing short of magical. The complete knock-you-out-of-your-seat nature of the performances is not really surprising. After all, every leading lady is either Oscar or Grammy Award-winning or at the very least nominated. Although the heart of the story does at times feel a little weak and contrived, the extraordinary imaginative presentation of how Guido sees the circumstances of his life truly does make one sympathize with his struggle and search to find the inspiration that at one time seemed so tangible.

From the beginning of the film we are thrust into Guido's world inside his head and the significant women that have all served as his muse at one point in time or another. They all pass by in a dream-like sequence as he recalls each one of them individually and the part they played in making him the famous film director he has become today. There's Luisa, his wife; Carla, his mistress; Claudia, his leading lady; Lilli, his costumer and confidante; Stephanie, his American spitfire; Saraghina, his forbidden fantasy; and, of course, the first woman in his life, his mother. He reaches out to each of them again this time, and yet, although they are all fondly remembered, none of them are able to give him what he is seeking. He searches and searches but the inspiration, the ability to do what used to come so easily is simply not there anymore.

At a loss, he attempts to escape, truly believing he has a serious problem, a sickness, and if he can just get away from it all, he will be cured and once again be able to write. Unfortunately, he brings with him the one thing he truly needs to escape from: himself. As the drama of his entire life closes in, getting more and more complicated, his ability to think clearly becomes more and more suffocated. He turns to doctors, lovers, priests, and friends, but nothing helps. He remains lost and searching, asking a priest even if he believes in God, simply to affirm whether or not there is anyone at all who still believes that God is anywhere out there. He is not happy and does not feel like himself. He is searching for something he cannot seem to find.

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