Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
Walt Whitman’s profound words from “Song of Myself” resonate deeply within the cinematic tapestry of Edson Oda’s Nine Days. This film, much like Whitman’s poem, embarks on a search for self and meaning, albeit in a realm rarely explored: the realm of pre-existence. Whitman suggests an inherent, universal connection, declaring, “for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.” Nine Days echoes this sentiment, inviting us to contemplate our place in the cosmos and the very essence of our being before we even draw breath. The poem, in its elusive nature, mirrors the film’s exploration of intangible concepts. Just as Whitman grapples with defining something as fundamental as “the grass,” Nine Days gently guides us to consider the profound metaphor of life itself, a metaphor we are born into, intrinsically connected to the universe. To truly experience life, the film suggests, we must first grasp this inherent connection.
In a pivotal and emotionally charged scene, Winston Duke, embodying the film’s introspective spirit, delivers Whitman’s powerful final canto: “I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love.” This recitation unlocks a deeper understanding of humanity’s eternal, borderless connection, encapsulating the film’s core message within the poem’s poignant closure. Nine Days compels us to re-examine everything that precedes this moment, prompting reflection on the genesis of human existence and the essential understanding of life needed to live with intention and purpose. The film dares to ask: what truly matters about living?
This exploration isn’t entirely uncharted territory in cinema. Hirokazu Kore-eda’s After Life (1998) posed similar existential questions, albeit from the perspective of the afterlife. Kore-eda’s film presented a poignant scenario: upon death, individuals have seven days to select a single memory to carry into eternity, effectively defining their lives by that chosen moment. Employing cinema’s unique ability to manipulate time through frozen frames and moving pictures, Kore-eda crafted a meditation on memory and meaning. His approach, grounded in documentary-style interviews with Japanese citizens, lent a layer of realism to his high-concept premise. Edson Oda, in his directorial debut – a truly remarkable feat for a first feature – thoughtfully expands upon Kore-eda’s themes, shifting the focus to life before birth and ingeniously rearranging the narrative structure. Visualizing pre-birth existence is a daunting task, yet Oda answers with simplicity and grace. He presents it as a connected process, a trial, a purgatory of sorts where aspiring souls are evaluated over nine days. These “applicants” must grapple with theoretical questions and choose a single memory they wish to experience during their potential lifetimes.
Nine Days stands as a spiritual successor to both Whitman’s poem and Kore-eda’s cinematic poem. It urges us to delve deeper into our interconnectedness with the Earth and the very fabric of existence. It is a film that transcends mere philosophical engagement, prompting us to question the very meaning of being born and to introspectively examine our own journeys. Have we truly absorbed the lessons of our experiences, the journey that has brought us to this present moment? Are we living with the intentionality demanded by our brief time on Earth, understanding our cyclical nature—born from the earth and destined to return? Are we striving to make something genuinely meaningful with the limited time we are granted?
Winston Duke serves as our compelling spirit guide through this profound cinematic landscape. His casting is nothing short of inspired. Duke delivers a nuanced, deeply human performance, the most substantial and intricate role of his career to date. Having witnessed his full potential unleashed, it’s difficult to imagine him relegated to supporting roles again. He is brilliantly complemented by Zazie Beetz, whose consistent excellence shines brightly as she rises to meet the film’s ambitious conceptual heights with a performance of remarkable purity. Benedict Wong delivers a memorable performance, while Bill Skarsgård and Tony Hale provide equally valuable and complementary portrayals. The ensemble cast is exceptionally well-rounded, each character contributing uniquely and metaphorically to the narrative and its exploration of the essence of birth.
While Nine Days embraces poetic license in its concept, it occasionally falls short of achieving pure visual poetry. The film’s visual language doesn’t always fully capture the profound and captivating nature of its central idea. It is a moving picture in more ways than one, but it demands patience and a willingness to fully engage with Oda’s deliberate pacing and unfolding narrative. The film’s core concept warrants multiple viewings, inviting us to revisit Walt Whitman’s words and reconsider the film’s context in light of his poetry. Nine Days seeks to provoke deeper thought, encouraging us to find meaning not just in what we see on screen, but in our own reflections spurred by the film. In this, it surpasses recent American cinematic offerings, becoming a Soul (2020) for a more mature and philosophically inclined audience. It offers a progressive and more intellectually stimulating exploration of similar themes, albeit without the dazzling visual spectacle of Pixar’s animated counterpart. Edson Oda has crafted a significant work, deeply rooted in timeless questions about the meaning of life itself. And remember, as Whitman reminds us, if your initial search proves fruitless, “keep encouraged.” Remain curious, and deeper truths will inevitably reveal themselves.
