Guido's challenge is to create a film for his Producer, Liliane La Fleur, the esteemed Chita Rivera, who is timeless and effervescent. She can dance and sing and even chat, informally and endearingly, with the audience, as well as Tango, with her leg up to Mr. Banderas' shoulder. Ms. Rivera formerly trained at the School of American Ballet (See SAB Tour) and has winning charisma and talent. Guido's former lover, Claudia (Laura Benanti) who now resides in Paris, develops the idea for the elusive film – Casanova, Guido's lifestyle. If I've ever seen a 2003 Fellini character, here she was, with the perfect, long, brown hair, teased and brushed, and eyes that have a life of their own.

The story develops across some of the most fascinating and exquisite sets that I have ever seen on any stage. Silver and Plexiglas, doors and screens, a Botticelli mosaic backdrop, with water flowing for the Grand Canal song, as the cast wades ankle-deep through the puddles, so ironic on this stormy night. The long, winding, steel staircases are extremely effective, as the parade of fleshy fantasies glide up and down, as though on a runway. There are marble, moveable tables, tipped for tabletop vocals, and a goblet of red sand, that pours like fairy dust onto a thrust stage that hides and protects the most capable musicians, as water and sand flow freely.

The music was incredibly exquisite, and Mary Stuart Masterson, in office attire, has a voice that mesmerizes and magnetizes this stage of sequined and high-heeled vamps. She sings, "My Husband Makes Movies" with pathos and power. However, the show-stopping event was the lowering of a Goddess ex Machina (in ancient theatre, a Deus ex Machina was God from a machine, lowered to save a damsel in distress). I call Jane Krakowski, as Carla, the Goddess, as she swoops down, dangling by her feet, supported and draped in soft white, in a most amazing visual display of allure and acrobatic skill. This was a sensual and sexual actress, with a throaty, purring voice, who seduced and tormented Guido with threats of her impending divorce, as he grappled with religious and familial moments of guilt.

Speaking of family, Mary Beth Peil was a poignant and proud, deceased mother, in typical black après-death clothing, who was affectively horrified at her young son's escapade with the Venetian woman of the world, Saraghina, amply played by Myra Lucretia Taylor. The nine-year old Guido, who had the voice and presence of a star in the making, was the nine-year old William Ullrich. It is rare to see such a relaxed and virtuosic child actor/singer. He carries his role with delicious delight.

Nine is a must-see production. Must see for costumes, make-up, sets, sound, lighting, vocalization, and NOT LEAST, Maury Yeston's fantastic songs, so brilliantly sung by such a professional cast. Must see for David Leveaux' masterful direction and Gregory Meeh's special effects. Must see for Jonathan Butterell's choreography, except, in the Tango scene, I would have liked to see authentic Argentinean Tango, rather than modernized Tango, Broadway style. Must see for Mario Fratti's mental mischief and Fellini characterizations. Must see for authentic Italian dialect and passages, thanks to Kate Wilson. Must see for Arthur Kopit's Book, and for the forever, visual memories, such as the dim, candle-lit Venetian Spa, the mysterious and mesmerizing female fantasies, little Guido and his red sand, and the rippling, wet Botticelli figures, so Italian, so Venice. Kudos to all!