Movie Review: The Artist

The Artist (2011)
Written & Directed By: Michel Hazanavicius
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Berenice Bejo, James Cromwell and John Goodman

The Artist is this years most unlikely Oscar contender -- a black and white silent film with two unknown foreign actors in the leads.

The film often relies on parody in order to pay appropriate homage to the era of silent movies; however, it never comes off as disingenuous. It re-introduces techniques of the past, from printed titles to relay dialogue to the audience to an overly enthusiastic musical score. With a plot reminiscent of both Sunset Blvd. (1950) and Singin' in the Rain (1952), The Artist is an engaging and light-hearted film that is so likeable that it can easily appeal an audience raised on technology and CGI special effects.

The Jazz Singer (1927) was the first "talkie", instantly changing the world of cinema. With it came great upheaval in Hollywood -- audiences demanded to hear the actors they had come to adore, while certain actors struggled with the transition to the point where it broke their careers. The Artist is set in 1927, just as the major changes are starting to take shape in the old studio system in Hollywood. French actor George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) has legions of fans who worship his heroic incarnations on the silver screen. With his natural charisma and knack for expressing himself non-verbally, George initially brushes off the breakthrough of sound in cinema as a temporary fad, something that will disappear as quickly as it came about. What George fails to recognize is that "talkies" are ushering in a new age of film and that actors like himself were on a steady decline. When he falls in love with a beautiful dancer and background actress named Peppy Miller (Argentinian actress Berenice Bejo) it slowly dawns on George that Hollywood is now looking for more actors like Peppy -- charismatic stars who were made to be seen and heard. As Peppy is catapulted into stardom, George is left in the dust, a cruel aspect of Hollywood that remains relevant to this very day.

Jean Dujardin as George Valentin

As a man who refuses to acknowledge that his world is changing, Dujardin gives one of the best performances of 2011. He amply demonstrates that emotional expression and actions can speak louder than words -- with a face straight out of the silent era of Hollywood, Dujardin both looks and feels the part of a rapidly declining star. The role is undeniably challenging -- without any dialogue to work with Dujardin is left to over-emote in order to make up for his lack of ability to express himself verbally. However, his actions are never hammy and always feel genuine. He evokes the pathos common with silent film greats like Charlie Chaplin, and he never misses a beat. Dujardin more than succeeds in his role as George Valentin, giving a nuanced performance that it both comic and touching.

Bejo is an equally great find as Pepper Miller. With a smile that could light up a room and spades of talent, Bejo is luminous is a role that nearly jumps off the screen.

The Artist is a vibrant and richly textualized film. Although the idea may not be new and some may argue that the premise itself if a bit of a gimmick, it's an undeniable crowed-pleaser and a beautiful one at that. Director Michel Hazanavicius recreates the world of classic Hollywood and his attention to detail is remarkable. He instils the perfect amount of dark reality and whimsy in the lives of George and Peppy and, as director, he makes some wonderful visual choices (none of which I will reveal here so as not to spoil the fun). Stylistically, the film is flawless. Composer Ludovic Bource creates the perfect musical accompaniment, at times both rousingly cheerful and tragically mournful. Silent films often relied on the emotion of its scores to sway audience feelings and opinion and The Artist makes powerful use of its own score in the same manner.

A heartfelt and beautiful film, The Artist is, above all, a love letter to cinema past.

FINAL GRADE: A 

30 Day Movie Meme: Day 11

Day 11: FAVOURITE SILENT FILM


I haven't seen as many silent films as I probably should, but the ones I have seen have been incredible. From The Great Train Robbery (1903) to German Expressionist films such as Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (1919) and Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927), I've always been fascinated by the cinema's original masterpieces.

There is something beautiful, yet eerie and somewhat unsettling, about relying solely on silent, black and white images of long-dead actors running around with exaggerated make-up smeared on their faces. Acting was so different before the days of the "talkies." Actors were left to rely on their ability to express every human emotion through facial reactions. An audience couldn't hear an anguished cry or a laugh; the actor would have to be able to convey that with their face or body language.

I have two favourite silent films that stand out more than the others, but for different reasons. The first is a German Expressionist film (a great article on the definition and descriptions of the stylistic techniques used in German Expressionist films can be found here).

In 1922, German director F.W. Murnau (Faust) released, arguably, his most influential film. Nosferatu remains one of the most enduring horror films ever made. Murnau bought the movie rights to Bram Stoker's Dracula, until Stoker's wife officially took over the rights for the novel after her husbands death. Instead of scrapping the film altogether, Murnau and his screenwriters put their heads together and changed just enough of the details in their film to escape copyright infringement. Dracula was now Count Orlock (Max Schreck) and The Vampire (or vampyre) was now prowling the streets of Bremen, Germany instead of Victorian London.

The film is downright creepy. I saw it for the first time more than five years ago. I caught it on TCM late one night around Halloween. I was struck by how untraditional a vampire Count Orlock was compared to the elegantly caped and seductive Dracula. By contrast, Orlock was reptilian in appearance and socially awkward. It helped that actor Max Schreck was terrifying, both in his exaggeratedly slow movements and his actual physical appearance. I admire how Murnau and the cast and crew took a traditional story, gave it a German spin and made it more terrifying than any other vampire film based off of Stoker's novel.

The film is an absolute piece of art. Just watch the trailer and judge for yourself.




My second choice is City Lights (1931), Charlie Chaplin's greatest and most affecting film. Most people cite Modern Times (1936) as the definitive Chaplin, but in my opinion, nothing beats the wonderful comedy and pathos of City Lights.

Although the "talkies" had been around since 1927 (with the release of The Jazz Singer, for those keeping track), Chaplin continued to make silent films well into the late-1930s. Chaplin had a face made for the silent screen. Not only was he a gifted actor and comedian, but he also directed each of his films, along with composing their scores and writing the scripts. Chaplin was the full package and his talent was never more on display that with City Lights.

The Tramp, Chaplin's onscreen alter ego, tries to woo a poor, blind girl by doing everything he possibly can to raise money for her so she can have an operation that will restore her sight. The Blind Girl (Virginia Cherill) has no idea who her young suitor is or why he is being so kind to her, but she welcomes his attentions thinking he's a handsome millionaire. This film was recommended to me by a friend who promised me that the ending would make me cry "happy tears" and it definitely followed through on that promise. While not as visually stunning as something like Nosferatu, Chaplin still manages to make City Lights one of the greatest films of all time, for its brilliant comedy and touching grand finale.

For those who don't mind being spoiled, here's the final scene of City Lights, when the Blind Girl realizes who that Tramp is and what he has done for her and the restoration of her sight.