10/10
George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) has a dream halfway through The
Artist with real sound. He sets
a glass down on the table and it makes a noise.
The phone rings, the dog barks, and it all sounds so harsh and
shrill. Both George and the audience wait
for George to wake up and end these horrible noises. Please, take us back to the wonderful world
of silent film in black and white whose only sound is the soothing cinematic
orchestral score.
Yes, The Artist is silent. The actors are moving their mouths but only
every now and then does a dialogue screen pop up for the audience to read. The effect of this throwback is a mesmerizing
masterpiece. Just as Hugo
was homage to the earliest films and George Melies, The Artist celebrates the
late 1920s silent film era and appears so accurate it most likely could have
been released in 1927. The giveaway is
that everybody in the movie theater on screen is smoking. Nobody in Hugo’s Parisian train station was
smoking which is good for the kiddies, but kills authenticity.
George is the silver screen’s golden boy. His motion pictures make a ton of money, the
audience loves his swashbuckling heroes, and his incredibly well-trained Jack
Russell Terrier usually stars right along side of him. Through a series of unlikely events, an
aspiring actress, a perfectly named Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), appears on
his studio lot as an extra and they develop a noticeable level of chemistry
together, though there is no sign of adultery because this is 1927. George is a married man and while he may be
distant from his wife, there will be no vow breaking here.
If you are familiar with Singin’ in the Rain, then
you know what is coming – the talkies.
George takes one look at an early prototype of an actress speaking on
screen and laughs at is as a gimmick.
Nothing could replace silent film and besides, the audience, “his
audience”, would never stand for it. How
wrong he is. Soon enough, studio boss Al
Zimmer (John Goodman) fires George choosing to begin the era of sound in film
with fresh faces, such as Peppy Miller.
The depression strikes, George blows through his savings on
one last ditch attempt to save silent film, and he is done for. He is not alone though, his reliable dog is
with him as well as his now unpaid chauffeur Clifton (James Cromwell). Peppy is never far either. She remembers who was responsible for her
meteoric rise and is perhaps playing some Fairy Godmother role in George’s life
even though she is much younger.
The plot seems a bit thin and silly as I write this, but it
comes across as much deeper than it sounds.
George and Peppy are wonderful on screen together and The
Artist is just so much fun to sit back and watch. The doubters will naturally stay away from it
no matter what anybody writes; the combination of black and white and silence
is just too scary to think about sitting through even though this is leagues
above the common denominator.
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