I hope The Artist sweeps the pool at the Oscars. It is a delight and deserves Best Picture and Best Director for Michel Hazanavicius. A triumph of film making in an age of immediate gratification where realism reigns supreme. In the year 2012 you get to experience first hand the golden age of cinema and understand why people were drawn to those funny, quaint looking movies. I’m not a film buff, and haven’t seen many original silent movies, but it all looked really authentic.
Opening credits were in the style (font, lay-out) of the Charlie Chaplin blockbusters seen occasionally on late night television. Outfits remind you of photographs of old stars (Barrymore, Fairbanks) cloth golfing caps, blazers, (Mary Pickford) cloches and straight dresses with lots of beading. Derring do scenes, sword fights, slashing through jungles, bring to mind Errol Flynn. Great dancing reminds me of Gene Kelly but he came much later, there must be a 1920s equivalent. Beautiful use of light, reminded me of Citizen Kane. Shades of white, shades of grey, dappled light, lots of playing with shadows. Ethereal and beautiful.
I knew I had been completely taken in when I found myself covering my eyes not wanting to see what promised to be a violent scene. A wry smile when the exclamation Bang! appeared on screen. No blood and gore but the same tension!
From the outset you are plunged into the world of Hollywood circa 1927. The big studio sets, the star arriving in his rolls, luxury dressing rooms, early red carpets, applauding fans (one of whom is destined for greater things), not as much security as now. Our hero is silent movie star, George Valentin, and he is gorgeous. What a role. What a performance. Jean Dujardin carries the film. He makes the larger than life acting required before talkies look easy. And I am sure it is not, especially for modern actors. The skill is made apparent when we see George doing repeated takes of a scene that has him searching for someone on a dance floor. You see him prepare his face for the darting looks to follow, once, twice, three times. A bravura performance in that one scene. Later he overhears his rival, the up and coming talkies star, Peppy Miller (played by Berenice Bejo), decry to a journalist the mugging required in silent films.
There is an emotional heart to the story as our hero commences a downward spiral from riches to rags. You feel for George desperately, futilely, resisting being made a relic of a bye-gone era. You feel for him as he is drawn to, but resists the charms of the up and coming star. Is that due to morality laws affecting Hollywood in that era? Regardless, it all adds to his allure. Less is more.
All of the performances are great. John Goodman as the quintessential movie producer. James Cromwell great as the loyal driver, Clifton. But the film really does depend on Jean Dujardin and I hope he gets Best Actor. If Hollywood can ever give it to an outsider it should do so this year. His face is elastic. Eyebrows so expressive. And the state of his moustache reflects the emotional arc of the story – tin, polished and gleamy to start with, it becomes shaggier as time goes by.
There are hundreds of great moments: infectious delight dancing with Peppy behind a screen, despair at seeing a shop window reflection giving the illusion he’s still in top hat and tails, a nightmare where he cannot speak. You think he has hit rock bottom but he has a little further to go. You are cheering him on right to the end and a couple of final surprises let you leave the cinema with a spring in your step.
Do go and see this film.
Here is a more critical analysis, from the wonderful David Denby, comparing the acting in The Artist to the real artists of the silent era. I don’t know enough about silent movies to agree, but think this reinforces my point about how hard this sort of performing is for modern actors. So, well done Jean Dujardin, who I am told is the bookies favourite for best actor, as at 20 February, 2012.
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