Rated: PG-13
The Artist could easily have been a gimmick movie that quickly disappeared into the fabric of film history. In a world dominated by boundary-pushing 3D, eye-popping color and immersive sound why would any filmmaker craft a product that is, by any measure, an anachronism? And why has it been receiving such critical and public acclaim?
The Artist works because writer/director Michel Hazanavicius had a story to tell and wanted to write a love-letter to the history of film while simultaneously creating a movie that is a wonder to behold. By immersing his characters in a silent film about the transitional period when spoken dialogue killed the career of many silent film stars, Hazanavicius is able to both observe history and comment on the seeming cruelty of the passage of time on people who were once icons but are quickly forgotten. Observations of fleeting fame and fickle audiences are just a small, but integral part of the successes of The Artist, but the film is also funny, self-aware, and charming in its own right.
The story that undergirds The Artist has been told before. Sunset Boulevard was about an aging star who was unable to let go of her past. Singing in the Rain chronicled the transition to “talkies” and the people who were left behind. All About Eve told the story of an up-and-comer who replaces her idol as time marches by. What makes The Artist stand out is the way in which it is told: By using the trappings of a silent film the audience is immersed—without a hint of irony—in the period. The earnestness of the film—its commitment to its gimmick—is one of the primary ways in which the film succeeds.
As to the story: Jean Dujardin stars as George Valentin, an epic celebrity of silent films who worries about slipping into obscurity—and losing his livelihood—with the arrival of talking pictures. The movie opens with George at the height of his popularity, tracks his downfall, and his eventual renaissance. The simplicity of the plot, however, does not inform the breadth of the emotions that the audience experiences during this tumultuous slice of George’s life.
Jean Dujardin’s performance sells The Artist. His presence on screen features the charisma of Clooney, Gable, and Bogart, capturing the audience completely with a sly smile or wink. By the time the film’s climax rolls around the audience is completely invested in his character, which stands as a testament to the power of great filmmaking in a classic style. Make no mistake: This is Dujardin’s film and he is masterful.
There is a subplot that involves a star on the rise in the early days of talkies, played by Berenice Bejo, whose chemistry with Dujardin is electric. The juxtaposition of the two careers provides the audience with a sense of context and their off-and-on romance never feels contrived. There are a host of other, familiar faces in The Artist including John Goodman, James Cromwell, and Malcolm McDowell who are all serviceable without being distracting because, as I said, this is Dujardin’s movie.
I would be remiss to wrap this essay without mentioning the brilliant score by Ludovic Bource which hits all the iconic, melodramatic notes expected in a silent film but is infinitely listenable on its own. The score enhances the film without ever distracting and fits perfectly the period of the film.
As you can probably tell, I adored The Artist. I saw it after the film had already built a significant critical buzz, that time when a film is destined to disappoint. The Artist, however, does not. It hits all right notes and leaves a lasting impression on the viewer. At once an homage to a lost art, a history of cinema, and a brilliant romance (between a man and woman and to movies themselves), The Artist entertains on a variety of levels and is not to be missed.
Rating: A





Rated: PG-13
Rated: PG
Rated: PG-13
Rated: PG-13
Rated: R
Rated: PG