Dujardin is Extraordinary in a Silent Screen Tribute Made from the Heart

Rating: 8/10 (5 December 2011)

To state that French filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius appreciates the artistry and emotional appeal of classic silent cinema would be a severe understatement. He devours it like only a true cineaste would and brings a unique deftness to such a long-forgotten medium that he singlehandedly brings it back to life if only for this one instance. Mostly silent with title cards and shot entirely black-and-white, this stylish 2011 dramedy starts in 1927 Hollywood as pre-Depression audiences were still enraptured by the heart-palpitating derring-do of matinée idols like Douglas Fairbanks, Sr. and John Gilbert on the silver screen. As Norma Desmond said in "Sunset Boulevard", "We didn't need dialogue. We had faces then." And indeed Hazanavicius has found the appropriate doppelganger in his constant star Jean Dujardin portraying an amalgam of Fairbanks, Gilbert and Rudolph Valentino with a touch of Charlie Chaplin (notable in his comic scenes with the dog) and a little Gene Kelly-style hoofing thrown in for good measure.
Dujardin plays George Valentin, one of the silent screen's leading lights whose charming braggadocio is more than offset by his popularity. At the premiere of his latest romantic espionage caper, he has a "meet-cute" run-in with the fittingly named Peppy Miller, a pretty extra fumbling for her autograph book on the red carpet. He is immediately impressed with her beauty as well as her moxie, and in another "meet-cute" run-in, by her terpsichorean talent as well. Once their mutual attraction is established, the plot follows a standard "A Star Is Born" storyline by showing his career in decline while hers is on a fast rise with the advent of talkies. There is a buoyant spirit that infuses the story and sideswipes the more tragic elements one would expect from previous versions of this tale. That's how Hazanavicius manages to engage the viewer even though the film slows considerably during the middle section despite his meticulous efforts. There are also recognizable tributes to silent classics like F.W. Murnau's "Sunrise" and King Vidor's "The Crowd" and even a wink to the classic breakfast montage in Orson Welles' "Citizen Kane" to illustrate how Valentin and his icy wife drift apart.
Some of Valentin's most vulnerable moments are beautifully rendered like the puddle of liquor on the glass table, his window reflection against the tuxedoed torso of a mannequin, and a sure-to-be-classic nightmare scene where he hears every sound except his own voice. The movie jumps back to life with a surprisingly exhilarating ending that subtly explains the key dramatic point of the story. Dujardin immerses himself completely into the essence of his embattled, vainglorious character without a trace of irony. It's a genuinely exquisite performance that could have easily disintegrated into self-parody in less assured hands. What's more, the man can really dance. Bérénice Bejo (who also happens to be the director's wife) is lovely and vivacious as Peppy, although there are moments when she comes across as a mite too contemporary to be truly convincing as a period character. Take, for example, the fist pump she shows when she wins her first audition. At the same time, when she puts an arm through the sleeve of a jacket on a hanger and caresses herself with a hand she imagines to be his, she handles this piece of pantomime with true aplomb.
The two French stars are surrounded by familiar American faces like John Goodman as a Jack Warner-like, cigar-chomping producer; James Cromwell as Valentin's dutiful chauffeur; Penelope Ann Miller as Valentin's shingle-haired, ignored wife Doris; and Missi Pyle as a Lina Lamont-style starlet, appropriate since this film covers the same fertile ground as "Singin' in the Rain". By the way, that's Uggie who plays the playful, clever Jack Russell terrier, an obvious paean to Asta from "The Thin Man" series. Kudos also need to be given to Guillaume Schiffman's accurately evocative cinematography (unlike other pastiches, the film looks like it was made in 1927), Laurence Bennett's production design (including an inventive use of the vintage Bradbury Building in downtown LA), and Ludovic Bource's swooning music score, which includes a snatch of Bernard Hermann's "Vertigo" score over a climactic scene. Even with all the praise heaped on this film from the critics, it's not a film for everyone's tastes. Silent cinema, by its very nature, beckons a certain patience from the audience that some will find tedious, and even at a running time of 100 minutes, the movie still feels a bit long. At the same time, for those who can appreciate it as an art form, Hazanavicius has really delivered quite a treat.