Pure Retro Joy

Rating: 9/10 (18 January 2012)

George Valentin is the silent movie star. He and his dog, Jack, are the stars of many a hit film. They are loved by their public and boy, do they know it. But George's life is about to be turned upside down by the advent of a new technology - sound. George's pride and arrogance make him blind to the fact that the audience want to hear their stars as well as see them, and so begins his slow slide into obscurity.
The story to the Artist is a well worn one, and one that was a staple of many of the melodramas of the period it recreates. It is a good enough story, well told and well acted even if it drags a little towards the end, but it is not where the true joy of "The Artist" lies.
The Artist is wonderful for a huge number of reasons. Firstly the performances from everyone involved are superb, delivering their (silent) lines with the perfect collection of facial expressions and body language. You may not be able to keep up with what they are saying, but you understand what their characters are feeling. Those of you who may be worried about enjoying a silent film, don't be. The film draws you in and involves you with the characters and their story. You don't miss a thing.
Though the entire cast are spectacular, especially Jean Dejardin and Berenice Bejo as George and Pepe, I felt a special love for Penelope Ann Miller as George's wife Doris, James Cromwell as Clifton, and a fantastically curmudgeonly Malcolm McDowell as an unimpressed extra. Auggie the Dog though, as George's most loyal friend, is spectacular. He delivers a genuine performance as opposed to just seeming to be a collection of cute tricks. What could have been cutesy or mawkish comes across as genuinely believable.
On the technical front the film is unusual and innovative. The film makers commit to a historically accurate 4:3 ratio image, to title cards and simple graphics to highlight their story, but this also allows them to play around with the conventions. The locked off, fixed cameras of the silent era is often mixed in with more modern dolly shots; there are hints of colourisation, occasional graphic touches appear that were beyond film makers of the late 1920s. All these little touches highlight a point, emphasise a character or underline an emotion.
All of this technical detail is enhanced by the wonderful score which swells, drops, meanders, dances, mopes and soars along with the audience's emotions. Because of the lack of dialogue and sound effects, "The Artist" highlights the power of music and moving pictures to deliver emotion to the audience.
The re-creation of early Hollywood and Burbank is detailed but not glorious. Unlike beautiful re-creations such as LA Confidential however, the Hollywood of "The Artist" feels a busy, lively and warm place. There is a sense of community throughout the film: people may forget who you were, but they don't forget that you are a person.
This is key to the film's charm. It isn't mean-spirited. It reminded me of "It's a Wonderful Life", a film that never fails to make you smile.
But most importantly of all, it reminds you of the power of moving pictures. One wonderful sequence is a long static shot of two floors and an interconnecting staircase on which our leads stand, conversing. Around them, above them, below them, past them, rush busy people. All this movement all around the frame just serves to underline the immobility of our romantic leads - so involved are they in each other, the world is literally passing them by. It is wonderfully romantic, warm and delicate scene, but achieved without the use of sound, speech or even our leads in focus.
It isn't perfect, some on-screen prompts come across as clumsy and the shallow plot sags just a bit in the final third, but the charm and wit of the piece easily surmounts this minor quibbles. It is hard not to dislike a film that delivers its fair quotient of zingers via the medium of text.
The film is warm, romantic, witty, smart and utterly charming. It deserves to win many an award.