Comedy, love, and a bit with a dog.

Rating: 9/10 (14 September 2012)

It is the late 1920s, and a silent screen idol is at the height of his fame when a chance encounter with a girl in the crowd starts her out on the road to stardom, while his own hubris will cause him to risk everything when the coming of sound changes their fortunes.
If a few months ago, I had suggested that the best film of the year would be a completely silent movie shot in black and white, with intertitle cards, a 1.33 aspect ratio and all the rest of the 1920s movie trimmings , what might have you expected? Most likely a cunning spoof or skit on early movies, made with a knowing wink to a modern audience? Or perhaps a resolutely technical exercise? a slavish copy of the authentic article, perfectly reproducing every nuance of the form for a minority group of buffs to stroke beards sagely in appreciation of?
The wonder of Michel Hazanavicius' slice of silent heaven is that all the skills needed for the above, and more, are deployed invisibly, seemingly effortlessly, in creating pure, unabashed entertainment. This is a simple, but expertly honed tale of fame and fortune, of loss and despair, of romance, friendship and second chances. It is exactly the sort of charming, snappy caper that they (we are oft told) don't make 'em like any more, and the seemingly bold move to make a movie, about silent movies, as a silent movie, is no arch piece of artistic grandstanding, but a spot-on decision from a master craftsman to put film-making form totally at the service of the story being told.
Great performances abound across the board. The central couple of Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo are wonderful as the debonair, self-obsessed matinée idol, and the perky starlet-in-the-making. John Goodman has never been better cast than as a cigar chomping Hollywood producer, and the ever dependable James Cromwell oozes quiet dignity as a faithful assistant. But it is no poor reflection upon any of these uniformly superb players to note that they are nonetheless repeatedly acted off the screen by a Jack Russell named Uggie!
Whatever you may be expecting, whatever misgivings you might have about the idea of sitting for two hours in a darkened room watching what one could reasonably imagine to be some kind of quirky satire or art-house indulgence will swiftly be forgotten. The Artist is a perfect little gem of a movie, a joy for anyone who loves cinema.