An unlikely yet deserved success story.

Rating: 8/10 (28 April 2012)

Before I had even thought about going to see The Artist, I had already heard every possible form of opinion. There were the people who hated it for being black and white and silent, and those who loved it and considered it to be a great tribute to the silent era. Then, of course, the people who loved it called the people that hated it simple and unappreciative of cinema history, and those that hated it saying the people that loved it were snobs only pretending to like it.
I myself was still in awe that the film was actually being made: Who would be mad enough to pitch the idea of a silent, black and white tribute film to an era of cinema many people are wholly unaware even existed - and more importantly, who would be mad enough to invest in the idea? But somehow, The Artist fell into existence, and even more phenomenally, become an international success.
Therefore, when I finally saw the film, I was not, as many others were, settling down with unrealistic expectations almost dripping out my ears. Rather, simply wondering how on earth it had even come to, not only to my own but most of the world's, attention.
The plot line of the film is, to say the least, underdeveloped. The whole one hundred minutes of it tells of George's downwards spiral and Peppy's rise to fame. That's it. However, the way the film was executed (with some spectacular use of sound and some spectacular use of no sound) and the imagination that director Michel Hazanavicius brings to the shots – particularly one scene holding only George, his reflection and a growing look of disgust through his whiskey spills – makes you wonder whether it truly was the same man who wrote the story.
The actors, as you would expect from the Oscar nomination and wins, were absolutely superb. Bérénice Bejo was entirely captivating in her role of Peppy and I felt myself positively glowing whenever she would come onto the screen, while Jean Dujardin's portrayal of George so quickly tugged at the audience's heartstrings that when his life begins to spiral out of control the audience holds a breath that they don't release until the very end of the film.
All in all, The Artist is the perfect film for some self-congratulatory enjoyment. It's still a simple enough concept for the modern audience to relate to and understand but still gives the blockbuster cinema-goer that small, little kick of being able to say "I saw a french, black and white, silent film and enjoyed it." How very artsy of you.