The Artist


THE ARTIST
Written & Directed by Michel Hazanavicius
Starring Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman

Review by David Molloy


At this year's Academy Awards, there were two heavy hitters set to sweep the ceremony. Martin Scorsese's sentimental but stylish Hugo was one of them, and boy did it win big. The other was less traditional fare - much like its competitor, it had its eyes set on the golden age of Hollywood, the wonder of what was, but it approached it using its own language of monochrome and silence. But The Artist has more strings to its bow than a lack of colour - underneath the artifice lie superlative, sparkling performances and a remarkable technical proficiency which compliment a story with real heart.

Film star George Valentin (Academy Award winner Jean Dujardin) is at the peak of his career, the darling of the silver screen lapping up all the attention he can get. Though his marriage is strained and formal, his life outside the home couldn't be better. But a harbinger of change sweeps unexpectedly into Valentin's life - a gorgeous stranger with hidden talent, Peppy Miller, and with her a new artform known as the talkies. Films with sound are quickly and enthusiastically championed by George's favourite producer (John Goodman), but Valentin is not so willing - or able - to accept the new medium.

The wondrous, charismatic performance that is the core of the film cannot be emphasised enough - Jean Dujardin is revelatory and absolutely deserving of every accolade he has received. From the moment he appears on screen, he is the picture of an old-time superstar, dashingly handsome and oozing charm. He also shares a remarkable chemistry with his canine partner Uggy (who could have been up for Best Supporting Actor had Christopher Plummer not come out as top dog). Their moments of synchronicity are hugely winsome. Bérénice Bejo comes into her own as the film progresses with a well-crafted character arc, and her rise as a starlet (though a little unbelievable) is as dreamlike as the atmosphere of the movie.

Early on in the film, we suddenly and ever so gently experience sound. It is a moment that resounds not just with the audience, but with Valentin as well. We begin to understand how intrinsic voice and sound design have become to storytelling, and it is this scene more than any that reinforces what a remarkable effort has been made by auteur Michel Hazanavicius to tell this story without it. Ludovic Bource's accompanying score is so fitting it could have been lifted from a hundred silent film reels - joyful and constant with an astute use of repeated motif and emphasis. The vision is flawless - there are many mesmerising scenes made sharp by the exquisite cinematography, which was perhaps more deserving than Hugo of the camera's top gong.

Admittedly, there is one moment in the story that stuck out like a sore thumb: in a moment of desperation, Peppy eschews a chauffeur and leaps into a car, taking off as fast as possible. One of the greatest moments of danger in the film relies partly on what's going on offscreen, but mostly on the fact that a woman is behind the wheel of a car. Even in a film entirely about the 1920s, this seems dated. They could have at least drawn attention to it.

Otherwise, the story arc is well crafted and expertly paced, and won't disappoint. This is a tale that fashions itself as classic and attains that status; like many films of the period it mimics, it has an uplifting quality that has you strolling out of the cinema with a grin on your face (and an unshakeable urge to buy a dog). It won Best Director and Best Motion Picture (among other things) at this year's otherwise disappointing Academy Awards, and deservedly so. Put this on your list of must-see films for 2012.

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