Review: The Artist

The Artist is black and white, French and silent. And filmed in an ancient ratio. And it is utterly, utterly, utterly brilliant. Indeed it is more lovely than Scorsese’s Hugo and richly deserves every single award it will pick up over the next two months.

By now you should know the story, but just in case you don’t, Jean Dujardin plays Hollywood silent movie star George Valentin who falls from grace as the talkies arrive, while his would-be protégé and lover Peppy Miller (played by Berenice Bejo) becomes the new out-loud star.

The story’s universal elements (pride before the fall, the fall itself, and the slow path to redemption and renewal via newfound, true love) certainly help the modern ear and eye to cope with the loss of dialogue and foley sound. For most of the film, the only sound is the score – and thank god it’s perfectly pitched, supporting mood and enhancing emotion without over-dramatising or being intrusive and pointless. When foley sound and dialogue comes (very cleverly in plot terms), it almost jars.

The photography is sumptuous, basking in almost bleached-out whites in the Californian sun-dappled studio lots. The scene in which Valentin discovers the truth about Miller’s obsession is a lesson in camera angles and editing – not only should it be enough to secure the Best Film Editing Oscar, but it should also be taught in film school.

Indeed, many critics have already noted that the film is a lesson in film-making and film production, not just to the in-the-know viewer, but also the film industry itself.

The film’s representation of old-school film stars, and indeed the very performances of Dujardin and Bejo, are a reminder of how few real movie stars there are these days: actors who can light up the screen and command your attention. And The Artist’s two stars do just that: their respective first appearances blew my new year cobwebs away.

Director Michael Hazanavicius has complete command of his screenplay, and really plays to the strengths both of his regular principal cast and his Hollywood imports John Goodman, James Cromwell and Penelope Ann Miller.

I have completely fallen in love with The Artist. For the final 20 minutes, I was in tears of joy, but was so engrossed I didn’t reach for my hankie. I really can’t recommend this highly enough. Put aside any fears of the lack of sound: this silence is golden.

Score: 9.5/10 (a 10 is pending a second viewing…)