Silence is Golden: The Artist Review

The first review I'm going to post is of this past year's Best Picture winner, The Artist. I wrote this review immediately following my first viewing of the film in December. Notice that three months in advance I said it would win Best Picture... well I was right, wasn't I? Enjoy it, leave comments :)

Rating: Five Stars (Out of Five)

            There are very few people still alive today who remember those times when the people up on the big screen spoke only through fancy white lettering, mouthed words, and usually overdramatic body language. All of film was silent until 1927, when The Jazz Singer surprised audiences around the world and became wildly popular. Many of the talented stars of the silent era were left in the dust. Michel Haznavicius’ The Artist is a wonderfully entertaining (I can’t believe I get to finally write this) new black and white silent film that deals with the rise of new talent and the fall of the old following the demise of the silent era.

If you are a fan of silent films then you know that they can be simply dull without a solid leading man. Jean Dujardin thankfully has a background in slapstick humor and his timing is impeccable, his facial expressions endearing and laugh-inducing. We are taken by his boyish charm from the very first scene, in which Dujardin’s silent film superstar George Valentin attends one of his film’s premieres. When the movie is over he slides around the stage bowing and performing tricks with his pet dog Uggie, who almost never leaves his presence in the film.  

Afterwards, when posing for reporters, he bumps into Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) and starts posing with her. Peppy makes her way into the business as sound film comes to be dominant and becomes a superstar as Valentin is left behind. He can’t ignore his pride and refuses to do sound pictures and so, in the humorously melodramatic scenes unique to silent film, quickly loses everything he has. Miller, however, still has feelings for him and persuades the studio head (John Goodman) to give him another chance.

Some have called The Artist a gimmick because it references the fact that it is silent throughout; for instance, behind the screen at the movie premiere in the first scene, there’s a sign that reads something like “Silence backstage while the film is running.” But don’t dismiss the entire film because of these humorous references; it also uses its silence as an analogy for its protagonist’s predicament. For example, Valentin’s wife asks him why he won’t talk, in reference to both his silence towards her and his refusal to speak in films. The silence forwards the action and thus shapes the film.

Despite this being a French-produced film with quite a few American actors, it is neither French nor American. In fact, it really has no nationality at all. Because there is no dialogue, the cast is entirely reliant on universal body language. Despite Dujardin’s stellar lead performance (which is reminiscent of Douglas Fairbanks but may actually exceed him in charm and timing), this is an ensemble film that is fittingly led by an efficient and cohesive cast. John Goodman is wonderfully flustered and proud as the man behind the desk and James Cromwell is well-cast as Valentin’s loyal servant Clifton. Even those who have small parts or cameos (Ken Davitian, Missi Pyle, Malcolm McDowell) work well with Dujardin and Bejo’s charisma and chemistry.

Some will look at my review, or at the poster for the movie, or at interviews, or at anything to do with it and will see the words “black and white” and “silent” and will run like hell to their beds and hide under the covers at the thought of such boredom. To those people (you know who you are), here is my message: Fine. Don’t see it. Stay in your close-minded little world. But don’t go around complaining that you didn’t get to watch it in the movies when it wins Best Picture.