'Artist' Triumphs as Tribute to the Silent Film Era

Michel Hazavanicius' The Artist transports audiences back in time to a more simplistic era.

Calling a film such as The Artist, a diamond in the rough may seem on the verge of cliché, but in truth, in the midst of all the countless sequels made for the simple pleasure of making more money and the hapless romances spewing straight from Hollywood’s churning mill, audiences are in desperate need of a reminder of the early days of the industry. Before the time of 3D, a time before breakthrough special effects and even a time before color, films were silent, shot in black-and-white. Audiences hardly have an appreciation for a style they consider archaic that it’s almost a shame that The Artist will not appeal to a universal audiences. 

However for us cinemaphiles, a film like The Artist comes along on the rarest of occasions. The film follows film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), who has reigned supreme over the silent era, only to find the times are quickly changing as the medium is quickly moving to talkies. Valentin forms an on-and-off relationship with up and comer, Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), who breaks out onto the talkie scene after he insists that the studio use her in upcoming pictures.

The Artist rightfully belongs amongst the silent films from the 20s that it is emulating to perfection. Director Michel Hazanavicius focuses on every minute detail from camera angles to framing and full screen aspect ratio to a marvelous score by Ludovic Bource that represents that era to make The Artist emerge as not only an authentic walk through time, but a powerful narrative that can carry itself with hardly any usage of dialogue. Hazanavicius requires the audience entire attention for the 100 minute runtime. 

Every overacted expression and moment from both Dujardin and Bejo allows the story to unfold in a very engaging fashion. Yes, the performances are overacted, but that is how actors conveyed a narrative without sound. Dull, boring facial expressions and rigid movements keep audiences at bay, uninterested, even when dialogue is used to tell a story. Watch any Charlie Chaplin movie from that era and it will explain any uneasiness with how characters acted in the medium.

Hazanavicius presents The Artist as the full package with a compelling story of one man’s pride and his inability to change with the times, contrasting with his protégé’s rise to fame in the newer medium. Dujardin and Brejo are fantastic together, brought together by what they each love, but torn apart by the manner in which to express such creativity. Watching Valentin’s fall from cinematic grace transpires as a dynamic emotional turmoil which Dujardin displays impressively from the broad range of visual cues. Brejo is more of a little fireball, always having that spark to really make something out of always charming herself. Even though her rise and Valentin’s fall go off in opposite directions, the audience doesn’t pose any negativity towards her character for setting the talkies as the new means of filmmaking. After all, without taking this next step, there would be no colorized films or seamless special effects. As unknowns to many, these two actors make The Artist, a realistic experience. 

However, the audience is drawn out of the moment when more famous actors such as John Goodman, James Cromwell, Malcolm McDowell and Ken Davitian grace the screen in what are little more than cameos. Only then do we realize that we’re watching a 2011 movie trying to be a 20s movie. Otherwise than that, every other aspect brings the era to life once more.

Director Hazanavicius really has an appreciation for the beginning of cinema, just like Martin Scorsese who late last year painted a flawless canvas of film appreciation in Hugo. Unlike Scorese’s film, Hazanavicius utilizes a monochromatic approach to show that black-and-white can capture emotion and tone that a film in color just can’t do. The use of shadows play such a strong role in a black-and-white film and Hazanavicius takes advantage of that, particularly in scenes where tension is brewing in the latter half of the film. A shadow cast against a wall can do all the talking, even when there is no talking at all; it’s a powerful image as it is eerie. Every element in The Artist works in its favor to keep the audience engaged without the use of words. The pacing is quite steady, neither a speedy trip through history or a plodding bore, though some might find the more character-driven scenes, which there are many of them as consuming.

To those who have an appreciation for cinema, The Artist contains two charming voiceless gems in the middle of one of the most daring throwback projects in recent memory. Like with George Valentin and Peppy Miller, careers do rise and fall, but the journey traveled is what’s most memorable of all.    

GRADE: A+ (10/10)
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