The Artist

Every once in a while it’s nice to have a delicious little dessert of a movie. And The Artist, a love letter to a bygone era, is a loveable little pastiche of a movie. Would I have given it the Oscar for Best Picture? No, my heart belonged to Hugo. But it’s so hard to begrudge such a sweet, happy-go-lucky little movie. It doesn’t hurt that the two lead performances as so energetic and charismatic, or that the film is a treasure trove of references to both the real life histories of several silent movie stars and the movies themselves.

Perhaps the reason that The Artist swooping in out of left field to propel itself into the Oscar race, and eventually to become the winner, didn’t bother me was because it is something rare to see during awards season: a comedy that can, does and did. In a season that typically rewards painfully serious and depressing indie films or high-minded but emotionally empty prestige studio films, it was nice to see something that just wanted to entertain you, make you happy and leave the theater smiling gain so much attention. It doesn’t happen nearly often enough.

But enough about its place in the record books, a new piece of trivia for movie fanatics and awards show watchers, and its awards-season elevation to serious work of art, because at its heart The Artist is nothing more or less than a novelty, a pastiche that wants to make you laugh. Its silent film framework is nothing more or less than a framework, the chosen medium to tell its story. A mixture of a John Gilbert melodrama mixed with a Clara Bow comedy and a dash of A Star Is Born and Singin’ in the Rain thrown in for good measure get us close to the actuality of the film.

Taking place between 1927 and 1932, it tells the story of George Valentin’s (Jean Dujardin) fall from atop the highest peak of Movie Star Mountain, while his discovery Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) begins her meteoric rise to superstardom. There is, of course, a love story, both romantic and plutonic, between the two of them. She sees him as both the man who made her dreams possible and as a great love in her life. She respects and admires him, and consistently repays the debt she feels she owes him. Yes, that sounds an awfully lot like the basic outline for A Star Is Born, but unlike that film (take your pick, mine is the 1954 Judy Garland version) which ends in tragedy, this ends in a triumph.

Valentin’s movie star and filmography owes a tremendous debt to Douglas Fairbanks. The films we see him making are typically swashbuckling adventures like Zorro, which we see him watching as he isolates himself in a depression late in the film, or thrilling spy adventures filled with intrigue and romance, which we see him filming early on in the film. This romantic spy adventure is also the first film appearance for Peppy’s character, a part she got on the insistence of Valentin.

But his personal story is pure John Gilbert, but without the unfortunate and depressing end to the real story. A silent screen star whose career fades with the advent of sound? Yeah, it could be any number of silent film greats who never transitioned, but look at the way he’s attired and made-up. And look at the relationship between Valentin and Miller. Their relationship has echoes of the Gilbert-Greta Garbo romance/friendship. She fought for him to return to the screen until he died, rejecting the offers of other leading men to help her friend and former lover return to glory.

These layers prove that the film maybe a tasty pastry, and it may be parodying the whole transition from silent to sound, but it does so with knowledge and a lot of love. Look at the way that Miller’s character is a reworking of Clara Bow. Her peppy, perky and sexy presence is pure freewheeling energetic charisma, much like the cinema’s first “It” girl.

If the film never reveals why Valentin is reluctant to sound, does it really matter? His French accent is a possibility, but the history of the transition from silence to words is filled with people who put it off as long as possible or just left the business, refusing to make the transition at all, calling sound a great blow to the artistry of the medium. And it’s not as if the film is entirely silent. A lively score, so wonderful and deserving of the Oscar, plays throughout. A sequence is set to “Pennies from Heaven,” and there are two scenes which feature dialog and sound.

The first is a brilliantly played sequence in which Valentin has a nightmarish reaction to every sound in his life. A dog bark echoes throughout his mind like the encroaching sound of a hellhound hot on the trail. And the other is the ending sequence which sees Valentin, on the career rebound, and Miller do their best Astaire-Rogers. This scene encapsulates the best of both of these performances. Dujardin is handsome and goofy in equal measures. A man full of life and he easily carries the film on his shoulders and gives it a manic edge. Bejo keeps up with his manic energy, ably supporting him at every step of the way. They have expert control over their bodies, and can play both very broad and subtle, often switching gears within the same scene. And they radiate a warmth and expressivity that’s nice to see.

Is The Artist the great return-to-form of silent cinema? Probably not. But I love that it dared to be a black-and-white, fullscreen, silent film in 2011. It may not be a great work of art, that’s for time to decide, but it’s so entertaining and pleasing in the moment that you can forgive its faults. And, if nothing else, maybe this and Hugo will inspire people to go back and discovery, or rediscovery, the great silent actors like Charles Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Lillian Gish, Mary Pickford, Louise Brooks or Lon Chaney. Now can you really hate on a movie that could inspire that kind of gold-mine discovery?