Review

Review Date: 25-December-11
Spoiler Rating: High
Juju Judgment: Jubilation!

The Artist (2011)

As far as U.S. marketing goes, "The Artist" may be an unfortunate title for Michel Hazanavicius' much talked-about Oscar contender. Attached to news about this being a silent, black-and-white film, "The Artist" sounds like the average American's worst nightmare of highbrow cinematic foppery — which could not be further from the truth. Hazanavicius tells a classic story in a fully accessible way, with humor, feeling, and (it must be admitted) a canny eye for things that look pretty.

The silent, black-and-white qualities are a natural expression of the story, which concerns a matinee idol of the 1920s. In the ideal match of actor to character, Jean Dujardin plays George Valentin, a hero in the Douglas Fairbanks mold whose assertive brow, cleft chin, and million-dollar smile are tailor-made to give flappers fits. We meet George on the opening night of his latest Hollywood hit when both he and his audience refuse to let the ovation end. After hamming it up with his terrier sidekick, he heads outside for a press conference which is accidentally crashed by aspiring actress Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo). What seems like a harmless, amusing incident spells a turnaround of all George's fortunes.

Chance meetings between destined couples are nothing new, but after a century of cinema The Artist comes up with one of the greatest falling-in-love montages ever. (It's almost topped by a later meeting on the stairs of the breathtaking Bradbury Building in Los Angeles.) However, George can't be with Peppy because he already has a wife, one who spends her days drawing bushy mustaches and black teeth on her husband's publicity photos. Besides, romance recedes from view when fate decides to shake things up. Almost overnight, talking pictures render old stars like George passé and elevate fresh faces like Peppy. Then the stock market crash sends George's wealth down the drain.

Abandoning his gorgeous grin, Dujardin easily assumes the mantle of despair, at which point he recalls Fredric March in A Star is Born. (High praise indeed.) George loses his house; his wife finally leaves; his chauffeur (James Cromwell) reluctantly agrees to seek other employment; only his little dog remains. In a scene that shows how a movie can speak volumes without anybody speaking at all, we see the fallen hero slouching by a theater called the Lonely Star. Who could fail to pity someone who had been so happy to have so much? Who could fail to root for the aptly named Peppy, who struggles to resurrect the man who stole her heart? The road is rough for her, but joy for us. The Artist isn't a glamour gimmick for culture snobs, but a movie for everyone who likes movies. It's old-fashioned only in how good it is.

Copyright © 2011 The Jujube (M. I. Kim). All rights reserved.