Looking back at the ride that was this year's TIFF, I continue to find multiple errors in judgment in regards to what I could have seen versus what I did see. While I saw some extraordinary works, I find that I missed out on some truly incredible films. One such loss was The Artist, a decision I regretted immediately afterwards. I have heard nothing but praise since the film's debut at Cannes, and missing out when I had a remote chance was a terrible mistake. Luckily, I only had to wait a short while before getting another chance to see the film. And let me say right from the start, if you have the chance to see this film, do not think twice about missing out.
George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is at the pinnacle of his career as a silent film star in late 1920s Hollywood. He is a megastar, beloved by his fans and loathed by his studio. On chance, he literally bumps into Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) and helps get her film career started over night. But as talkies start to take over and Miller's star rises, Valentin's starts to fall.
It does not sound like a lot, but the simplicity of The Artist is where the film finds its charm and its wonder. Michel Hazanavicius, a relative unknown on this side of the Atlantic, has composed something truly extraordinary and ridiculously unique by 2011 standards. Who would have thought that creating a silent film would provide one of the most enjoyable experiences you will likely have at the movies all year?
Of course, the most widely discussed item regarding the film is its use of silent film tropes and language. This is a silent film about a silent film star. Hazanavicius takes his cues from the pioneers of cinema, and wisely and effortlessly fuses together a film that would not look entirely out of place should it have been shown in the late 1920s or early 1930s. Where filmmakers have been using a widescreen canvas since the 1950s, Hazanavicius stubbornly sticks to the method of the time and displays everything he needs to in the 1.37:1 ratio. I imagine the film would look great in colour, but again, he stays true to the time and gives the film a glorious black and white image that shines brighter than any colour image ever could have. It gives a certain aura of authenticity to the picture that borders on being a gimmick not unlike 3D, but instead allows the film to become all that more special and unique.
I must confess that I have watched very few silent films, a hurdle I envision many audience members may face when they see The Artist. But right from the opening frame, Hazanavicius makes it incredibly easy to put those fears to rest. Through the lovingly created and often nostalgia-inducing visuals, I found myself swept up and deeply engrossed in what was happening. While I could read the lips of some actors, I found that you never really needed to in order to get a full grasp of what was being conveyed. It may sound a bit pedantic of me to even consider discussing the semantics of my literal viewing experience, but it is something that demands to be noted. This film is not an easy sell, and its silent nature was initially a little startling of an idea for me. I do not know if Hazanavicius envisioned this problem from the offset, but I cannot imagine the film would be anywhere near as enjoyable had it had sound.
While Hazanavicius does deserve a lot of praise for the sheer fact that he made this film, I find an equal if not greater amount of praise should be bestowed on Dujardin. Without letting us hear him say a word, he is simply marvelous from beginning to end. He is a true artist, brilliantly using his emotions at every turn. He hams it up when he needs to, and then goes deeply serious even quicker. He works twice as hard as any actor working today to really make his plight from silent film icon to a distraught and lost has-been truly believable. His actions, whether wholesome fun or downright depressing, are one-of-a- kind, and make us truly appreciate what icons like Charlie Chaplin, Lou Chaney and Harold Lloyd had to go through when they made their films. The expressions on Dujardin's face are simply astounding, and are more than enough reason to see the film, if there were not already more than enough.
While Bejo's chemistry with Dujardin is the stuff of magic, I found that she was nowhere near as strong without him. She does some great work, but she never really comes out as a character that I truly believed in. I found that I was watching an actor act her way through a silent film, as opposed to Dujardin whose work simply transcends the medium. It makes for a slight disappointment, but thankfully she shares the screen with him enough times that it makes up for her fumbles on her own. Supporting turns from James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller and especially John Goodman are all above and beyond great, but again, simply pale in comparison to the artistry on display by Dujardin.
It may be overly clear already, but rather simply put, The Artist is every bit as good as you have heard and probably even better. There are a few minor elements that simply do not add up, and a bit too much of a lull in the middle act, but this is a really wonderful film unlike any other this year. It is wildly enjoyable from beginning to end, and packs one of the best performances of the year that will leave you astounded. This is the kind of movie magic we see all too rarely. Do not let it pass you by.
8.5/10.
George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is at the pinnacle of his career as a silent film star in late 1920s Hollywood. He is a megastar, beloved by his fans and loathed by his studio. On chance, he literally bumps into Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) and helps get her film career started over night. But as talkies start to take over and Miller's star rises, Valentin's starts to fall.
It does not sound like a lot, but the simplicity of The Artist is where the film finds its charm and its wonder. Michel Hazanavicius, a relative unknown on this side of the Atlantic, has composed something truly extraordinary and ridiculously unique by 2011 standards. Who would have thought that creating a silent film would provide one of the most enjoyable experiences you will likely have at the movies all year?
Of course, the most widely discussed item regarding the film is its use of silent film tropes and language. This is a silent film about a silent film star. Hazanavicius takes his cues from the pioneers of cinema, and wisely and effortlessly fuses together a film that would not look entirely out of place should it have been shown in the late 1920s or early 1930s. Where filmmakers have been using a widescreen canvas since the 1950s, Hazanavicius stubbornly sticks to the method of the time and displays everything he needs to in the 1.37:1 ratio. I imagine the film would look great in colour, but again, he stays true to the time and gives the film a glorious black and white image that shines brighter than any colour image ever could have. It gives a certain aura of authenticity to the picture that borders on being a gimmick not unlike 3D, but instead allows the film to become all that more special and unique.
I must confess that I have watched very few silent films, a hurdle I envision many audience members may face when they see The Artist. But right from the opening frame, Hazanavicius makes it incredibly easy to put those fears to rest. Through the lovingly created and often nostalgia-inducing visuals, I found myself swept up and deeply engrossed in what was happening. While I could read the lips of some actors, I found that you never really needed to in order to get a full grasp of what was being conveyed. It may sound a bit pedantic of me to even consider discussing the semantics of my literal viewing experience, but it is something that demands to be noted. This film is not an easy sell, and its silent nature was initially a little startling of an idea for me. I do not know if Hazanavicius envisioned this problem from the offset, but I cannot imagine the film would be anywhere near as enjoyable had it had sound.
While Hazanavicius does deserve a lot of praise for the sheer fact that he made this film, I find an equal if not greater amount of praise should be bestowed on Dujardin. Without letting us hear him say a word, he is simply marvelous from beginning to end. He is a true artist, brilliantly using his emotions at every turn. He hams it up when he needs to, and then goes deeply serious even quicker. He works twice as hard as any actor working today to really make his plight from silent film icon to a distraught and lost has-been truly believable. His actions, whether wholesome fun or downright depressing, are one-of-a- kind, and make us truly appreciate what icons like Charlie Chaplin, Lou Chaney and Harold Lloyd had to go through when they made their films. The expressions on Dujardin's face are simply astounding, and are more than enough reason to see the film, if there were not already more than enough.
While Bejo's chemistry with Dujardin is the stuff of magic, I found that she was nowhere near as strong without him. She does some great work, but she never really comes out as a character that I truly believed in. I found that I was watching an actor act her way through a silent film, as opposed to Dujardin whose work simply transcends the medium. It makes for a slight disappointment, but thankfully she shares the screen with him enough times that it makes up for her fumbles on her own. Supporting turns from James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller and especially John Goodman are all above and beyond great, but again, simply pale in comparison to the artistry on display by Dujardin.
It may be overly clear already, but rather simply put, The Artist is every bit as good as you have heard and probably even better. There are a few minor elements that simply do not add up, and a bit too much of a lull in the middle act, but this is a really wonderful film unlike any other this year. It is wildly enjoyable from beginning to end, and packs one of the best performances of the year that will leave you astounded. This is the kind of movie magic we see all too rarely. Do not let it pass you by.
8.5/10.