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In 1927 silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin)
is at the
top of his game. People can't seem to get enough of him and his
sidekick, a
Jack Russell named Uggie. After a screening of his latest film he
literally
bumps into a young woman named Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), who
briefly steals
his limelight because everyone is wondering who she is. Valentin's boss
Al (John
Goodman) is unhappy when she draws attention away from the film's
opening. Peppy
is aspiring to be an actress herself and ends up on the same studio lot
as
Valentin, auditioning for a part in his movie. A more drastic encounter
arises
for Valentin when Al shows him a glimpse of the future of cinema: the
arrival
of sound in movies. Valentin's refusal and inability to adapt leads to
the
decline of his career and marriage, his friendship with his driver
Clifton
(James Cromwell), along with his mental wellbeing too.
Our value of cinema lives inside the phrase 'seeing is
believing'.
Film is a visual medium and we regularly find that movies dazzle us
through the
uniqueness of their stylistic form, rather than the distinctiveness of
their
thematic concerns. James Cameron's Avatar
(2009) for example, is the instigator of the 3D rebirth, the
highest
grossing film of all time, but also a B-grade action film dressed in
sheep's
clothing. The Artist is at the other
end of the spectrum. On a budget of just fifteen million dollars,
French
director Michel Hazanavicius has the impossible task of making the
silent film
era attractive for audiences again. Just like Avatar,
it is the visual form and style of this film, rather than
distinct themes, that are its defining qualities. This is not to say
that the
film is lacking in depth. A small minority have criticised the film for
being
'style over substance'. Since when is image, if it is used to create
meaning,
not be regarded as deep or substantial? As a silent film today, The Artist is an affectionate tribute
and homage to a period where films
told stories and developed themes almost entirely through images. The
only dialogue
here is selectively provided through onscreen title cards. Due to the
expressiveness of the actors and the film's outstanding formal
composition
though, these are rarely needed. Hazanavicius is said to have studied
the
techniques of the silent era extensively and it shows in the quality of
the
impeccable filmmaking. With its precise, direct camerawork, shooting in
the
traditional silent era ratio of 1.33:1, The
Artist could make a seamless transition back into the very era it
is
recreating. Great efforts have placed into heightening the mood of the
piece,
through dim lighting and shadows that detail an era of economic
uncertainty.
The film was first converted to black and white but Hazanavicius also
employs
what is called sepia toning, essentially a brown filter, to reflect the
changing quality of the film stock over the years.
Although the film is silent for much of its length, there
are
select moments where sound is cleverly employed for dramatic impact.
Deep into
the film, Valentin has a dream where the sound of every person and
object in
his world is amplified. Raising the diegetic sound to these booming
levels reminds
us of its shattering power and intrusiveness over silence, while also
enhancing
the psychology of Valentin, who fears that this is the future of his
entire
life. While in isolation these techniques could be cynically viewed as
gimmicks, along with the visuals they are employed to tell a story
about the
attractiveness of fame and in equal measure, its fleetingness too.
Consider the
subtly and the economics of storytelling in the following images: when
we first
see Valentin's home it is handsomely decorated with ornaments and
artworks,
including paintings of himself. Yet during his downfall even the
essential
furnishings of his house are barely visible. Entering Peppy's
accommodation
during her own and its eerily similar to Valentin's, reflecting the
reversal of
their fortunes. Two of the more distinctive or flashier shots in the
film speak
volumes about Hollywood. The first is a long shot, held for what seems
an age,
on a staircase in the film studio. The framing of both the rising and
falling
stairs shows that regardless of the state of your own career, show
business
rolls on without you. This is also reflected in a low angle shot of Peppy's billboard, towering over Valentin,
alone
in the street, realising that a new generation of younger and more
adaptive
performers have arrived. Further contributing to the story are the
performances
of Dujardin and Bejo, both of which are faultless in their expression
of two
people at different stages in their careers. The subtly and the
selection of
their body language tells us so much about their characters. Two really
entertaining performances, three if you include the funny little dog
Uggie, are
on display here.
Despite the formal strengths and the quality of the
performances, I
wondered how well a story with more complex or distinct themes, rather
than
large, broader ones that bode well visually, would have fared under the
restrictive conditions of silent cinema. They wouldn't have. Great
dialogue is
not a gimmick as people once thought. It is a powerful tool, used to
strengthen
more challenging themes and characters. There are certainly some sharp
title
cards here but I love films of constant wit and detail, where the most
intricate or humorous line of dialogue is spoken in such a way that it
adds layers
to a character's complexion, history and desires. The
Artist finds clever ways of visualising grand but very familiar
themes, like fame, technology and generational change to tell a
likeable and
accessible story. Amidst the boring CGI avalanche, where both theme and
storytelling are disregarded, we hail a film like The
Artist as fresh because of its unique formal style and
identity. Save for one very tense moment towards the end of the film
though,
the story is funny and charming but entirely predictable. The direction
of the narrative
rarely surprises or moves us, mostly because it owes much to the
superior Singin' in the Rain (1952), which
covered the transition into the talkies with greater specificity
towards the
filmmaking process. It is also a serious disadvantage to have seen The Artist's overly revealing trailer
beforehand too. With help from one of the most powerful producers in
Hollywood,
Harvey Weinstein, whose company distributed the film, The
Artist may very well win the Best Picture Oscar. For me, Hugo (2011) will always be the superior
film. It intertwines a clever mystery surrounding silent cinema, with
3D
technology, to develop interesting, unique themes about the mechanical
nature
of humanity. It is a great film that satisfies our cinematic desires
for the
old and the new. While I appreciate The
Artist's bravery and craftsmanship, I am not ready to call it a
masterpiece.
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