The reason for the title “The Artist” beats me. Jean Dujardin is superbly charming and fabulously expressive as the showman, George Valentin, a movie star who turned silent after the advent of talking pictures. He is more of a showman, an entertainer, than anything else. When his producer (John Goodman) tells him that the public wants new faces in the talkies, George says he will make wonderful silent pictures. George’s comeback film is a disaster both commercially and artistically. He does not move the audience with his emotional performance but astounds them with amazing tap dancing.
In this case, the movie is mostly entertaining. It is quite beautifully done. Dujardin leads the movie and the other actors are also good: Bejo, John Goodman, and James Cromwell as the supporting cast all did very well. But Uggie the dog steals the shjow People are so focused on him and Dujardin’s eyebrows that the movie spends more time on the dog than anything else.
Writer-director Michel Hazanavicius had many opportunities throughout the film to explore various deeper routes, but he chose not to take that risk. George’s pride is kept in check, and while it does make him pleasantly egotistic, it also means that his dramatic arc is limited. His pit of despair is fairly shallow. Similarly, Peppy’s controlling desire to help rehabilitate George borders on disturbing (especially during the stored furniture scene), yet she never gets to be truly malevolent. Am I so terrible for wanting a dose of the darkness in Sunset Boulevard, or the tragedy of Citizen Kane?
This very well could be missing the mark. This is not a tragedy, it is a comedy. Maybe it’s The Artist because creating such a delicious crowd-pleaser must be artistry in its finest form. Few films stimulate emotions, charm the eyes, and capture the mind equally. Hazanavicius’s bold move is shocking: to do it in a silent film! The Artist proves that the old Hollywood ways still work, and does so in an affectionate, clever, and mischievous way that makes fun of those ways. The Golden Age of silent film in Hollywood had an insane level of perfection, and this film replicates so much of what that era achieved.
Another question that needs to be posed is, would Hollywood ever produce a less self-satisfied movie about Hollywood? It is doubtful. The smugness of Hollywood is the extra gift that this film offers its viewers. The Artist is a tribute to classical Hollywood while at the same time refraining from being a backslapping, self-promoting film about Hollywood. Considering how American filmmakers have created a plethora of devotionals to the glorious history of Hollywood, they have also intensely criticized the industry. With The Artist, American filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius has reproduced some of that French magic. Bravo!
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