Review: 8/10 Can of Whoop Ass
The
Artist
The Artist deserves major props for even getting made. I’m not sure what writer/director Michel Hazanavicius said to get the green light from the production company, but it must have been something other than, “People are tired of talking in films. They’ll come out in droves to see this movie.” Because even with tremendous reviews from critics and plenty of buzz for awards season, not many people will see this movie. Most people are simply not willing to watch a silent movie. Which is a shame, because the film is highly entertaining. But taken from another perspective, as a person who is willing to sit through a silent movie, especially one that so cleverly plays with its silence, I wish the film aspired to be something more than a technical exploration. While the movie is engaging and – gasp – delightful, it’s cute instead of moving, and shallow instead of complicated.
The story feels somewhat predictable from the onset. We start with George Valentine (played flawlessly by Jean Dujardin) at the height of his career as a silent film star. A chance encounter between Valentine and Peppy Miller (played by the equally flawless Berenice Bejo) sets off a string of events that turn their lives upside down. The “talkies” have arrived and the movie company, headed by the strangely-casted John Goodman, is heading in a different direction, away from the old-guard of Valentine and his generation of physical actors, towards Peppy and younger voice actors. Valentine’s ill-timed attempt to personally finance his own silent film during the stock market crash of 1929 leaves him in ruin, while Peppy rides the movie star elevator to the top floor.
The Artist is a plain-faced love story, and it is no surprise that Valentine and Peppy are constantly falling back into each other’s lives. The story evolves with enough grace and charm to make the relationship feel appropriate, if not earned. But there are no larger implications to the romance. Peppy’s love for Valentine seems based on nostalgia and pity more than anything. And it is always a little unfulfilling when love exists as something that the viewer should take for granted. It isn’t clear exactly why Peppy loves Valentine. She just does. Valentine’s attraction to Peppy is revealed in subtler, deeper ways, like when we find out that the film reel he saved from the fire was from the only scene he ever shot with Peppy, from before she was famous. Conversely, when Valentine finds a room full of his old belongings in Peppy’s house, which she has purchased at his estate sale unbeknownst to him, it almost feels a little creepy. At best, the relationship between the protagonists feels a bit uneven.
But while The Artist is a love story, it is much more pre-occupied with being a movie about movies. The true triumphs of the film exist in cinematic moments of self-reflection. And this facet of the film is much more layered than the rather superficial romance between Valentine and Peppy. There is the main conflict, which is a collision of progress. The introduction of new technology to the film industry, in the form of overdubbing and sound mixing, has completely changed the medium. And Valentine’s character is that foolhardy, stubborn mule who won’t concede that change is a good thing. His fall to ruin is precipitated by his refusal to adapt. It’s evolutionary market theory 101: those who adapt, survive. Peppy’s good fortune seems more predicated on good timing than talent, which makes the whole thing even more frustrating for Valentine, but once he sees a “talkie”, he can’t deny that voices are a worthwhile addition to movies. More importantly, Valentine is forced to realize that the world will go on without you if you are unwilling to change. As in any tale of redemption, it takes a fire and bottoming-out for Valentine to accept the folly of his ways.
But the film could exist as sparse bits of entertaining sketches, much like vaudeville. Small scenes, like when Peppy is holding herself through Valentine’s jacket, imagining it is his embrace, or Valentine talking to his shadow, which is silhouetted onto a projection screen, are fascinating unto themselves, devoid of any larger contextualization. The segment where Valentine has a dance competition with a pair of legs behind a screen or when he is forced to re-do a scene over and over again because of his enchantment with Peppy – these scenes inform the personality of the whole, which is fun, exuberant, and open-hearted.
Dujardin and Bejo
are unbelievably well-cast. They both
possess this inexplicable ability
to smile in a thousand different ways.
Both move with natural purpose, whether dancing or doing simple
reaction
shots. They are so good, I am fearful
that there might have been thousands of incredible actors over the last
fifty
years that have gone unnoticed because they lack “gravitas”
or “movie star
lungs”, and didn’t have the good fortune of having a script
like The Artist
presented to them. If this movie
doesn’t
prove the point, then nothing will: acting is much more than
remembering
lines. If it were, we’d all be
movie-ready by our second grade Christmas recital.
And of course, to make a movie that requires
actors to do actual acting, the film necessitated two French
people and
a dog to do the bulk of the work. (Side
note: How long until there is a “Best Actor” category for
animals at the
Academy Awards? This year would be hotly
contested between War Horse and the unnamed Jack Russell
Terrier from The Artist.
We could even throw Stomper a
nomination –
the mascot for the Moneyball-ing
But some part of me felt like The Artist didn’t
push things far enough. And there were
some missed opportunities. For one
thing, I thought Peppy’s fake mole
would figure more
prominently. Seeing as though Valentine
is the one who proposes that she use it as a trademark, and her
break-out film
is called “Beauty Spot”, I anticipated some defiant
moment where Peppy
would wipe off the fake spot, thus declaring her refusal to be an
image, and
exposing the superficiality of
I guess what I’m saying is that for being called The
Artist, the film doesn’t delve very deep into issues of
artistry. The film could have incorporated
the
complicated themes of art going out of style or the ability of art to
adapt to
the world it exists within. Instead, for
a silent film that completely stands out in its time, we get a rather
straight
forward tale of star-crossed lovers who get it together before
it’s too late
and go…dancing. The literal ending
of
the film hints that Hazanavicius notices
the
chameleon-like adaptability of film and art, when he has Valentine and
Peppy
enter the world of “dance-number” films – an era that
was even shorter than the
silent film era. Ending on this note
reveals that the film acknowledges art as a continual cycle of
re-invention. But perhaps the nuts and
bolts of telling a story with silent characters posed some practical
restraints
on the depth of the script – seconding the reasoning behind
moving to “talkies”
in the first place. The end product is
very entertaining and entirely watchable,
even for
those most opposed to atypical films.
But in a metaphorical sense, even for a film consisting of
people who
don’t talk, I wish it would have said a little more.