zondag 19 februari 2012

The Artist: the perfect hommage to Hollywood's Silent Era

Rating: ****/*****, or 8/10

It took me a while (due to snowstorms, death in the family and bad scheduling), but this Friday I finally got the chance to go and see Michel Hazanavicius' The Artist, and it was very much worth the wait. I much anticipated this movie ever since I first heard of its existence: any movie that dares to go back to cinema's roots and consciously uses an 1: 1,33 aspect ratio, hardly any sound, intertitles and is shot in black and white – in an age where audiences have been pampered and spoiled by overly expensive and grandiose tricks and effects to lure them into theatres – I view as gutsy and bold, and has my respect despite the chance the movie itself fails to be compelling (which fortunately can't be said for The Artist). Given the plethora of nominations and awards the movie has won, and is still winning, around the globe, I'm pleased to see I'm not alone in this regard. It's surprisingly refreshing to see something so purposefully “primitive” capture audiences' imaginations like few movies do these days: it almost makes the 'very old' feel brand new. It's also ironic to see a movie that pays its respects to the early heydays of Hollywood (when it was still called 'Hollywoodland') is actually a French production. After all, modern Hollywood would never greenlight an “artsy” project like this, even when it does nothing but praise its own history.


The story is surprisingly simple, while also reflecting actual circumstances between 1927 and 1932. Popular silent movie actor George Valentin (the name certainly doesn't remind us of Rudolph Valentino by accident) is at the top of his game in the movie business, loved alike by audiences for his flair and charismatic attitude and by studio execs for his uncanny ability to make them a fortune. Played by French actor Jean Dujardin, who performs the role with such charm and wit you simply can't resist him (and hopefully, neither can the Academy) George meets young debutante Peppy Miller, the film's other most excellent piece of casting, played with equal grace and delight by Bérénice Bejo, who also should not leave the room empty handed at the Oscar ceremony next week. He gives her useful pointers on how to survive the tough competition of the motion picture industry, which helps her get her foot between the door so eventually she too becomes a renowned actress. George however soon finds himself confronted with the rise of the 'talkie', the sound film, which he first dismisses as rubbish, thus paving the way for his downfall in the movie business, while Peppy not only manages to a make a successful transition to the new format, but actually thrives in it, and soon his movies are forgotten while hers make her the biggest star in Hollywood. On a downward spiral to his demise, Peppy, at first secretly, helps George because she loves him, but when he finds out he won't reciprocate and continues to diminish in status and life. But thanks to Peppy's genuine desire to make him a star again and win his heart, she presents him with another solution (which you should check out for yourself), thereby setting things right and making the movie end on a happy note. We wouldn't want to have it any other way.

Though this basic storyline would probably have worked well in a “normal” movie too, it's The Artist's classic approach to its execution that makes it work as convincingly as it does. It uses various cinematic techniques to make it feel like the very thing it's supposed to pay hommage too, namely an actual silent film. Such techniques include:

-Black & white: of course this movie would not have worked were it shot in colour like any other contemporary film. Black and white stock is the most obvious way of making this feel like a movie from the good old days, since for general audiences, 'black and white' and 'old movies' are almost synonymous. Of course, colour techniques were in use from the cinema's very beginning. In my mind, it would not have felt wrong if the fire scene in The Artist for example had made use of red tinted film stock to acknowledge this fact, but that might have confused audiences not familiar with the colourful aspects of the early days of the silver screen. And since the scene feels fine anyway, there's no point in bitching about this supposed missed opportunity.

-The 1,33:1 ratio: also known as the Academy ratio (come on, Academy, you have to give this film some Oscars just for this one!). Nowadays, audiences are used to films being shown in wide screen formats in movie theatres, but it was not always so. The typical silent film would not have used this expensive technique, which was reserved only for the more lavish productions and wouldn't get into full swing until television established itself as the premium 1,33:1 ratio user in the fifties, at which point studios started to use wide screen ratios more and more to get audiences back into theatres (resulting in the now preferred ratio of 2,40:1, originally known as CinemaScope). It's great seeing modern audiences enjoy a movie in the almost square shaped Academy ratio, without actually caring the frame is much smaller then they're used to see in theatres but the movie is so fascinating they let it slide. Plus, the smaller ratio makes the actors more engaging because it focuses so much on them and much less on the rest of the setting. Fortunately, The Artist's top notch cast is up to the challenge of surviving the 1,33:1 aspect ratio without feeling forced or artificial.

-The observant camera: a lot of the present day zooming and tracking camera techniques had not yet been invented in the late twenties and were generally impossible to achieve, making the use of camera positions feel static and passive, only purely observing the action and never actually getting mixed up in it. The Artist too adheres to this notion and makes much less use of the camera's abilities than most people might be comfortable with in this hyperkinetic and dynamic age of shooting scenes. But again, because of the fully gripping and entertaining acting a lot of people probably won't even notice the difference.

-The wipe: this particular method of showing scene transitions was common in use back in the Silent Era, but is almost extinct now. Most people will only know it from the Star Wars movies, where George Lucas featured a great number of different ways to use wipes for ending one scene and moving into the next, thus briefly showing a part of each scene setting in the same frame, as an hommage to the classic adventure serials of the Twenties and Thirties that influenced him whilst making Star Wars. The Artist too doesn't just move from one scene to the next in a routine fashion, but applies various forms of wipes in progressing between settings.

-The intertitles: as a way of passing inaudible dialogue between characters to the audience, title cards with the supposedly spoken lines used to be shown between shots so viewers knew what was being discussed. This movie also makes use of intertitles, though in a bare boned fashion, only applying them where audiences really need to understand what is being said (or for comedic purposes). It's amazing how much of the movie is intelligible without intertitles, which once again gives credit to the movie's simple but effective story line and its highly capable actors executing it in such a way we can almost read their lips (which often, we actually can).

-The (lack of) sound: this is of course The Artist's most defining feature, since it's basically what the movie is all about. George Valentin doesn't speak in his films, and won't when the technology is made available. His movies, as well as the movie itself, are accompanied by an orchestral score setting the mood of the scenes (and doing it so well that it too got itself Oscar nominated). Eventually George is not heard anymore, even by his former associates in the motion picture industry, who opt for sound films instead. Peppy however thrives in the latest addition to the film medium: however, we are not shown any of her films in this movie so we don't actually hear her (it would have been great to actually hear some sound film here, but it would probably take audiences out of the experience). In fact, the only bit of sound film we see in this film is not accompanied by actual sound other than the usual film score, since this is above all, a silent movie. That's not to say there is no actual sound in the film, since there is. In a fantastic dream sequence, George finds himself surrounded and attacked by everyday sounds all around him, while he himself proves incapable of producing speech. The sounds get so intrusive and agressive, that a feather hitting the ground produces a loud boom as if a bomb is exploding, thus waking him up from his nightmare. In the end, with Peppy's help and support, George finally utters his first actual words when he has regained his lust for life and admits his love for Peppy, making the emotional impact of his speech increase tenfold. With a few simple words, Hazanavicius ends his movie with the greatest possible emotional climax.


As if the clever use of ancient techniques and a gripping story were not enough, the assembled cast also adds nothing but talent and success to the film. Both Dujardin and Bejo show they're fully aware what effect Hazanavicius was going for and make the movie come totally alive, having us root and feel for them all the way. The supporting cast includes some notable talent, most of which undoubtedly have not done a project like this before but comprehending it completely. John Goodman plays a wonderfully pragmatic and ruthless movie producer who easily trades in George for Peppy when the former won't do 'talkies' and the latter excels at them. James Cromwell performs one of his more refined and memorable roles as Clifton, George's loyal driver who sticks with him no matter what until his boss is destitute and fires him, but still waiting at his doorstep for new instructions for a day, and all too eager to aid Peppy into rescuing George from his descent into self-destruction. The film also features bit parts for Missi Pyle as a typical Hollywood diva who feels upstaged by George's canine sidekick (and rightfully so!; maybe it's about time the Academy considered handing out those little golden statues for animal performers too, since the dog steals almost every scene he's in), and Malcolm McDowell as an extra who heartwarmingly humors the somewhat naive Peppy in the very beginning of her career in movies. All actors seemingly enjoyed shooting this unusual project, and it fully shows on screen: none of them seem uncomfortable in shooting a silent film, making us wonder whether they're actually speaking dialogue on set, or whether the very act of speech is a bit of acting. What fun they must have had on set!

With The Artist, Michel Hazanavicius has made the most wonderful hommage to the Silent Era yet, honouring the early days of Hollywood cinema despite never having worked in Hollywood himself, but fully reflecting the importance of Hollywood's early days on world cinema. Let's hope the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences acknowledges his ingenious film with a number of Oscars, including those for his lead actors who manage to steal our hearts for 100 minutes despite being devoid of speech for 99 of them. In directing a delightful film which adheres to tried but obviously still true tools of making movies, and manages to fully capture a contemporary audience, Hazanavicius has proven himself an artist indeed, and the result can be called nothing but the highest form of moving picture art.

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