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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