The Artist: Silence is golden

Director: Michel Hazanavicius

Cast: Jean Dujardin, Berenice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell, Malcolm McDowell, Penelope Ann Miller

 

A rare film that blends pathos, drama and comedy with absolute perfection, The Artist, black and white and virtually wordless, is a tribute to the silent era. But French director Michel Hazanavicius’ fond doff of the hat to many a classic of early Hollywood cinema does not cast an unduly self-conscious shadow on this bewitching story of love, loss and regeneration.

 

The Artist is disarmingly simple at heart – pretty much like the era of moviemaking that it celebrates – and it constructs what is essentially a melodrama about a great movie star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) – an obvious allusion to Rudolph Valentino – whose career hits the skids when the arrival of sound around the time of the Great Depression transforms cinema forever.

 

Set between 1927 and 1933, The Artist is also a deeply felt exploration of the true nature of stardom and the inexorable ebbs and tides of showbiz. George loves himself more than anything else – a fact that is underscored when he gets on to the stage to acknowledge the applause of a well-heeled audience after the premiere of his latest film. He believes in hogging the limelight. The lead actress joins him, but he literally waves her away.

 

On the sidewalk outside the movie theatre, he meets a wannabe actress, Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), who plants a peck on the megastar’s cheek. The Hollywood film press goes ballistic and the spirited coquette is catapulted into the public domain.

 

The next time we see Peppy, she has landed a small role in a George Valentin film. The star develops a soft corner for the vivacious girl as they dance before the camera, but the pair parts without their love for each other being declared in words. And that constitutes a subtle analogy for what the handsome actor stands for: he has touching faith in the ability of silence to convey a world of emotions, much more than words probably can.

 

And then disaster strikes for the self-absorbed Valentin. In a funny yet ominous scene, the star suddenly hears noises that would normally be out of bounds in a silent film: the giggling and chattering of passing girls, a cup being placed on a table, the barking of his gifted and devoted performing partner, a Jack Russell terrier, and a feather hitting the ground with a huge explosion. George’s life will never be the same again.

 

As he insists on continuing to work in silent movies, the younger Peppy makes the transition to sound with ease and leaves him way, way behind. The mood of the film darkens.

 

Hazanavicius presents two apt metaphors to capture the emerging situation. In one, we see Peppy walk up a flight of stairs as George makes his way down the steps. In the other, a new film of his, titled Tears of Love, ends with the star sinking into quicksand. Both allegories are easy to grasp but huge on impact: perfectly in keeping with the spirit of a silent film. 

 

George’s life and career threaten to fall apart. Peppy steps in to help that man who gave her the big break. George’s terrier, who is always by the actor’s side, watches in heart-wrenching silence. The master is determined to leave everything unspoken; the dog cannot talk. They are a twosome trapped in their own poignant limitations.

 

The Artist uses music and sound with a masterly sense of rhythm while the cinematography lends a palpably silent movie feel to the film. But things would not have worked quite to the extent that they do without the wonderfully well modulated performances by Dujardin and Bejo. They give the film its pulsating, uplifting humanity. Uggie the performing dog, too, is a star in his own right, an artist of the highest order.

 

The Artist is a must-see if you love the purity of cinema. The magic and power that Hazanavicius packs into these 100 minutes bear testimony to his skills as a storyteller. Revel in it.