The Artist

Terrific!  That's the most apt way to describe The Artist.  The word both perfectly captures how you feel while watching it and fits the time period of the movie (because really, who says "terrific" anymore?).  It's 1927 and silent films are king (and also all there is).  But not for long.  The rise of the talkie spells doom for silent action/adventure/romance star George Valentin (fantastically played by Jean Dujardin), who blows off the advent of sound as a fad.  As his star dims, the young starlet, Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), to whom he once gave a break lights up the screen more brilliantly than even George in his prime.  The studio head Al Zimmer (John Goodman, as great as ever) turns his back on George, so George pours his life's savings into financing his own comeback epic.  There is only one problem.  Well, two actually.  It's a silent movie and no one goes to see it and the stock market crashes on the day of the premier.  George is ruined.  He sinks into a pit of despair, self-pity and self-destruction.  With only man's best friend at his side--a scrappy Jack Russell terrier name Uggie--George hits rock bottom and hits the bottle while he's down there.  Will he find his way again?  Can he swallow his pride and take the helping hand from his former protoge'?  Why was George so afraid of the rise of talkies?

Oh yeah, and it's a silent movie in black and white (in case you hadn't heard).

It would be easy for a movie like this to simply rely on it's gimmick to carry the day and just throw out a cream puff story to show off it's tricks.  The Artist certainly does show off its tricks, but in service to the story, which would be great with sound, color, 3D, or any other technological film trick could think of (smell-O-vision?).  It manages, pretty remarkably actually, to find that perfect pitch between homage to a melodramatic bygone era and current sensibilities.  Yes, the actors mug for the camera and over-emote physically, but never to the point of parody and always feeling somehow authentic.  It's a silent film, afterall, so more has to be conveyed with a look or a gesture rather than an explanation or dialog.

Everything about the movie feels authentic, actually, to the point where you almost forget this movie wasn't made in 1927.  The costumes and sets are exactly right, even down the tchochkies on the shelves in the background.  The film making itself is true to the era, even beyond the silence and lack of color.  The kinds of camera work and editing give it that level of realness.  The soundtrack--there was always music during movies of the silent era--is wonderful as well, and I've read that composer Ludovic Bource borrowed cues from classic movies for portions of the score.

Jean Dujardin is perfectly cast as the dashing George Valentin.  He's like Clark Gable with better ears, a 1000 watt grin and an icy glare.  He conveys every emotion with his eyes and you can feel his pain when his world starts to crumble.  Dujardin is equaled by Berenice Bejo as the perky Peppy Miller.  She has a smile to match Dujardin's and is exactly who we would all picture if told to imagine a 1920's film starlet.  Then of course there is the dog.  John Goodman and James Cromwell also play prominent roles and, of course, are really really good.

The movie is directed by a Frenchman who's name I can't pronounce, Michel Hazanavicius, who does a fantastic job of keeping what could have easily become a gimmicky straight parody on the right track.  He gives us a film that does everything we want a movie to do.  It makes us laugh, it makes us feel, and it's just a whole lot of fun.  There's a great payoff at the conclusion, though that's all I'm going to say about that so as not to ruin the surprise.  If you don't already have plans--or even if you do--plan to see The Artist today.  It's pretty much the perfect Valentine's Day movie.