There's a distinct moment in The Artist where I stopped just liking the film and decided that I loved it.I won't spoil what happens, but when that something does happen, the soundtrack borrows a bit from Bernard Hermann--and the moment that familiar score started, my heart basically melted and I fell completely in love with this movie.
The Artist is Exhibit A of how far talented actors and a great story can get you. Sure, it's stylized, but while this film gained a lot from it's silent film format, it also lost some things. Particularly, it lost a lot of things modern films rely on. For example, we take for granted how much an actor's voice can elevate a scene. If a character's distressed, the extra tremor or melodramatic crack in their voice automatically effects us and let's us know that "things just got real". The sound of crying, also, is a great aid in dramatic scenes. We don't really know how important these things are in a film until they're gone.
And yes, these things are certainly gone in The Artist. But did the film suffer? Absolutely not.
Back to my point about talented actors and good stories. Jean Dujardin, who I SINCERELY hope is the next Javiar Bardem (non-American actor who breaks into Hollywood), can tell us everything we need to know just with his facial expressions. When he breaks, we don't need any dramatic howling or loud sobs--all his pain is conveyed to us just by the look on his face. And that, my friends, is talent. The same goes for Bérénice Bejo. The both of them together in this film leave nothing to be desired; I never MISSED the spoken-word dialogue for one second because I didn't need it. I don't know about you, but I can't think of very many actors who could carry a film like this.
The Artist, while it has its plot about the transition from silent film to talkies and the way this radically changed Hollywood and blah blah blah, is above all a love story. We have two magnetic characters meant for each other going down these two separate paths, both effected differently by this change in the industry. The movie isn't about the change, though--it's about them. It's always about them, and I think that's why The Artist has so much heart. For example, by the time the film is halfway over, I think it's impossible not to care about George Valentin (Jean Dujardin). When the climax begins (and that sweeping Bernard Hermann score takes over), I was a nervous wreck--and you know why? Because I cared. And really, when I think about it, I rarely care anymore when I go to the movies.
It's nice to care.
Before watching this movie, I felt wary about all the insane, seemingly out-of-left-field buzz. One minute we were all talking about War Horse, and then out of nowhere this unknown film is sweeping up award after award at the Golden Globes. I went into The Artist with this same attitude, ready to pffft at it heartily and deem it overrated. I figured that all the people raving about the film were only doing so because it was different, and like, you can look super intellectual if your favorite movie of the year was black, white, and silent.
Thankfully, that's not the case. The Artist deserves every last iota of hype it's received this awards season, and I honestly can't think of a film (or a pair of leads) more deserving of an Oscar--specifically Jean Dujardin, who is extremely talented and attactive. I feel like I haven't stressed this enough. I mean, he makes me want to learn French.
RATING: 5/5
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