Silent Running by Don Jaucian The Artist (2011) ...

Silent Running
by Don Jaucian

The Artist (2011)
D: Michel Hazanavicius
S: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell

It’s hard not to get swamped by the tidal wave that is The Artist. It is a charmer that constantly mugs (a word preferred by the film) for your approval, like its aww-shucks canine, Uggie, and The Artist is precisely this: a film bathed in the nostalgic effect of silent movies in this digitally enhanced era, banking on its stellar prowess (as hammered by the performances of its reliable leads Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo) and our slow degradation to a noise-polluted time where silence has become a luxury.

So let’s get this out of the way: The Artist is a mildly pleasurable cinematic experience, one that should get hardcore film sluts orgasmic with its numerous references to the films and stars of yore, including Orson Welles, Douglas Fairbanks, Rudolph Valentino, John Gilbert (whose life story seems to be the inspiration for Dujardin’s George Valentin), and Gene Kelly. It has a heart, one that is sure to please anyone who is mesmerized by its trickster turns (a sudden emergence of phantom sounds hound George as the talkies eradicate the silent film era, the numerous reaction shots of Uggie, etc.). But the hype surrounding it is unabashedly criminal, overblown by the truckload of approval from guilds and plaudits from critics.

For a supposedly silent film, The Artist is annoyingly talkative. Mouths open incessantly, despite the film’s attempt to play on its heavy-handed obviousness. (“I won’t talk! I won’t say a word!” are the first lines that we see emanating from Valentin’s mouth in the opening’s film-within-the-film, something that perfectly captures the look and the vibe of the silent movies during that era). And it all falters from here on, with the film focusing on Valentin’s fall as the talkies gain more prominence and silent film actors are shunned as pariahs. It seems almost a cheat that his refusal to work in talking pictures is not because of his pride but because of his accent. But of course, he makes a comeback, in a silent film no less! And what happens after the big hit? Further obscurity and tabloids are probably some of the options.

The Artist has some memorable moments. We see desperation in George’s eyes as he is surrounded by flames that slowly eat his life’s works. The finale is, of course, a rousing playtime that magically erases all the melodrama of the past ninety-ish minutes. But when it all ends, it crumbles as a fleeting yield. There will be the momentary encouragement of the applause, soon to be followed by footsteps emptying the theater, out into the streets as moviegoers get on with their noise-filled lives. The Artist acts as a healthy cinematic diet, one that is direly needed in a pumped-up succession of 3D films and high-octane explosions. But other than that, its riches-to-rags-to-riches story will remain as memorable as the next American Idol winner.