The Artist

More often than not, a film rarely lives up to the hype it has created. You go along to the cinema hoping for a film (and more importantly, an experience) that will engage, enthral and move you in some way. You want to share the same feelings experienced by so many before you who all said that the film was the best thing since The Shawshank Redemption. Nine times out of ten, you'll be disappointed. It was with this in mind that I went to see The Artist, the breakthrough work for French director Michel Hazanavicius. I can happily say that I was wrong.

“So...it's in black-and-white? And it's silent?!” was the general response I received when I told people I was going to see The Artist. “Er, rather you than me”. It was as though I'd said I was popping out to take advantage of Poundland's DIY botox kits. There's a common misconception these days that anything black-and-white or silent is old-fashioned, and therefore boring. But, in the case of The Artist, this is totally wrong. The film is set in Hollywood between 1927 and 1932, just as film studios were making the transition from silent films to sound. It focuses on the careers of two actors: declining silent star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) and rising actress Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) as both experience the transition to talkies. Firstly, these two central performances are faultless and pitched at just the right level and the balance between drama and comedy is just right, creating hugely likeable and engaging characters. The film is shot with a sensitivity towards the early cinematic techniques and styles that Hazanavicius so clearly loves, whilst still retaining a modern and contemporary edge. The lighting (such a big part of black-and-white cinema) is expertly realised and makes the whole film a joy to look at: not since Simba was held up on Pride Rock has a shaft of light been so beautiful.

One of my favourite aspects of the film (and I don't think this is a spoiler) was the occasional use of sound, whether a glass banging a table or a vocal line in a song. When you watch The Artist, it takes about fifteen minutes to 'tune in' to the fact that, yes, this is a silent film but once you engage with this, sound suddenly becomes unexpected and assumes a greater dramatic significance. A strong narrative, driven just as much by visual action as intertitles created a dynamic and charming story and the relationship between the two central characters didn't feel forced or overly melodramatic. One thing's for sure – it's great lip-reading practice. With great comedic timing and warm humour, The Artist has played skilfully juggled a large range of emotions and will, undoubtedly, leave a big smile on your face. The music (obviously of key importance to a film such as this) complemented the action beautifully and Ludovic Bource (the film's composer) has really understood and emulated the musical style of silent cinema. However, earlier in the month, Kim Novak stated in Variety that “I feel as if my body - or at least my body of work - has been violated by the movie” as Bource had incorporated a section of the score from Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo, in which Novak starred. What a silly woman.

Having been nominated for no fewer than ten Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director, The Artist really is a gem of a film and fully deserves every word of praise it has received. Even the cute dog puts in an Oscar-worthy performance. So, put your pre-conceptions behind you and go and see it. Or, at the very least, get the DVD. I mean, it's a silent black-and-white film. What more could you want?!

Clapperboard: * * * * *