Far from being a gimmick of a film made with a Paul Merton-like melancholy for the surpassed previous medium of silent film, The Artist is a film of genuine substance and it is also delightfully amusing. With the portrayal of the demise of the (at first, charming) silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) into a stubborn alcoholic has-been, the film is a fine metaphor for the sudden death of silent film at the hands of the talkies with the talkies being represented by the upcoming star Peppy Miller (Berenice Bojo) who succeeds in the place of the fallen Valentin.
The Artist’s strength lies in the story of the childlike affection that Miller has for Valentin, with Miller crestfallen at the fall of Valentin that precipitated her own rise. This and the endearing loyalty of his rather crafty dog represent how Valentin’s magnetism survives his own demise and you can’t help but be taken by Valentin’s earlier charm and swagger amid the revelation of his rather pathetic character throughout the film – this tragic fall comes with the most frustrating and engrossing effect.
The Artist is clever and, although I can’t say that I now long for the return of silent films in general, it was certainly a good advertisement for the previous attraction it may have had about 80 years ago now. It is laden with subtle tricks and jokes such as Valentin’s exasperation when he hears himself making sounds within the film. It cleverly depicts the fickle beast that is Hollywood and the often capricious effect that this has on its own stars, easily forgotten amid the coming of the new exciting thing overcoming the old new exciting thing.
Michel Hazanavicius succeeds in making a silent film that works for the 21st century while reminding us of the importance that silent film had in the development of cinema. It would be fitting for it become the first silent film to win the Oscar despite being made in 2011.
Words by William Barns-Graham
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