‘The Artist’ is a wondrous love letter to the magic of cinema

The Artist, Michel Hazanavicius’ fable about the silent film industry, is like a little gift bag for cinema aficionados. The entire story is portrayed in black and white, and, for the most part, has no spoken words. It’s a clever silent movie about silent movies.

Some audience members may shirk at the idea of sitting through a 100-minute feature with no dialogue. But The Artist will win over most naysayers; this gem of a movie is in love with itself and yearns to be loved as well.

It will pose a considerable threat on Oscar night.

Jean Dujardin plays George Valentin, a silent-film star who built a career out of his expressive facial movements. Audiences around the country know his likeness and love his comedy and dashing good looks.

He’s the earliest notion of an American celebrity, a person who ends up in the trade magazines with a strategically placed cigarette between his fingers and a luscious lady on his arm.

At the premiere of his latest film, Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), an unknown admirer, works her way from the crowd of onlookers and somehow gets photographed next to Valentin. The gossip columns are soon clamoring over who this new girl is and whether Valentin has taken a new lover.

As these cinematic seesaws turn out, silent films eventually give way to talkies and Valentin finds himself on the losing end of the technological advancement. He refuses to change with the times and is ultimately damned for his decision.

Meanwhile, Miller’s star rises precipitously. She becomes the new contract girl for many blockbuster films, and it doesn’t take long for her popularity to eclipse that of Valentin’s.

As the matinee idol descends into poverty and depression, Miller never forgets about that first photograph at the  Hollywood premiere. She never loses sight of her past, or the past of the man who helped her rise to stardom.

The Artist has been billed as a groundbreaking film that dares to pay homage by becoming the very product of its emulation. These exhortations are a little misguided. The movie is exquisite, fun and delightful. The premise has been toyed with by other directors (Guy Maddin’s The Saddest Music in the World comes to mind), and the plot is much like the plots of Tinseltown’s earliest romances, convenient and simple.

Still, Hazanavicius commits himself to the story and never waivers from the tribute. And he is able to find clever tidbits along the way; I especially liked the dream sequence where Valentin finds himself in a world of sound.

Although everything is washed in crisp black and white, the costumes and sets are beautifully reconstructed.

Bejo and Dujardin are pitch-perfect in their respective roles. This movie will likely catapult them into the collective memories of American moviegoers (much like Marion Cotillard’s Oscar-winning turn in La Vie en Rose). They need to convey so much emotion through their facial movements and gestures. The fact that we fall in love with their love relationship is a testament to the effectiveness of their characters.

The Artist won’t leave you breathless, but it will leave you smiling from ear to ear.

By John Soltes / Publisher / John@HollywoodSoapbox.com

• The Artist

• 2011

• Written and directed by Michel Hazanavicius

• Starring Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, Penelope Ann Miller and James Cromwell

• Running time: 100 minutes

• Rated PG-13 for a disturbing image and a crude gesture

• Rating: