The Artist

At first glance, The Artist knows what it wants to be. But does it know what it is? Look past the surface (or just the opening few minutes) and it's clear that this Artist is suffering from an identity crisis. It's a silent movie! Okay, it's sort of a talkie, too! And it's ironic! Or maybe it's just straightforward and silly! Oh, is it too late to be a post-modern subversion of silent cinema? Or, uh, how about all of the above? Ugh. It tries, rather ambitiously in places and clumsily in others, but The Artist never does quite figure out exactly what it's attempting to do. Director Michel Hazanavicius deserves a hearty pat on the back for trying something different (at least by 21st century standards), but his movie never manages to be much more than cutely confused.

It begins promisingly enough, with an acceptably appropriate credit sequence that then launches us into a silent scene that is intended to evoke the imagery of a 1920s adventure picture. This sequence introduces us to silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), playing the role of the hero in what is quickly identified as a movie-within-a-movie. A silent audience laps up the movie as George paces unseen behind the screen, waiting for his moment to take the stage and further serenade the audience in what is essentially the dessert of the entertainment meal. It's a nice opening, because it instantly establishes George's place in this world and gives us a moment to enter into this cinematically altered reality that intends to take us back to the days without sound.

Hazanavicius wastes no time tossing intertitles on the screen for both the movie-within-the-movie and, well, the movie. For a moment, it's as though the movie is living in harmony with its intentions. It still doesn't feel entirely authentic, but it can be forgiven considering it's a 2011 movie acting approximately 80 years younger. Some charming moments follow, often courtesy of George's adorable dog (played by a Jack Russell Terrier named Uggie, who delights throughout). And then we're soon introduced to the movie's female lead, a wide-eyed waif named Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) who literally stumbles into show business. She soon finds a home for herself in Hollywood movies and discovers that she's entered the picture at just the right time.

The talkies are coming and the advent of sound in movies spells doom for George's career and boom for Peppy's. George refuses to accept sound as the way of the future and so he watches as his popularity dwindles and Peppy takes over as the must-see star, who of course can now be heard by everyone but us. It's a simple story and one we've seen before, but at least seeing it through the lens of a silent picture sounds like a novel approach. We watch in silence just as George lives in silence and it's all supposed to further align our sentiments with his experiences. A nice idea, for sure, but just when Hazanavicius seems to be finding his footing and settling into a rhythm, he trips and falls, taking his picture with him.

There's an inspired sequence where George begins to hear basic sound effects and so the movie shifts, first with promise, then with confusion. Objects on George's dresser make noise and his chair does, too, and then his dog even barks! George suddenly finds that everything can make noise, all except for his voice. Is this the moment where The Artist transforms into a post-modern tale of a man trapped within a silent movie slowly adapting to the invention of recorded sound? No, the purpose of the scene is far more obvious and far less interesting than that. The movie escapes this sequence having found sound and having no idea what to do with it.

Following that sequence, The Artist toys with sound almost at random, introducing singing here and more silence there and many more aural shifts that make little sense and serve only to nullify the movie's flailing attempt at originality. Before long, the movie's intentions are entirely muddled and the whole silent movie experiment feels abandoned in favour of something safer, easier, and simpler. The chronologically transplanted picture tries to settle into its own uniquely created fantasy era, but it proves an awkward fit even there. Hazanavicius just doesn't appear to know what his movie is, beyond a self-conscious attempt at marrying the old with the new.

The identity crisis greatly hampers the movie, but stars Dujardin and Bejo certainly give it their all and could have pulled off the entire movie in silence were such a task required of them. They have decent chemistry together and they each manage to exaggerate their actions and emotions enough to sell the silent movie concept without traveling too far into the realm of parody. They are both very likable and they communicate their charms quite convincingly with just a few looks. They're even almost as great as Uggie! This collection of performances provides the highest points of the movie and their work is certainly commendable. George and Peppy are good characters, but the script by Hazanavicius limits their arcs to predictable trajectories. Of course, Hazanavicius helped bring these characters life, so credit must be given where it's due.

A 2011 silent movie is a wonderful idea and I still appreciate what Hazanavicius has attempted here. I just wish I knew what that was. Instead of achieving a lovely and loving celebration of 1920s silent cinema, The Artist settles for being merely cute and cuddly in a modern movie marketplace. It struggles to find a meaningful meeting point where sound and picture intersect, choosing to just slap the two together and hope that the charm of the stars is enough to seal the deal. It doesn't really work, because the movie is constantly mired in the middle ground. It's not a true silent movie, but it's not sharp enough to be an excitingly original alternative. It seems as though The Artist wants to be too many things and ends up a pale shadow of each. If only Hazanavicius had stuck to the throwback concept, this movie could have worked wonders (or perhaps it could have just worked). But too much tampering and not enough imagination renders it an unruly beast. Silence is golden. Too bad Hazanavicius forgot that.