The Artist and the sound of silence

IT’S hard for a movie to enrapture modern audiences without instantly recognisable stars, cutting dialogue and special effects. Not to mention colour film and synchronised audio.

That’s precisely why The Artist is such a worthwhile experience. It wins us over with nothing but the basics. None of the talents showcased in this move are lost arts, but they do tend to get smothered by modern film techniques. The Artist reminds us what’s really important in storytelling, showmanship and spectacle.  

As a 21st century silent film, many people will label it a gimmicky stunt or a glorification of Hollywood history engineered to bait industry awards. But The Artist lays itself bare before its audience. The performances have nothing to support them but old-fashioned show business skill. And in that way, it may be the least gimmicky movie of the year.  

The story follows the transition from silent film to sound-tracked “talkies” in the late 1920s and early 30s. This was a traumatic period for many movie professionals, most notably Charlie Chaplin who sentimentally pressed on with the silent medium well after the popularisation of sound film. Our hero is George Valentin, a valentine to familiar greats of the era. He’s a stalwart for the traditional approach to filmmaking, in crisis over the development of sound technology.

Valentin is played by Jean Dujardin, a major star in France who has limited exposure outside his home country. Dujardin usually plays screwball comedies, where his trademarks of oafish cockiness and an infectious smile make him almost impossible to dislike. This man can never play a villain. His powers of charm are just too great. 

Dujardin was named Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival for this role and it’s hard to imagine a less contestable nomination. Dujardin is physical, alive and commands a glowing face rippling with pitch-perfect expressions. These skills are never clownish. In fact, Dujardin practices goofiness with utter class, maintaining a hunky tuxedoed leading-man presence throughout the film.

Other familiar faces include Bérénice Bejo from the Aussie pic Modern Love and John Goodman, perfectly cast as a cigar chomping movie mogul, no-nonsense on the surface but a big softy underneath.

The Artist works as a movie on so many levels, it is almost possible to review it without needing to mention that it is a silent movie. But the silence (with music) is a marvellous novelty for modern audiences, and the movie is clever to acknowledge that this is indeed a novelty. The film seems to give us little winks about its old-time storytelling conventions. There’s no pretension here, just a good show.

One of the great revelations of this film is the realisation of how little we need dialogue. Some of the best scenes are the extended conversations where phrase after phrase passes into oblivion without any subtitled updates. It’s a real wake-up call to the power of physical acting and storytelling to discover we don’t need to hear these words. 

As a silent movie, The Artist must rely heavily on its visual appeal, and does so seemingly without trying. The period detail is transporting, but not as much as the black-and-white film itself. The real world is not silent and colourless, and we are not in the real world with this movie. We’re immersed in something else. We buy a ticket and it takes us away somewhere. This is the magical disconnect movie purists worship – in its most distilled form.

The Artist opens nationwide on February 2.