The Artist

I wasn't particularly impressed with the previous effort of the director and the two main actors, Agent 117, but I couldn't deny one thing - it really looked like something from the (roughly) 1960s. In The Artist, the filmmakers have managed to repeat this and to enhance it with a classic, but really nice story full of humor and nostalgia. The illusion that one is really watching a film from 192? is almost perfect (although anyone who has seen the Argentine The Aerial will probably not be impressed). The cinematography, the music, all the details, the central couple (Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford) acting and dancing like a dream, John Goodman, who I liked the most, James Cromwell... Everything's perfect. The Artist is an incredibly clever film. If I wanted to reproach it for anything, I would have to reproach all the old films it is dealing with... Which would be useless. (02/29/2012)

Perhaps, with its trivial plot, it relies too much on the nostalgic mood of the target audience and on its own formal uniqueness in the flood of Hollywood mainstream, but The Artist is such a beautiful piece of filmmaking. It isn’t thought-provoking or groundbreaking, but wonderfully fresh, witty and authentic, nicely removed from the postmodern plagiarist guise. Emotionally mature, emotionally gripping. 80% (11/11/2015)

I wasn’t particularly enthused about this. I suspected that the film would not be quite right and that's why I postponed watching it. Then, just to be sure, I watched it again. It's not an entirely bad film, and if it inspires even a fraction of viewers to discover real silent films, then it has served its purpose. On the other hand, the story is just a continuation of the bad aspects of Singin' in the Rain, and I have a huge problem with that. The heroes of yesteryear can be none other than the combination of Rudolph Valentine, Douglas Fairbanks, and John Gilbert. Fortunately, there's also the cheerful studio owner and anyone from those legendary head honchos to William Randolph Hearst (played by the excellent John Goodman). The film also features a cleverly trained dog, believable sets, gorgeous costumes, a near-perfect final dance number, and some hope for a better tomorrow. What is somewhat deceptive is the sound nightmare and especially the 1936 song used as background for 1931. Equally problematic and redundant is the conveyance of actual footage from The Mark of Zorro (1920). The question thus remains whether the story of silent film is really interesting just because that era is long gone. (04/23/2012)

The Artist is certainly not nearly as bad as my single star would suggest, but it is also not nearly as good as the enthusiastic comments and five-star ratings from others would imply. I will completely leave aside the fact that it has numerous Oscar nominations and a real chance of winning overall because the bestowal of Oscars has never represented and does not represent a stamp of quality in the history of cinema. The Oscars simply represent the calculation of the film academy, which succumbs to certain trends, moods, and clever advertising by distributors, just like the audience itself. I will say it like this: The Artist is a typical midcult, as defined by Umberto Eco in his book of essays dedicated to culture. This means a skillfully made film that pretends to be avant-garde and cleverly plays with the snobbery of those film viewers who scorn ordinary consumer production and present themselves as admirers of artful productions. It is a film that does not burden the brain, does not hide within itself any ideas or artistic risk, and relies on the certainties and professionalism of filmmaking. Of course, it is not original either; this has been seen several times before, and I would say in a less pleasing but more emotionally convincing execution. The Artist is unlucky because I saw it in a movie theater that I rarely visit and I am overly picky. If I saw it on TV, I would have turned it off after 20 minutes and not reviewed it. Under these circumstances, it made me furious, especially since I had company with me and couldn't leave the movie theater. For me, this film is simply too pleasing and superficial; emotionally, I completely missed the point and I could engage with its game. It reminds me of the huge soap bubbles that my children created at the water park. They look impressive, but they burst immediately and nothing remains of them. In two years, when the current Oscar fascination fades away and the effect of the smart marketing campaign of the production company wears off, I don't think anyone will even mention The Artist. But there are a few positives. Bérénice Bejo is truly lovely, and the stylization of the late 1920s, although it has little in common with the reality of the events in film production at that time, has its charm. Also, if it were edited into a stylish 30-minute slapstick, it would evoke completely different feelings in me. Overall impression: 25%. (02/25/2012)

The pure charm of film escapism. A film about a time when celluloid burned, which burns itself and yet miraculously does not burn itself with too much reverence and foresight into the past. The work with a soundtrack and a silent film is a famous directorial move, not only because it cleverly brings to the fore what would never have stood out in a spoken film, but also because it is almost ingenious in its simplicity. A silent film that did not elevate its silence to a dubious fetish (let's love how beautiful it was, we will not see that anymore today), but the most significant narrative component (the film is magical in itself, not because it reminds us of something). Hazanavicius did work that I applaud. If any critics wrote of The Descendants as a worked gem, they mistook the film. This is a feel good gem from which my jaw dropped. (01/21/2012)