Silence is golden

Despite its simplicity, there's something magnetic about silent film. We're so used to watching movies with sound, that some people don't realize that the non-talkies have their own splendor to them. When you watch a silent film, you can't help but think about how far movies have come today, and that what you're watching was a beginning stage of one of our most cherished forms of storytelling. It was a radiant and elegant era of cinematic triumph.

It seems like one of the more popular aspects in film this season is the art of early moviemaking. We witnessed it in beautiful detail in Martin Scorsese's Hugo. Now, we get to live it again in The Artist, director Michel Hazanavicius's tribute to the age of silent film. It has the feel of a lost treasure that has only just been dug up from classical Hollywood. This movie presents a rare viewing opportunity that hasn't been experienced on the big screen since the late 1920s.

George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is a silent movie star in 1927 Hollywood, who works for Kinograph Studios. While basking in the camera flashes and paparazzi after the premiere of his latest film, he bumps into Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), a young woman with big dreams of becoming famous. The two quickly become the new celebrity couple. After appearing as an extra in several films, Peppy eventually becomes the next big thing in Hollywood, with the help of George. Two years later, studio boss Al Zimmer (John Goodman) announces that talking pictures are the next big thing, and silent film is on its way out. Not wanting to get on board with this idea, George decides to make his own silent films. As Peppy keeps gaining stardom in talking movies, George's relevance in Hollywood begins to decline; and he now must figure out how to keep himself going in the midst of changes in show business.

The cast establishes that one such as this in a silent film can be as powerfully expressive as a cast in a talking film. Jean Dujardin is the latest and certainly most welcome of European actor/actress imports. He is very well like an incarnation of the iconic Charlie Chaplin, returning us to the glory that was early Hollywood. He is a smooth and debonair showman who knows how to "wow" his crowds of adoring fans. Dujardin captures the energy that actors applied to tell the story to the audience back then with the absence of talking. He showcases little touches of his character that truly stick out: his movie-star mustached smile, his joking and playful manner and the small things he does to irritate his wife at the breakfast table. He is extraordinarily communicative with how he acts without sound.

Of course, every leading man needs a leading lady, and Berenice Bejo fulfills the criteria splendidly. She is achingly luminous as the film's star-on-the-rise. Bejo's character receives her 15 minutes of fame by having her chance encounter with Valentin published in the morning paper; but those 15 minutes soon turn into starring roles and magazine covers, and Bejo prevails in her character arc. What starts out as having bit parts in films soon brings her to top billing, which is undoubtedly a reflection of Bejo's big break amongst American audiences with this role. Bejo accomplishes with presenting Peppy in such a way that transports us back to early-20th century Hollywood where actresses carried themselves with grace and dignity. The poise and modishness that she puts into the role of Peppy assures the audience that her character has a dazzling future in show business, and so does Bejo.

Alongside the suave showman and the stunning starlet is a company of distinct personalities. There is John Goodman as the cigar-smoking Hollywood studio bigwig, James Cromwell as Valentin's devoted chauffeur, Penelope Ann Miller as Valentin's neglected and frustrated wife and Missi Pyle as one of George's annoyed co-stars. But before walking into The Artist, one of the most memorable characters was not who I anticipated. It was Uggie, Valentin's well-trained Jack Russell Terrier. He is forever loyal to his human companion, whether it's being in Valentin's movies or saving his life.

The set design by Laurence Bennett and Robert Gould carries the audience back to what can be perceived as a lost world of an art form in its blossoming into something grand. The film studio depicted throughout the story saturates with the magical process of filmmaking which was, and still is, the essence of Hollywood. One of the more prominent set pieces is that of the old-fashioned movie theater, especially in the opening scene. It's a considerably large theater, complete with a mezzanine and pit orchestra that accompanies the latest George Valentin movie that's playing. This takes you from the experience of watching The Artist in your contemporary multiplex, and places you with the audience in the film. This results in a shared experience of watching the work of the story's Hollywood icon.

Michel Hazanavicius's screenplay takes the "star is born" premise and cleverly pairs it with the other birth of the story, which is that of sound in film. Besides being a throwback to early Hollywood, the film is also a testament to the grueling challenge of trying to remain in the spotlight, despite the endless flow of Hollywood hopefuls and their dreams of becoming famous. Both plot points place George in a painful fight to preserve his relevance in the industry. As the fame skyrockets for the girl he helped make a name for herself, his fame slowly declines as he refuses to work without silent film. It is, however, an endlessly uplifting journey of a man who doesn't want anything more than to live his life in front of the camera, and provide his fans with escapist screen adventures. The Artist is black and white, but it's supremely colorful. It's silent, but it will have you talking.

Final grade: A