2 stars (out of four)
Exiting the theater after his latest film’s premiere, George
Valentin (Dujardin) poses for the cameras. A fan (Bérénice Bejo) drops her
purse at his feet and Valentin, the flirt that he is, takes the opportunity to
ham it up even more for the papers. He grabs hold of her and she – Peppy Miller
is her name – even plants a kiss on the actor’s cheek. The cameramen go nuts
for this and pictures of the impromptu smooch are on the front page of every
newspaper. Mr. Hazanavicius delights in depicting a pre-paparazzi Hollywood
when the press only took flattering pictures of celebrities.
Taking full advantage of her fifteen minutes of fame, Peppy
Miller charms her way into a bit part in George Valentin’s new movie that is
currently shooting in a Hollywood backlot. She and Valentin flirt onset but
Valentin is unhappily married to an icy woman (Penelope Ann Miller) and in this
rose-colored view of 1927, infidelity is not an option. So the fling fizzles
before it begins and the two move on.
Flash-forward to a few years later: The talkie has arrived
and the studio head (a cigar chomping John Goodman) informs Valentin that he
will have to transition to the new medium if he wants to remain a star.
Valentin is outraged. Silent film is not dead, he says. And to prove it he
will finance and star in his own film. The movie, an adventure picture,
bankrupts Valentin and he becomes depressed. The advent of sound is great news
to Peppy Miller, though. The young actress’s name now fills the marquees and
audiences line up around the block to buy tickets to the latest Peppy Miller
romance.
Valentin meanwhile drowns his sorrows in booze. His only
friends are his dog (Uggie, the Jack Russell) and his driver (James Cromwell). Here, the film gets bogged down with redundant scenes of Valentin moping about
unemployed and it becomes clear that Mr. Hazanavicius is stalling for time.
Scenes drag on longer than they need to and a number of scenes could have been
cut entirely. He clearly has a love for old Hollywood and diligently recreates
the visual style of a silent film but when he begins padding his story, the
retro-conceit loses its charm.
There are a few self-conscious winks aimed at modern
audiences – one character flips the bird and a few shots feature visual
flourishes that would have been too technically sophisticated at the
turn of the century – and often the whole film feels as though it is winking
and smiling at you. But The Artist lacks
energy. What should have been a lively celebration of Hollywood’s past grows
tedious and repetitive. There is so much potential here for Mr. Hazanavicius to
pay tribute to the many genres of the silent era but he curiously limits himself
to an underdeveloped story that cannot support a feature-length film. Instead
of giving us a dozen scenes of Valentin wallowing in his misery, why not fill
that time with more lively material, like a dance number? (The movie does end
with a tap dance but it’s too little, too late.)
The Artist does have
one truly astounding scene: a dream sequence that comes after Valentin learns
his studio will no longer produce silent films. As he sits in his dressing
room, the world suddenly starts making noise. His footsteps are audible on the
wooden floor. Cars are heard out the window. The dog barks. But when Valentin
opens his mouth to speak – nothing. He screams but no sound comes out. Its an
arresting moment but occurs early in the film and nothing that follows matches
its ingenuity. The Artist is a
nice idea but simply cannot sustain itself beyond a handful of clever scenes.
- Steve Avigliano, 1/22/12
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