The Artist (2012)

For years, I’ve been making references to the majestic quality of this homage to the films of yore. I’ve often thought that it was as perfect a movie as could be made and even consider it one of my favourite films of all time. Technically, even though it was a project for my Film Studies class, it was the first movie that I ever reviewed from a critical perspective. This movie means so much to me that I consider it odd that I haven’t watched the film in about seven years or so. Since I’ve grown as a screenwriter, critic, and filmmaker since then, I figured it was time to revisit this film and see if I still enjoyed it now as much as I did then.

The movie chronicles the opposite journeys of two actors at the time of transition in film: from silent films to talkies, as told in a silent film format. George Valentin, played by Jean Dujardin, starts the film as a famous and narcissistic silent film star, proudly declaring “I will not speak!” (showing us what his major arc will be), while Peppy Miller, portrayed by Bérénice Bejo, starts as an ambitious nobody trying to break her way into the industry. The two have amazing chemistry right from the moment that she accidentally bumps into him, kicking off their romantic tale. So much so, that Valentin coerces his producer, Al Zimmer (played by John Goodman) into putting her into the movie (a moment that Peppy later repays by replicating, this time with the roles reversed). Both players continue acting, with Peppy getting larger and larger roles, while Valentin stays at the height of his fame (but losing the connection with his wife). This seems almost innocuous, but keep in mind that, in a story, “stasis equals death,” which means that Valentin is headed for trouble.

Sure enough, it finds him in the form of “The Future:” movies are starting to make the transition from being silent films to incorporating audio dialogue and diegetic sound (any sound that originates in the world of the film, i.e. feet walking, doors creaking, etc.). At first, Valentin is dismissive, saying that this form of media will never last, but then we get a phenomenal scene in which we subtly understand how afraid he is of the change: a dream sequence in which all the sounds around Valentin are heard but he, himself, cannot speak. Even his dog can bark, but he cannot produce sound. We see the fear in Valentin’s eyes at the world around him suddenly having sound and it slowly builds to a moment where we see the actor is overwhelmed by it; even a feather (the lightest possible thing I can think of, besides air and helium) hitting the ground sounds like a bomb going off to Valentin. Thus, when Zimmer’s company ceases producing any (and all) silent films, Valentin quits to produce his own movie.

This leads to my second favourite scene in the film: the staircase. As Valentin descends, Peppy is going up the stairs and they pass each other so that Peppy is on top. The use of visual story-telling is something that I have always admired and this scene is indicative of why The Artist is such a good movie. The dialogue cards that are spliced throughout the movie are few and far between, much like regular silent films, leaving us to watch the facial expressions and nuances of the actor’s performances and pay attention to how things are being displayed to use through mise-en-scene. In this scene, we only get a few cards to tell us that Peppy is signing with Zimmer and that she admires and appreciates Valentin for all he’s done for her (which she will later repay by buying all his things at auction, taking him in, and helping him get back to work). The symbolism of this scene makes it very memorable.

Valentin makes his movie, still keeping to the silent film motif, while Peppy stars in a talkie that is making her America’s next big star, even before the movie has come out. Both films are scheduled for release on the same day and to Valentin’s chagrin, his does poorly (despite Peppy being in the audience and touched by the film’s tragic ending). This results in his pride being so damaged that he stops working, gets divorced, and eventually fires Clifton, his chauffeur (played by James Cromwell), because he’s unable to pay him anything. Valentin has to sell all of his possessions, including his suits, just to make ends meet and finance his drinking habits and live in a ragged apartment.

After realizing how far he has fallen, Valentin sets his movies on fire (in a scene that makes me cringe because he’s burning film reels) calls himself a “loser,” and nearly dies from the smoke. Luckily, his dog saves his life and he gets taken in by Peppy, who has hired Clifton as her own chauffeur. After coercing Zimmer into letting Valentin co-star in her new picture, a proud and scare Valentin refuses the screenplay and learns that Peppy has bought most of his possessions. Mistaking it for taking pity on him and reminding him of his decline, Valentin heads back to his miserable and fire damaged apartment to kill himself. Luckily, Peppy arrives just in time to stop him.

They reconcile and star together in a film where the primary focus is tap-dancing. They are together at, both happy, both acting, and on even footing. The film finally introduces diegetic dialogue and sound and we cut to credits with the reveal of why Valentin was so hesitant to do the talkies: his heavy accent. I will admit that this is the only thing that really stands out for me as awful. The motivation makes little sense to me, as we see him talk, in public, many times in the film. We never hear him, sure, but he’s not shy about his voice in public, so it never struck me as something that made sense. Additionally, this isn’t as massive an issue now, as there is a ton of dubbing in the films of today, so that aspect of the motivation feels kind of weak to me.

But that’s okay, because the rest of the film is soaked in symbolism and visual nuances that it’s easy to understand these characters without the need for dialogue. That, for me, is where this film’s strength lies.

When I first reviewed this movie, I theorized that the meaning of the film was that “change is inevitable and those who fail to accept that get left behind and forgotten.” After watching it again for the first time in seven or so years, I still hold this to be true, and knowing what I know now, compared to what I knew then, I can actually back this theory up more.

The use of the transition from silent to talking films and the acknowledgement that a lot of actors lost their livelihoods because of this is used to show Valentin’s emotional journey throughout the film. Valentin is so proud of the career that he’s built for himself that he’s giddy all the time and narcissistic, to the point where he hogs the spotlight with his co-star (and judging by her reaction, this is a regular occurrence) and doesn’t acknowledge his wife’s feelings regarding Peppy’s innocent cheek kiss on the front page of the newspaper, instead doing routines with his dog in a silly attempt to make her laugh. Most of the riches to rags to riches stories (Thor, Cars, Lion King) are usually about pride and learning humility and this film is no different.

When the talkies arrive, he has this same mentality and stubbornly refuses to change. As a direct result of this mindset, his movie flops, he gets no work, loses all his money, as well as his wife, chauffeur, and any friends that he ever had (save for the dog). He becomes an alcoholic, depressed, and begins a spiral of self-loathing that culminates in him trying to burn all his work and eventually try to kill himself. Ironically, by doing so, he has to change and let go of his possessions just to feed himself and his habits. It’s only when he accepts the change that he gets to be happy and working again, by participating in the talkies.

Symbolically, this is referenced, oddly enough, through dialogue. The first line that Valentin has is “I will never talk,” spoken via a quote card, and the last line he has is “with pleasure,” spoken directly by him. This is done because Valentin’s greatest obstacle in the film is the introduction of the talkies, which a lot of people keep reminding him about: His wife asks him why he doesn’t talk to her; When a woman stops him outside a theater to ask about his dog, Valentin remarks: “if only he could talk.”

Peppy, as previously indicated, is constantly on the rise in her career, starting off in a silent film with Valentin, and working her way up to super-stardom by joining the talkies. But there are some subtle clues in the beginning that indicate this mindset. Note how the first audition scene she has shows her character, when the other ladies are dancing, she isn’t, but when prompted to, she starts dancing and gets the part, disproving Malcolm McDowell’s cameo as someone who doubted her. When she’s having the dance-off with Valentin, she shows her versatility in her dancing and foreshadows the ending where they’re dancing together. When she’s caught in Valentin’s dressing room, he gives her advice and draws a little mole on her face, telling her that “she’s got to have something that the others don’t.” Throughout the rest of the film, Peppy has that mole on her face, showing that she’s willing to change to stay afloat. In the beginning of the film, she was so afraid of Zimmer that she starts to walk off set the instant that he says so, only staying because Valentin requests it. By the third act, she’s the one in control of their relationship and threatens to walk off if Zimmer doesn’t bow to her wishes. She still does it in an awkward way, which endears us to her, even towards the end of the film. Additionally, in each of the montages surrounding her career, we note that she takes on multiple types of roles, from damsel to femme fatale, and a baseball player, if I recall correctly. Meanwhile, Valentin is consistently the same character: a vaguely suave man of adventure.

The rest of the principle characters (all three of them) do also embody this theme in some way. Zimmer is more focused about making money and changes just so he can keep doing so. Clifton is more complex because he stays with Valentin until he is fired, but does get employed by Peppy, eventually telling Valentin that he should “beware his pride.” Even Valentin’s wife gets a little nod to the theme as she stays with him until long after she’s unhappy, but eventually divorces him because he’s incapable of change.

So the theme of the film is the same for me as it always has been: utilizing the visual and stylistic world of a silent film and the struggles of a silent film star struggling to adapt to the times, and succumbing to grief, loss, depression, and hardship to show us that change is a good thing and something to embrace. All done with very little dialogue.

And while I like dialogue just fine, and in this film it’s used brilliantly, I will say that there is something lost in visuals, especially with CGI, in modern movies. Most movies and plays can tell you what the character is going through with dialogue and exposition. Movies like A Quiet Place, Quest for Fire, and WALL-E, which use little to no dialogue, are forced to rely on the way that their characters and environments emote. But there is something that helps keep the audience engaged: the sound.

In the films I mentioned, the lack of dialogue is made up for by the use of auditory signals that indicate how a character is feeling or gives insight into what they may be thinking. In this film, since diegetic dialogue is only in one scene throughout the movie, and diegetic sound is only used in two scenes, there’s a lot of work that the score has to do to help us feel things. The score is amazing: It can be over-the-top at times, but the orchestral motif is hugely reminiscent of how music was for movies in silent films, adding to the strength of the presentation. The score captures each scene and each character’s highs and lows perfectly. It’s hard not to shed a tear when you’re watching a broken man understand how lost he is when this music is playing.

I wanted to revisit this movie to see if I still enjoyed it and I still really do. Everything about this movie is near flawless: all the actors do a great job showing us their emotions rather than just talking about it, the use of sound in a symbolic and non-diegetic way enhances the character’s emotions, the story is thematically high-concept and poignant, and the use of visual story telling is an art that isn’t as practiced as it was, but this film proves that it can still be incredibly effective. I will likely keep referencing this film in the future and I will still consider it to be one the best films ever made. With such clever writing and visuals, it’s easy to see why this film won Best Picture.