Silent film? Hmm, tasty...

Protagonist George Valentin may have gone through a rough spell following the introduction of talkies to his world of silent success, but he certainly has the last word. ‘With pleasure,’ he breaths in the first spoken dialogue after a good 90-odd minutes. Oh no George, the pleasure was all ours.

The silent world of Michel Hazavanavicius’ The Artist allows for some novel surprises for the enchanted viewer. Where he does occasionally use sound, it is to play with a plot that revolves around a pivotal moment in cinema history. His ability to suddenly assault our ears with an unexpected clatter or comment is something treasured in this distinctive film. The carefully and sparsely placed noises resonate loudly and introduce the audience to a feeling of magic that a late 1920’s audience may have first found hard to believe. In this way, Hazavanavicius dodges the potential pitfall of criminalising modern cinema, and instead shows both talkies and silents as loveable genres in their own ways.

For the majority of the film, however, we hear nothing but the perfectly matched score of Ludovic Bource. This leaves scope for a unique comedy of the eye. You could mistake this as slapstick, but it is too clever for that. Mirror images, visual trickery and well-placed quotes create charming puns and associations that need no words. 

The Artist is a classic Hollywood feel-good. And like all feel-goods, it’s not short of an emotional breakdown or two before the audience receives its happy ending reward. Think It’s a Wonderful Life; totally lovely guy gets dealt a blow in life, many tears follow, but it all works out in the end with a joyfully reassuring resolution. Who can resist such entertainment?

Meanwhile, it is simply fun to watch Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo onscreen together; they both give delectable performances; their chemistry and spark is dangerously moreish. And the dog! Watch his star performance with relish.

‘Relish’, ‘delectable’, ‘moreish’ - with vocab like this you’d think I was critiquing food rather than film. Well, in a film without sound, one of my senses was perhaps feeling neglected. Perhaps my taste buds stepped up? Now if that’s not abstract analysis, I don’t know what is.