If you’ve seen both of these films then you know what I mean — Hugo and The Artist make terrific side-by-side movie experiences. Each deals with the enchanted, tumultuous world of filmmaking. Each is riddled with the ecstatic triumphs and the anguished failures of the studio system. And, to the credit of the filmmakers, each is obviously a labor of love.
Yet, as I discovered once again last week….timing is everything.
Once I had seen Martin Scorsese’s agile love-letter to pioneer silent film director Georges Méliès—Hugo—I was unable to fall under the spell of The Artist, no matter how seductive and winning its leading man, and his scene-stealing little dog. After Hugo, The Artist was small and thin. A tasty amuse l’oeil, but not the generous feast that was Hugo. Perhaps because I am an addict of actual silent movies in all of their historical richness, period authenticity and frame-by-frame atmosphere of discovery, I found The Artist lacking save as a vehicle for Jean Dujardin, an actor who could give charm lessons to George Clooney.
Oh French director Michel Hazanavicius’ deserves tons of credit for daring to make a rags-to-riches (and back again) black and white silent film (!) about a rags-to-riches matinee idol of the silent film era. But about halfway through the film, as I sat there waiting for the gravitas to arrive—perhaps some ironic self-reference or some larger metaphor about silence, about the fickleness of film audiences, that sort of thing—I realized that nope, this was what it was. A smartly packaged, tautly edited, rousingly acted silent film about silent filmmaking, starring an incredibly polished, confident French actor and a superb John Goodman as The Crusty Producer. C’est tout.
Hugo : The Artist = 15% Zin : 13% Pinot. And I know which I prefer.
Hmmmmm, I’d say there’s rather more Pinot in Hugo, as it were.
The Artist is more like a giant scoop of Schlag on a rather weak cup of hot chocolate. I wanted it to thrill me. But it remained, uh, limp.
Christina
“The Artist” was a delight from start to finish. “Hugo” drooped in several places. It didn’t capture the wonder of the book. I got really tired of repeated closeups of the young actor who played the lead. He bored me. Sasha Baron Cohen’s role was just annoying. This is not to say that I disliked the film, however. Just that I enjoyed “The Artist” more. Maybe they really shouldn’t be compared to each other.
I confess my previous assessment was based on previews and critics I value. Having, against my better judgement, seen Hugo I admit I was wrong: it’s three quarters Blue Nun with the last quarter (once Melies tells his story) a passable Beaujolais nouveau. I suspect Marty was trying to do a Spielberg (child’s view, mawkish sentimentality, big box office) and failed; Spielberg would have upped the pace and directed the child actors better. The 3D added nothing significant.
oh please rdb – cleverness aside you are right on one score and one score only. Spielberg, that shameless manipulator, would have definitely directed the child actors better. He is king of child actor directors – viz. the closet scene in “E.T.” – easily the finest bit of wee ones being cinematic this side of vintage Shirley Temple.
But Blue Nun! Please. Have you no indelible memories of the Gare de Lyon? (I admit it didn’t exactly rouse me during that first hour.)And as for Beaujolais nouveau (ack!) the Melies parts surely justify an amusing Côtes du Rhône nod.
The 3D added a bit here and there, but mostly did no harm. And that’s saying quite a bit.
cw