The Artist

When The Artist first appeared in wide release, there were many news reports of clueless moviegoers demanding their money back after realizing they had signed up for a silent movie. Those poor stupid bastards. I hope they find out what they missed.

I'll admit that I was expecting to be bored to tears by a movie with no human speech -- something we've come to view as essential to movies, even ones by Michael Bay. Even movies with terrible dialogue -- Titanic, say -- are fully dependent on people talking to each other.

But this wasn't always the case. For the first twenty years of cinema, the only sound in movies was provided via live orchestra or phonograph (that's like a turntable, kids). You could see people's mouths move, but no sound came out. Occasionally, a frame would show some words to fill in nuances of plot or conversation, but less often than you'd think.

The Artist shows how this was done, how people could be entertained -- and yes, captivated -- by voiceless movies. But it's much more than an educational reminder of times past: It's by far the most deserving film nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award in 2012.

There, I said it!

It's the most original and, in crisp, bright black-and-white, the most beautifully shot.

Let's get the moral out of the way: As important as it is for artists (and most people) to stay current, to innovate, it's also stupid for us to forget the awesome stuff that came before. That's the lesson in the movie, as well as the lesson of the movie -- what douchey film critics like to call "meta."

The two lead actors, Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo, as well as the writer/director, Michel Hazanavicius, are French. But don't be scared, you'll recognize plenty of great English-speaking actors, even though you can't actually hear them speak.

The action begins in 1927, when silent film star George Valentin (Dujardin) meets the star-struck Peppy Miller (Bejo), who is infatuated with Valentin and dreams of being in the movies herself. Later, Peppy auditions as an extra for Valentin's latest movie, and he insists that she be given a part, despite the objections of the tyrannical studio boss, Al Zimmer (John Goodman).

Valentin is married, so he avoids Peppy's unsubtle advances, even while giving her some key career-advancing advice -- as well as an eyeliner mole. Suck it, Cindy.

Two years later, the silent-film era is dead and Valentin is out of a job. He finances, directs and stars in a silent film, his masterpiece, but it opens on the same day as Peppy's debut in a starring role -- and of course, silent movies are so over. Poor Valentin falls into despair -- his wife leaves him, he loses all of his money and his only friends in the world are his chauffeur (James Cromwell) and his adorable canine companion Jack (played by a dog named Uggie, the subject of an Oscars-for-animals campaign). What Valentin doesn't know is that he's being watched over by Peppy, who still carries a torch for the erstwhile star.

In short, melodrama at its finest.

The Artist makes you realize how essential having a million-dollar smile was in the silent days, and fortunately, Dujardin and Bejo have them. Also, dogs. This movie would be at least 40 percent less good without the charismatic little Jack Russell who also starred in Water for Elephants. Another 40 percent of the goodness goes to the music, which is beautiful, period appropriate and amazingly well produced. Also, was there ever a time period with better clothes for both men and women?

With a dog, good music and nice outfits, who needs dialogue?

But The Artist also makes you realize how little movies have changed in the past 80 years. The world of film has always been populated with mythological beasts: congenitally bad female drivers, love at first sight, ridiculously loyal servants with nothing better to do and suicides interrupted in the knick of time.

And, most of the time, everything works out well in the end.