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A Few Thoughts On The Artist

I usually don’t write about movies, since most of them nowadays are a naked piece of  entertainment, which either surprises you with its unique plot, its singularity and remarkable ideas — or disappoints you mercilessly with its noticeable commerce character, shallowness and lack of originality.

But no matter what, for me all of them lack one main quality: to touch the viewer. I am not saying I was never touched by a picture, but Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist, which I went to see this evening, did something pretty amazing: It managed to touch me throughout the entire movie.

I caught myself smiling when the protagonists were happy, felt how I became sad when they had to shed a tear. I noticed how I laughed with them and how I leaned forward in my seat and put my head in the palms of my hands, bound by this enchanting motion picture.

The actors made you feel what they feel. In fact, what hit me most, was that the silence of the film intensified the viewing experience. It made you focus more on the action happening before your eyes on this big, beautiful wide cinema screen. This film has class and beauty and character. And a wonderful choice of music. It managed to resolve the plot in a surprising and unexpected way. It was a movie about the genre itself. As soon as the credits began to roll, the whole hall was applauding. Applauding.

I’m aware that this year is still quite young but I seriously cannot imagine how another motion picture will top the cinematic experience I had today. This is a clear ten out of ten. No, wait. Make it an eleven.

It was art. It was beauty. It was magic. In fact, it was everything what defined cinema in the first place.