The Artist vs Dancer In The Dark

The guy who sold me my ticket to The Artist wanted to know if I loved silent movies, and which ones I’d seen, and enthusiastically handed me a slip of paper with a list of recommended titles. Why wait until I’m seeing a silent movie? Why not recommend them regardless? And to that point, why recommend silent movies just because I might love The Artist? Just recommend good movies to me, and let me sort out the details later. The Artist is silent, and black-and-white. There, that’s your disclaimer. It’s also beautifully filmed, funny, sad, and has fantastic performances and a cute dog. Does it take The Artist written on a little slip of paper for you to get the idea?

George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is the most beloved actor of the silent era. As The Artist opens, he’s waiting behind the screen for his latest movie to end, so he can take center stage and soak up the applause from the premiere audience. He takes one ovation after another, bowing, dancing, doing pratfalls, and tricks with his dog costar (much to the dismay of his human costar, played by Missi Pyle). George is on top of his silent world. Outside the premiere, he meets Peppy (Berenice Bejo), a younger starlet who clumsies her way onto the red carpet, and winds up in tabloid photos with George. The press presents Peppy as a mystery woman, shadowing any attention the movie might have gotten in favor of “Who’s That Girl?” type headlines.

Soon, George and Peppy are on a movie set together; he’s the star, and she’s a chorus girl. In a series of cast lists, we see Peppy move up in importance, until her star has risen to top billing. She’s not just charming and talented, either. Peppy can talk. George is defiant about his worth in Hollywood. He feels that as long as a movie is good, the audience won’t care if it’s silent. Having seen The Artist, I can tell you he has a point, but George is faced with opposition in Hollywood. As Peppy’s star rises in the talkies, George’s falls, to a drastic extent.

We’ve seen this kind of thing before: Singin’ In the Rain, A Star Is Born, Showgirls. The Artist salutes them all (okay, not all), in a way similar to Hugo, in that the wonder of the audience is just as important as what’s playing on the screen. Everyone involved in The Artist, on camera and off, loves movies; watching them, making them, talking about them. George is distraught not just over the loss of his livelihood, but of his actual life. The silent pictures aren’t just the ones he wants to make, they’re the ones he wants to see. Making movies gives George unabashed joy. He’s a bit of a playboy, maybe drinks too much, takes advantage of his driver (James Cromwell), but his main goal in life is sharing the happiness he feels in performing. His bows take forever because of his ego, sure, but also because the audience wants more, and can’t bear disappointing them.

I loved The Artist. Besides the obvious comedic and melodramatic elements implied by a silent film, it’s suspenseful, and genuinely moving. Tap-dancing? A cute dog? (played by a Jack Russell named Uggie who can do physical comedy and save you from a house fire. Come on.) Sign me up. Besides the charming leads, The Artist has a wonderful international cast (who cares if there’s a language barrier in a silent movie?), led John Goodman as a greedy film producer. He’s so blustery and passionate about everything, I swear I heard every line of dialogue. Director Michel Hazanavicius has The Artist timed to the second, like a live performance, and uses the silence to stellar effect. There’s music throughout, of course, but in key moments: nothing. There are a few scenes with sound, each carefully chosen and surprising. Visually, Hazanavicius relies primarily on black-and-white to be its own effect. There’s little in the way of Buster Keaton-style camera tricks or physical stunts, but you won’t miss them. The Artist is a delight, start to finish.

There’s a similar kind of love of cinema, and of life, at play in Dancer In The Dark. Lars Von Trier isn’t known for whimsy, or charm, or happiness, but in the initial moments of Dancer In The Dark, it’s like he’s entered Pleasantville (which would also make a great partner to The Artist), and is seeing things in color for the first time. Don’t worry, it doesn’t last.

Selma (Bjork) is a sweet, dumb girl who works in a factory. That sounds harsh, I realize, but Selma is dumb. Usually the dumb character is a supporting one, unless he’s played by Adam Sandler, but Selma has the lead. Naïve? Let’s call her naïve. Selma is going blind, and is working to save money so that her son, who suffers from the same condition, can have a surgery to save his vision. As her world fades away (the movie is filmed in dull, drab colors, and slow, static images anyway), Selma starts to retreat into a world of sound. Everything—the train chugging through town, the noises in the factory—becomes the chorus for a bright, colorful musical Selma is starring in mentally. Selma sings her troubles away.

Not so fast. Lars Von Trier is in charge. I bet he walked out of The Artist when Peppy wasn’t raped by the end of the first act. Selma is put in an ugly situation by her neighbor, a cop played by David Morse. Things take a turn. The colorful, upbeat musical fantasy Selma had been hiding in is replaced by one with less hope, less joy. There’s no tap-dance number at the end. No cute dog.

Dancer In The Dark, like The Artist, salutes, to a certain extent, movies of a bygone era. Lovers of musicals will certainly find something charming about Selma’s devotion and reliance on music, especially early in the movie. The melodramatic tone is also interesting, like something out of a 1940s’ Women’s Picture. Once it takes its darker turn, Dancer In The Dark probably loses a lot of support. It’s justified, partly, because why set up what appears to be a tribute, only to kick it with nasty satire later, especially if that’s the part of the movie that puts us on Selma’s side? Far From Heaven worked so well because the introduction of more modern issues didn’t change the tone of the movie. Once Selma’s life gets more dire, the fantasy world she lived in seems so appealing, to her and us, and it’s gone.

Dancer In The Dark doesn’t achieve the same things as The Artist, obviously, but I think most of it works. It’s also the reason I say, “Music is everywhere!” whenever I unload the dishwasher. The ending is absolutely crushing, despite some of the scenes leading up to it being unintentionally funny (Dancer In The Dark has scenes set in a prison that feel staged by Max Fischer). Bjork is an effective, visceral actress. She’s said she’ll never act again, and over a decade later, she’s stuck to her word. I’m not sure what her range as an actor would be, but I’d be willing to see her in something else, provided there’s a tap-dance number and a Jack Russell with 20/20 vision.

The Artist :A

Dancer In The Dark: B+