The Artist (2011)

Almost nobody speaks out loud in The Artist, and the middle still drags like a long speech. George Valentin’s fall from fame turns into a slow, mopey slide, and the story is familiar if you’ve seen Singin’ in the Rain. Everything around it is a valentine to old Hollywood. Michel Hazanavicius shoots it in black and white and never treats that like a gimmick. Jean Dujardin has a grin that could light a theater, and he plays George as a big kid who refuses to believe sound pictures are coming. Bérénice Bejo’s Peppy Miller is pure sparkle. Uggie, playing George’s dog Jack, steals every scene he’s in and seems to know it. A dream where the whole world suddenly makes noise except George is one of the cleverest ideas of its decade. John Goodman’s studio boss barks without making a sound. It made $133.5 million worldwide on a reported $15M. An 8.0 because the craft is dazzling and the middle mopes. $6,203 says you try to get through dinner tonight using only facial expressions and give up by dessert.

What works: Dujardin and Bejo’s chemistry, a scene-stealing dog and a dream sequence that turns sound into a nightmare.

What doesn’t: The middle stretch of George’s decline drags, and the story borrows heavily from older Hollywood movies.

Who it’s for: Old movie lovers and anyone curious whether a silent film can still win over a modern crowd.