Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Film #148: FOOTNOTE

Joseph Cedar's FOOTNOTE may have a delightful, insistent score by Amit Poznansky (it's a feature that veers some people towards labelling the movie a comedy, which it often is and is not). But, really, FOOTNOTE is a anchor-fluffy tragic tale of a life not quite wasted, but certainly not as fully appreciated as it might be.

Schlomo Bar-Aba plays the elderly, heavy-hearted Talmudic scholar Eliezer Shkolnik, a 20-time loser of the prestigious Israel Prize, given yearly to influential teachers. When Eliezer is finally notified he's attained the achievement following a lifetime of professional disappointment, he's ecstatic (at least, on the inside). Shkolnik's satisfied in what he knows he knows, but he's had to sit back and watch as his main contribution to Talmudic study has been reduced to a footnote in a "greater" scholar's bigger book. But, at least, he's now being recognized for that earthshaking footnote.

Only...it's not the case...this is a mistake...

The tiny committee assigned to give out the prize (all here are brilliantly played) really meant to give the award to Eli's son, Uriel, also a respected Talmudist (he's played by a stunning Lior Ashkenazi, the Brad Pitt of Israel, who dresses down for the role). With his surprisingly long, humorously claustophobic, and passionate debate with the prizegivers (including one powerhouse colleague who has a grudge against his father), a moral quandry is launched on the part of both the son--who struggles over whether to tell his father about the unmeant slight (which, if he lets his father know about it, will cost the son the opportunity to ever win the award in the future)--and for the father, who ultimately must confront the notion that the high point of his life's work might finally amount to a mere footnote in another person's book.

While building up to a dreamy, surreal climax, the American-born Cedar's fast-moving and impressively designed movie (it's a whirl of wacky filmic tricks) cynically pokes holes in the petty concerns those in academia cling to for fear of plunging back down into a reality that, day by day, diminishes their egoist, closely-held values. FOOTNOTE is one of those movies that looks like distant fruit to those not familiar with its world, but it's a fruit, when tasted, seems as if it possesses the flavors of the Earth. It's a movie about fathers and sons (like many films these days), but that taste that somehow should be sweet might turn out to be bitter--just so you know...

Jamey Duvall conducts an incisive interview with FOOTNOTE's writer/director Joseph Cedar here on MOVIE GEEKS UNITED...

Monday, February 20, 2012

Film #147: Boogie Nights

Even though it has an immense cult following, Boogie Nights is one of those films I love in spite of my better judgment.

I can recall gendering at the beautiful one-sheet for Paul Thomas Anderson's breakthrough movie months before it was released in the fall of 1997. I marveled at its huge cast, and was excited about the subject matter--a trip through the Los Angeles porn industry of the late 70s/early 80s. I didn’t know who Anderson was at that time, having not seen his first feature, the small-time con film Hard Eight, but that would soon change. The Boogie Nights poster, though, with its intricate photo collage of characters from the film, promised an epic portrayal unlike anything ever attempted. I was extremely thrilled about seeing it.

In it, we follow its naïve central character, Eddie Adams (Mark Wahlberg, in his first really notable lead role), as he's ensnared into a makeshift family of porn mavens. As he’s performing tricks on the side at his busboy job at an L.A. nightspot, he’s spotted by the patriarchal porn auteur Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds, in one of the best roles of his career). Impressed by his entire...um...package, Horner invites Eddie into the porn fold, and there his triumphs and troubles begin.

Eddie’s eventual transformation into the XXX-star Dirk Diggler is followed in great detail, but this story is really a kind of connective tissue for all the many other tales the film has to offer: Julianne Moore is a top-tier porn actress battling the courts and her ex-husband (John Doe) over custody of their son while using Horner’s coterie of performers as sort of stand-in children; William H. Macy is a meek assistant director struggling with his wife (porn queen Nina Hartley) and her hurtful infidelity; John C. Reilly is an amiable second-string performer (with a penchant for magic tricks) attempting to forge a stronger identity for himself; Don Cheadle is another beaten-down porn star who’s finding his race as a barrier to breaking into the world of stereo sales; Heather Graham is the sexy but largely innocent Rollergirl, searching for the family she can’t find at home.

And Horner himself is battling pressures to convert to video rather than film--an idea he finds abhorrent (this is especially poignant now, seeing as how 35mm is dying right before our eyes, and Anderson is on the front lines in keeping film alive). Throw into this mix Philip Seymour Hoffman as a schlubby sound guy, Luis Guzman as an enthusiastic outsider, Robert Ridgely as a troubled producer (he has a great scene at his downfall, and the movie is dedicated to him, as Ridgely died soon after production), Philip Baker Hall as an imposing moneyman (you have to love Anderson for resurrecting Hall's career), and Ricky Jay as Horner’s loyal photographer/editor, and you can get a sense of this film’s monumental ambition.

I find many facets of Boogie Nights to be quite wonderful. The widescreen cinematography, by Anderson regular Robert Elswit (who would go on to win an Oscar for his work on Anderson’s There Will Be Blood) is always vibrant and inventive, as is the diverse '70s-era source music score (pairing nicely with a sad circus-flavored underscore by Michael Penn). Anderson’s writes dialogue for dumb people particularly brilliantly, so there’s always funny conversation ensuing. The period detail in the garish art direction (by Bob Ziembicki) and costume design (by Mark Bridges, who's gone on to do The Fighter and The Artist) are spot-on. I love seeing Burt Reynolds tearing into a meaty role again and Julianne Moore is beautifully histrionic here, as she would be in Anderson’s Magnolia as well (both she and Reynolds received supporting Oscar nominations). As always, I find John C. Reilly to be a hoot as Reed Rothschild, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman is sweetly doofy as the crewman who gets a crush on Eddie (his tortured confession of this to the unsuspecting Wahlberg is, I think, the movie’s most shattering scene).

But I also find that many parts don’t work: William H. Macy is a shamelessly barely-sketched punching bag of a character; Don Cheadle’s story fails to make a deep impression (note: any time you see a character in a white suit doing something as innocuous as buying donuts, you can bet that suit’s gonna be covered in blood by the end of the scene); and Graham’s Rollergirl, while extremely cute, also seems thinly-written. It feels like Anderson just has too much movie here for 2½ hours to hold (as wonderful as it is on the wide screen Boogie Nights would have been, storywise, a much more effective TV series). Also, the film owes a bit too much to the Goodfellas style of soaring-then-crashing storytelling (with the onslaught of the '80s being the rather too-obvious turning point, though thankfully the AIDS virus doesn't even make a cameo appearance, though it obviously looms in the world's future). I know that this sort of structure is an old trope that dates back to silent pictures, but that's kind of why it feels too pat, too easy for a filmmaker like Anderson (who's clearly shown in his subsequent work how complex a storyteller he can be). However, there's no crime in being young, and Boogie Nights feels like a young artist's playground.

Nevertheless, it is required viewing, if only for its extremely tense final third, which finds Eddie struggling with a cocaine addiction while trying to launch a hilariously ill-conceived musical career (the songs, performed bravely and horribly by Wahlberg and Reilly, include the original “Feel My Heat“ and an excruciating cover of "The Touch," the closing song to The Transformers Movie). Particularly memorable in this segment, too, is one of the great scenes in movie history, where a destitute Wahlberg, Reilly and ne’er-do-well Thomas Jane are stuck inside a free-basing coke-dealer’s house. The gun-toting dealer is played with maniacal energy by Alfred Molina; he’s so coked up, he has well-hidden suspicions that these three desperate guys are planning to rip him off. With firecracker’s being thrown left and right by his houseboy, he holds the guys semi-hostage as he insists on playing “Jessie’s Girl” and “Sister Christian” for them on his stereo. You’ll never hear these two songs in quite the same way again. It’s really a marvelously scary moment that puts you right there in this mess and gets your heart pounding like you've been smoking crack alongside Molina.

There are many other things I like about the movie: the note-perfect, stiffly-acted porn sequences, shot on a scratchy 16mm; the famously dazzling tour through one of Horner’s house parties, done in one long shot that recalls a scene out of Kalatozov's I Am Cuba, where we eventually follow a girl as she jumps into the pool out back, all to the perfectly-chosen tune of Eric Burdon and War’s “Spill the Wine”; and the final shot of the film, which recalls another Scorsese classic, Raging Bull, but which ends with, at last, a glimpse of what made Dirk Diggler famous. Most centrally, I wish Boogie Nights as a whole was as good as these individual elements. It stumbles in its enthusiasm, but it’s got moxie, ambition, and know-how; often overpraised, it remains an important film if only as the breakthrough for an electrifying artist like Paul Thomas Anderson who, with each passing work, only seems to be getting more and more challenging.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

An open letter to the Internet's critics-in-disguise:

What follows is my opinion only, and is not fact.

I love AWARDS DAILY and IN CONTENTION, and I love Tom O'Neil's THE ENVELOPE as well. I'm slightly bewitched by AWARDS DAILY host, the totally wild and passionate Sasha Stone (pictured above, and a person I would like to talk to sometime, 'cuz she seems like she'd be a great conversationalist). I think AD's intelligent and caring Ryan Adams is a great guy, too. Tough IN CONTENTION dude Kris Tapley and I have had disagreements--I think I'm still barred from commenting on his site, after a nasty Pauline Kael-related insult on my part (Tapley has lots of low opinions of Kael, to which I vehemently objected). But I read him often (and, most religiously, I pay attention to IC's resolutely sharp Guy Lodge). And I always admire Tom O'Neil's level-headed, journalistic, slightly-square but quite opinionated work for the L.A. Times' ENVELOPE. But I do often find myself questioning the notion that many of these treasured commenters (at least two of whom will swear up and down that they're not critics) are on a Quixotic quest to change Oscar voters' mode of thinking. In a way, I think AWARDS DAILY and, to a lesser extent, IN CONTENTION are somewhat ageist and anti-history (I know this will irritate alla them). However, before anyone flies off the handle, please let me explain...and let me assure them all they ain't gonna change the Academy in their lifetime, or in the next...

For me, primarily the AWARDS DAILY site this year (matching much of the movie-centric blogosphere) has been all about DRIVE, SHAME, RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES, HARRY POTTER, HUGO, and (strangely, as of late) THE HELP. I come to AWARDS DAILY, in particular, every day, so I should know (as all other AD fans should know, too). But I have long found myself wondering about the love towards all these movies, as portrayed there. So I must address each (by the way, I find it interesting that it's very difficult to locate each site's original first-look reviews of each film; it makes it hard to verify what they really thought, or what I thought they thought):

Let’s eliminate HARRY POTTER outright; critics and box office be damned, there was no way that the Oscars were going to nominate the second half of the seventh installment of a film series as Best Picture. Give it up, okay? TOY STORY 3 just last year became the first Best Picture nominee to be honored without its predecessors being so honored--and that happened only because there were a newly freaky 10 nominees. Onward.

I see the love for DRIVE being as similar a type of adoration for a bygone movie era as THE ARTIST is slammed for being. The only difference is that DRIVE comes closer to intersecting the lives of many on the Internet; it's a shiny 80s throwback piece, and that makes it instantly cool for a certain crowd, regardless of what the movie actually contains (and that final caveat tells you what I think of DRIVE, which I have to say I consider a barely-disguised remake of an underrated 1978 Walter Hill bomb called THE DRIVER).

Meanwhile, I see the love of SHAME as being a stand-in show of support for the type of sex-frown filmmaking that another 80s achiever, David Lynch, does best. The only problem is that David Lynch didn't direct SHAME (whoa, whould HE have made the film better). Fassbender and Mulligan are both terrific in the movie, but the film itself is clunky from the get-go. It's THE LOST WEEKEND all over again, with screwing as the addiction (actually, Wilder‘s 1945 movie is much more daring and, as it came at the height of alcoholism, much more relevant and edgy for its time). I love the performances in SHAME, even though I didn't care for the movie (McQueen's HUNGER is so much better). At any rate, it's not the kind of stuff that the Academy cottons to, so I sorta wasn't surprised that they left it out of the mix. The anger portrayed by fans of AWARDS DAILY towards this "snub" seems rather juvenile. As fans of the Oscars, weren't you all rather expecting this? (You have followed the Oscars for some years now, haven‘t you? And you‘ve read INSIDE OSCAR by the late and sorely lamented Mason Wiley and Damian Bona, right? You know, Sasha is a fan of these guys...)

On this note, I want to highlight that Sasha Stone has faulted the Academy for not recognizing movies with sexuality this year. But she champions 2011's SHAME and DRAGON TATTOO as, I guess, bastions of coital coupling (I can't remember any other memorable sex scenes from any other late 2010/all-of 2011 movies). Even with the wonderful Rooney Mara in my bed, I wouldn’t think I was having the best sex ever. Her rotating atop Daniel Craig was revenge rape, in some ways; Craig's character was kinda tied up the first time around and not really totally willing, and he easily forsakes her at the end (which makes Fincher's mostly boring mystery movie much more memorable, 'cause the endlessly fascinating Lizbeth Salander is ultimately totally fine with that, and I frankly think that this is what Sasha Stone like most about this actually pretty stuffy, exposition-heavy murder mystery). But even in the sexiest of 2011 movies, there was no happy fucking like in, say, THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING (which should have won Best Picture in 1988; surely we can all agree that most fucking is performed with happiness at least on SOME level). Oh, I take that back: the beginning of BRIDESMAIDS, with Kristen Wiig and Jon Hamm. Sexiest scene of the year. At any rate, the Academy may sometime tolerate on-screen fucking, but they most probably ain't gonna like it if it's done as a sideshow rather than as a plot point (DELIVERANCE is possibly the only on-screen ass-fucking that was deemed okay, I guess because it branded shitty American Southerners forever as perverts and it thus landed as a universally appealing horror/revenge story; by the way, those were 70-year-olds who voted that movie a Best Picture Oscar nomination in 1972).

So on to RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES. Well…come on. The apes were great in the movie; the humans were not, and movies made by humans will always be about humans, even if the most fascinating ape in RISE is portrayed--very well, with indeterminable SFX help--by a digitally-bedotted human in front of a green screen.

Okay. So this leaves THE HELP and HUGO to attend to. I like THE HELP more than some people did upon its summertime release. But I don’t remember such impassioned support for THE HELP on AWARDS DAILY before Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer began amassing awards for their performances. I genuinely liked the movie (I was surprised, actually) and thought from the beginning that the Spencer-Davis group was the key to THE HELP's success both artistically and financially. At AWARDS DAILY or IN CONTENTION, I certainly didn’t see as many cheers for Davis all throughout this year as I did for the comparatively little-seen Andy Serkis in RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES. By the way, I add as a throwaway: neither AD nor IC appreciated what to me is obviously the most important movie of 2011, Terrence Malick's THE TREE OF LIFE. It was, at best, a prickly nuisance to them since the Cannes Palme D'or win. Question: When Malick's film finally prevailed as a Best Picture nominee, why wasn't it these sites' cause celebre? Because it was homework, and homework is never fun. Unless it's another kind of homework, where you get to wear funny glasses...

So now only HUGO is left as the last bastion of hope for many of the internet’s Oscar lovers because [A] of Scorsese's now-brand-name, [B} because of its sly fantasy elements, and [C] because of 3D, which some "mavericks" now think of as a kind of hinky New Frontier.

Here, I veer off topic. At 45, I guess I'm now an old man (which is a ridiculous statement unto itself, because you don’t know me, and I'm probably wilder than you are, but I'll leave it at that). So all the 2012 nominees, for the most part, are softball throws, in AD fans‘ views. Well, can I posit something?

The people who are nominating movies for the Oscars these days aren't hailing from the 1930s. Most of them now are coming from the 1960s and 1970s--the golden era that we all love and look to as our inspiration. It's very common for people who are younger film fans to blame the perceived lameness of Oscar nominees on the old farts; kids did it in the 1970s, and I‘ll bet they did it in the 1950s, too. But (and here's the unsettling revelation for you guys): one day, all you reading this will be old farts, too. And when this happens, I guarantee you'll be tired of seeing anal rape, crushed heads, and painful dry-balled orgasms as movie milestones. This stuff will be old hat and you’ll see it for what it is: education about how awful the world is for people who are unfamiliar with suffering because they just recently came out from under their parents protective wings (most people under 25 these days didn‘t see their first R-rated movie until they were 18 or so; here, we get into a whole can of worms I‘m not gonna open unless somebody asks). With the lack of love for Hazanvicius' sweet THE ARTIST on sites like AWARDS DAILY--and it’s a movie which, Sasha and Ryan and whoever, you can all say you LIKE it all you want, but you're clearly not on its side--I see that this year's inevitable Oscar winner is looked upon as being a chintzy choice. I really believe that the cool crowd thinks it's a cop-out. And I think you’re all cheating yourselves.

What's most interesting about THE ARTIST is that it's about a film star that thinks he's a master of the form, and then the form changes on him. Right now, for all filmmakers, the form is changing on THEM as well. Even the 70-or-so-year-old Scorsese--40-something Hazanavicius's most ironic competitor--has had to reconsider what he needs to do to stay current--hence, HUGO. It makes me very mad to see people label THE ARTIST as being gimmicky. This is astounding, actually. There were 30+ years of insanely incredible silent movies (which many die-hard film fans look at as being a chore to watch, by the way). Meanwhile, the first 3D movie was BWANA DEVIL in 1952; the process gave people headaches in spite of KISS ME KATE, CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON, and DIAL M FOR MURDER and, by the early 1960s, it was seen as a “gimmick”; the only somewhat “modern” 3D movies I remember watching were ANDY WARHOL’S FRANKENSTEIN, FRIDAY THE 13TH PART 3D, and PARASITE. From the early 80s to the mid-2000s, the process was virtually dead.

Okay. So now (at most) the 20-year herky-jerky life of present-day 3D is supposedly okay (even though it reduces the screen’s brightness, still gives some people headaches and still has not mastered the concept of true depth, HUGO included). So now the much loved HUGO is nominated. It’s true: cinematographer Robert Richardson and director Martin Scorsese indeed do something new with the “gimmick.” But I argue: Where is the story? It gets lost. It’s as lost as Hugo is. In fact, Hugo Cabret himself is lost in the story, because the film itself really cares about George Melies. But this tale’s in a movie called HUGO, not MELIES. At least you can say THE ARTIST is about what it’s about. You cannot say that about HUGO.

I find myself wondering if the lack of love for THE ARTIST on AWARDS DAILY (and all the way around the net) is really about an attempt by a generation to stake a claim for its own “modern” modes of thought. Is this an egotistical pine for identity.

I now ask you to come with me on a journey, to indulge me and let me suggest a “happier” alternate Oscar history, from 1980 onward (and, I‘ll admit, even this is subjective on my part, but I use the IMDB as the great equalizer, with few exceptions)…

1980: RAGING BULL (IMDB #4, with THE SHINING #1)
1982: BLADE RUNNER (IMDB #1, with E.T. #4))
1985: BRAZIL (IMDB #5, with BACK TO THE FUTURE #1)
1990: GOODFELLAS (IMDB #1, with HOME ALONE #3)
1995: TOY STORY (IMDB #5, with SE7EN #1)
1999: FIGHT CLUB (IMDB #1, with THE MATRIX #3)
2000: MEMENTO (IMDB #1, with GLADIATOR #2)
2002: CITY OF GOD (IMDB #2, with SPIDERMAN #3)
2010: INCEPTION (IMDB #1, with BLACK SWAN #4)

Nolan: 4 (Memento, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, Inception)
Scorsese: 3 (Raging Bull, Goodfellas, The Departed)
Spielberg: 3 (Raiders of the Lost Ark, Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan)
Cameron: 3 (The Terminator, Titanic, Avatar)
Fincher: 2 (Fight Club, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)
Jackson: 2 (LOTR: Fellowship of the Ring, LOTR: Return of the King)
The Coens: 2 (Fargo, No Country for Old Men)

Believe me, this took an hour or two to put together, and does not reflect my personal taste. So why did I go to this much trouble? Because I wanted to construct a kind of Best Picture history I thought many people (here on the web, at least) could go along with. I bet that, if these were the past winners, no one commenting on AWARDS DAILY or on IN CONTENTION would be complaining about the unfairness of the Oscars. They’d think all was right with the world, and that film history was marching on, ON, onward, forward and beyond--HA-YAAA! I say this because all of these movies (and their seconds, as portrayed here) are the most talked-about titles of the past 30 years, on the web and amongst real-life skin jobs (although things get much murkier when we hit the 2000s--who‘s talking about INTO THE WILD?). By the way, even though they don’t match up number by number, I will not go into the details of how I picked each title. I leave that for the reader to figure out for themselves. Let it be known that I really tried to be fair. Anyway, you have to admit, this would be a pretty populist list; there's a lot of multiple choices here over 31 years; in fact, in that time, according to this lineup, they'd only be 11 directors who didn't own these names listed above. So why aren't this year's Michel Hazanavicius or last year's Tom Hooper considered adventurous choices? Ummm...I dunno..I guess because they're adventurous choices?

Okay, forget that...so out of 31 titles, only about four of these movies are NOT about some sort of violence, death, fighting or all-out action (CINEMA PARADISO, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, TOY STORY, and ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND). Of those, only one is a soft-hearted exercise, really (CINEMA PARADISO remains, amazingly, an incredibly deeply loved film, even though it‘s in Italian; it, too, is a fantasy about cinema's innocent beginnings). Two others are semi-romantic animations, and another is a darkly romantic sci-fi story. To be complete: TITANIC is the chronicle of a disaster, so violence trumps the romance (most people cite the sinking of the ship as the movie's strong point); and THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION sports the admittedly softened horrors of prison life (and really the harder PULP FICTION is the movie of that year…but where is the internet love for the adorable, black-and-white ED WOOD, which was the TRUE Best Picture of that year? At #13, that's where--actually, it's surprising and hopeful it's even that high up on the love-o-meter.

So if this alternate Oscar history I'm posing were the case, would many now be arguing about how it’s time for a kindly little movie like THE ARTIST to win the Best Picture award? Who knows? I hope scads would be doing so...but I'd doubt it. I think it'd be a case of "Meet the new boss...same as the old boss."

For a clichéd better or worse, I admire the Oscars, always, for what they try to do. They try to underline what’s best in us all. I love their attention to each individual artist. But, outside of that, they’re not only about trying to define the best movies of the year (which they rarely do); they are trying to define who we hope and wish we are as people. This, in some ways, makes them notable as an event and a reward. I’ll agree that they are often wrong. But I’ll always defend the Oscars, always, as a snapshot of where the movie industry hopes it is (artistically, financially, philosophically) at the moment the nominations are announced (the nominations are more important than the winners, by the way).

Even so, about 15 years ago, I decided there was no hope of my total adoration of a body that chose as it so often does (ROCKY over NETWORK? No way). You can see what I thought should have won Best Picture each year HERE. For my part, I have agreed with the Academy, in its entire history, nine times: GONE WITH THE WIND (39), LAWRENCE OF ARABIA (62), THE GODFATHER (72), ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST (75), ANNIE HALL (77), THE DEER HUNTER (78), UNFORGIVEN (92), SCHINDLER’S LIST (93), and MILLION DOLLAR BABY (2004). So I long ago made peace with the fact that a movie like, say, BLUE VELVET, or for that matter, THE TREE OF LIFE, is never going to win Best Picture. I think MIDNIGHT COWBOY was about as close to that wackiness as we’re ever going to get.

I love the Oscars, so-called warts and all. I love what they get right, and what they get wrong. What they get right MAKES me love what they get wrong. Those who say it's not a game are mistaken. It IS a game; it’s a game designed to make us love movies--even those movies that are NOT on thie final list, because finally it gets us to consider, first of all (at least, nowadays) whether any given title WILL be on the final list or not.

I think the inevitable 2012 win of Michel Hazanavicius’ THE ARTIST is extraordinary. It’s not my favorite movie of the year (THE TREE OF LIFE, UNCLE BOONMEE, MELANCHOLIA, MONEYBALL and A SEPARATION best it, I believe). But THE ARTIST, without uttering more than one sentence, says a lot more than people give it credit for. It’s a silent movie that’s about the switchover to sound. That it’s silent doesn’t make it “gimmicky;” it makes it creative, and loving. If the viewer doesn’t like silent movies, it’s not the movie’s problem. THE ARTIST is about change; it’s even a movie that deserves to be seen on 35mm, but because a lot of 35mm houses can’t take it (because they don’t have 1:33 lenses), it’s ironically largely being shown digitally (which, by the way, accounts for its smaller release and resultantly small box office figures stateside). THE ARTIST is truly about the present-day switchover from 24 FPS film to digital, and it is also about how we have to embrace it, whether we like it or not. It’s a movie of this exact time, and this is why it deserves to win Best Picture. That, and it’s incredibly charming and doesn’t have anal rape, crushed heads, and painful, dry-balled orgasms at its center. In a way, as John Goodman says at the end, "It's perfect."

Finally, I think it’s extremely interesting that HUGO is an American movie about French silent films, and THE ARTIST is a French movie about American silent films. To me, that says that fans of HUGO think it’s cooler to say that they love silent films, as long as they’re short and fantasy-oriented, like Melies’ otherworldly works. But it also says that they’re not willing to sit through a long-form silent about people who are not conjuring spirits, doing magic tricks, and tripping to the moon. In these viewers’ worlds, George Valentin deserves so much more to be where the downtrodden George Melies finds himself as Scorsese's movie begins. But that's what I call kicking a dog when he's down...