Looks like I’m not the only one that’s a bit perturbed at the adulation “The Artist” has received this awards season. From film critic Jeffrey Wells’ Hollywood Elsewhere blog:
I’m trying not to pay too much attention to this or give it too much weight, but when I do think about it I get a little bit sick. It’s 1953 all over again, and we’re about to give the Best Picture Oscar to The Greatest Show on Earth.
The Artist is a 2011 version of That’s Entertainment! in a silent, black-and-white mode with a strong narrative assist from A Star Is Born and Singin’ in the Rain.
Echoes a lot of my feelings on the film. Charming? Sure. But it’s way too derivative, twee, and self-congratulatory (not to mention a bit backwards and weird in its romantic themes) to warrant “Best Picture” consideration.
It’s popcorn. Nice to have at a theater, but not something I’d dare accept as a substitute for sirloin.
Previously: on French nostalgia for Western film and zombies
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