A marvel. Funny and exuberant and bittersweet and cliché-busting and unexpected as hell. We are going to need more movies like this one.
Full of the Coen Brothers’ usual exuberant joie de cinema, and a helluva lot of fun, but too scattershot to ever settle on saying the things it has to say.
Who does this? Who makes a black-and-white movie in the 21st century? Who makes a silent film in the 21st century? The Artist: Not in 3D, not in IMAX, not even in widescreen!
Dave Beauchene at PopTometry suggests that movie stars should only be movie stars if there can be unanimous agreement on their objectively superior talent. What’s more, this was once true, and has been lost. I couldn’t disagree more.
A hundred years of handsome Hollywood hotties, from Douglas Fairbanks Sr. to George Clooney, in three and a half minutes…
With its clear and obvious choices — think Eddie Izzard’s ‘cake? or death?’ bit — *Unleashed* really is a fairy tale next to *Crash,* where half the time when you think you’ve got a grasp on what’s the ‘right’ thing to do and the ‘right’ way to live, you turn out to be wrong, even if the other guy is wrong, too.
As if there was any doubt that An American in Paris was nothing but an excuse for some fabulous singing and dancing, the film wraps up with a spectacular 18-minute ballet sequence. It’s got only the vaguest connection to plot or character, but it’s a gorgeous piece of filmmaking.