Of course, the Oscars have come and gone, and The Artist won basically everything. Naturally, the usual backlash against the film occurred before the ceremonies were even over.

Disclosure #2: I wasn’t rooting for The Artist. My personal favorites were Midnight in Paris and Tree of Life, but the French tribute to silent film was a shoo-in. Now having seen the film (finally!), it’s clear to me why it won. Not that I have anything against horses or baseball.

Much has been said about the sound–or lack thereof–in The Artist. As a silent film about silent film, the choice of background music and sound effects shines through each chiaroscuro scene.

Let’s start with the good: I liked the film, genuinely enjoyed it. The story pulled at my heartstrings. Shots were framed beautifully. Director (and newly minted Academy Award winner) Michel Hazanavicius effortlessly managed to convey smoothly fluid, languid scenes, as well as classically jerky, stop-start-stop scenes familiar to any silent film devotee.  César-winning Best Actress Bérénice Bejo was delightful and fresh. Uggie the dog was adorable.

Jean Jujardin won an Oscar for his performance as George Valentin, a silent film leading man who falls from the height of stardom due to the invention of “talkies.” I didn’t dislike his performance. Purely judging on an acting level, the man portrayed his character remarkably well. The maudlin drooping of eyes to ground, the cheesy grins and smooth sashays–he did it all, and believably so.

However, the script worked against him, in so far as it painted his character into both a tribute and a relic of the silent era. Yes, on a meta level, we can see Valentin as not only a literal representative of silent film in the world within the film, but also Jujardin’s portrayal of Valentin as a character representative of silent film for us, the viewers of The Artist. Contrast George Valentin’s overdrawn emotions with the light, sparkly antics of Bejo’s Peppy Miller. The Artist is smart, but sometimes the film’s intelligence gets in the way of entertainment value.

Frankly, I found the protagonist insufferable. Hazanavicius’s screenplay followed the archetypal arc of the tragic hero. A man is vaunted to brilliant heights, and then the audience watches him fall, as a result of his hubris and the laws of nature (well, for the Greeks, the Gods). Modern audiences need more than a morality play, though. We look for heroes that rise and fall, but learn something, and–this is key–change.

After his fall from stardom, Valentin wallows in his own disgrace for an overly lengthy second act that repeats its themes over and over. The man is sad. The man is angry. The man is a depressed, alcoholic failure who hates himself and everyone around him. Jujardin conveys this all, with both the broad strokes necessary for a walking metaphor, and the subtlety of small shifts in pose and glances backwards. But it goes on for far too long.

Again and again, Valentin rejects the help of well-meaning people, and succumbs to that sin that kills so many: pride. It is a classic conflict. The film as a whole is deeply-layered, with facets of not only film archetypes, but narrative norms that we know by heart. However, I emphasize again that sometimes, that’s not enough.

For a film about film, you’d expect entertainment. At the very least, we do get a rushing climax and a somewhat disjointed happy ending. Does it work? On one hand, the critic and scholar in me sniffs disdainfully at the rushed happy ending, the convenient timing of “Bang!”

On the other hand, perhaps sometimes, we–as audience members–think too much as well. If filmmakers must not only provide thought but also entertain, audience members too much not only think, but allow themselves to be entertained. The second act was long (especially the second half). The main character was irritating. But, by the climax of the film, all I could think was, “I don’t even care. Just give me the happy ending. Please.”

Regardless of any external opinions on what I was watching, I was drawn into the moment of the movie. I was pulled in to care about the characters, to root for the hero, to rail against a society that conspired against him. Without meaning to do so, I suspended disbelief.

At the end of the day, isn’t that why we still go to movie theaters? We can watch films at home now, easily. We can watch films on our cell phones, on laptops, in the middle seat of a 757. But nothing beats walking into an air-conditioned room, and gripping the armrests in a theater. When the lights dim, and the chattering stops, all you can see is the movie.

I am reminded often of the iconic scene in Vivre Sa Vie, when Anna Karina (playing a woman who has lost control of her life), sits in a theater, tears streaming down her face, as the silent film Jean d’Arc flashes across the big screen. Films affect us, yes, but they also empty us. The let us clear our minds of the emotions and thoughts we suppress in the day. We go to films to escape reality, for at least 90 minutes or so.

Disclosure #3: As much as I didn’t appreciate certain parts of The Artist, I have to admit that it drew me in. I delighted in the dancing, I pined for the slow-burning love story, I wanted George Valentin to succeed.

Did it work, then? Bien sur.

I am speaking, of course, of journalism.

While I wouldn’t quite call myself a journalist by profession, I must admit my education and career would seem to point in that direction. I created my first mock newspaper in an elementary school program, joined the newspaper class in middle school, was on staff at my high school’s newspaper, and reported for my university’s newspaper, news television station, and news radio. Along the way, I engaged in freelance reporting and criticism, leaning more and more to the latter as time went on.

Eventually, I found my niche in arts and entertainment criticism. However, the lessons I have learned from different facets of journalism have deeply affected my writing.

1. K.I.S.S. (Keep it simple, stupid.)

2. Answer the W’s first.

3. Deadlines are deadly.

4. Opinions are not facts.  The diff b/t subjectivity and objectivity.

5. Always dig deeper.

6. The right word can make a difference. (But if you’re stuck, any word will do.)

7. Know your audience. [Or, think outside the box?]

8. Details make the story.

Whether its a brief finance report or a lengthy human interest feature, every piece you write depends on details.

9. Never be afraid to ask for help.

10. Don’t be afraid to voice unpopular opinions.

For some reason, I had never before read A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court until this year. I must have been under the mistaken assumption that the novel would deal with courtly matters in medieval England, not my favorite genre.

In fact, the novel is set primarily in medieval England, but the story is told through the eyes of a time-traveler from Twain’s present. Hence, the title.

A Connecticut Yankee finds himself transported to sixth century England. He uses his future knowledge to advance civilization in many small, but important ways. He starts a newspaper, spreads the message of hygiene, attempts to distill self-respect into serfs. In short, he attempts to make medieval England into modern (for Twain) America.

The novel is funny, very funny. Twain’s sly humor creeps up on you, unexpectedly at times and almost always, without the knowledge of narrator or supporting characters.

Reading through the lens of the twenty first century is interesting, in that the novel includes a frame story of one of Twain’s contemporaries meeting the time-traveler in Twain’s present, and reading his accounts of the past. In my college days, I would probably have expounded on the distance of narrative to narrator as mirroring the distance of past and present, but presently, I shall merely make note of the fact that there is one.

What the novel really is, at heart, is a defense of democracy, the American sort, to be exact. Our fearless narrator lovingly remembers the free press and voting rights of the nineteenth century. He rails against the privileged nobility and monarchy of medieval England. He decries the power of the Church to make mice of men (though he does mention the goodliness of some lone priests). He even notes the painful and inhumane effects of slavery.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court is a humorous time travel novel that creates an alternate history for medieval England. It is also a sharply written political treatise that touches on topics important in Twain’s America and our own modern day United States.

Here are a few choice quotes from the novel:

“You see my kind of loyalty was loyalty to one’s country, not to its institutions or its officeholders. The country is the real thing, the substantial thing, the substantial thing; it is the thing to watch over, and care for, and be loyal to; institutions are extraneous, they are its mere clothing, and clothing can wear out, become ragged, cease to be comfortable, cease to protect the body from winter, disease, and death. To be loyal to rags, to shout for rags, to worship rags, to die for rags–that is a loyalty of unreason, it is pure animal; it belongs to monarchy, was invented by monarchy; let monarchy keep it.”

“There it was, you see. A man is a man, at bottom. Whole ages of abuse and oppression cannot crush the manhood clear out of him. Whoever thinks it is a mistake, is himself mistaken. Yes, there is plenty good enough material for a republic in the most degraded people that ever existed–even the Russians; plenty of manhood in them–even in the Germans–if one could but force it out of its timid and suspicious privacy, to overthrow and trample in the mud any throne that ever was set up and any nobility that ever supported it.”

“Intellectual ‘work’ is misnamed; it is a pleasure, a dissipation, and is its own highest reward. The poorest paid architect, engineer, general, author, sculptor, painter, lecturer, advocate, legislator, actor, preacher, singer is constructively in heaven when he is at work; and as for the magician with the fiddle bow in his hand who sits in the midst o a great orchestra with the ebbing and flowing tides of divine sound washing over him–why, certainly, he is at work, if you wish to call it that, but lord, it’s a sarcasm just the same. The law of work does seem utterly unfair–but there it is: and nothing can change it: the higher the pay in enjoyment the worker gets out of it, the higher shall be his pay in cash, also. “

Both films critique bourgeoisie excess and the decline of French (and to some extent, Western) civilization. The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie manages to do all of the above while keeping the tone light and stimulating, while La Grande Bouffe (The Great Feast) takes forever and a day to set up the story, makes an obvious argument, and then beats a dead horse for another hour and a half of repetitive orgiastic nonsense.

The film runs over two hours long, which is roughly an hour longer than it really ought to be. The first act is entirely forgettable, save an unnerving scene between Philippe (Philippe Noiret) and his incestuous, mother-like relative. The plot is simple and too bluntly satirical: four men decide to literally stuff themselves to death by consuming mass quantities of gourmet food.

The film makes obvious arguments regarding French civilization and the consumerist classes. Many of these arguments come straight from the mouth of pastry chef Ugo (Ugo Tognazzi). La Grande Bouffe features excellent French and Italian actors, well known for their times. However, the script doesn’t leave much room for the actors to maneuver. Philippe is immature and needs women with ample bosoms to pander over him. Ugo likes cooking.  Marcello (Marcello Mastroianni) lieks sex. Michel (Michel Piccoli) is possibly gay.

The only character with any depth is Andréa Ferréol‘s  Andréa, a Rubenesque schoolteacher with a surprisingly hedonistic sensibility. Ferréol imbues the role with a tender sensitivity that at once contrasts and complements her character’s voracious appetite. Andréa joins the men in their orgy of decadence, but, unlike them, she never grows pale with exhaustion. She remains fresh and dewy under director Marco Ferreri‘s soft Golden Age lighting. The other characters are filmed in neutral light.

Ferreri succeeds in making his point about consumption and excess. He includes a bounty of symbols, most of which are obvious. The humans and animals make similar sounds as man loses his civilized qualities. The Bugatti can run, but never makes it out of the yard; the men waste their abilities, unable to leave the mansion.

The first act is overly solemn. The second, exuberant but strained. The third, monotonous and much, much too long. Ferreri uses crass humor, graphic (and idiotic) sex, and disgusting scenes of overconsumption to prove his point. It’s a point that could have easily been made in a thirty minute short film. Over two hours? Torture.

The movie itself isn’t particularly clever or insightful, but romantic comedies don’t need to be. Tatou plays Émilie, a streetwise salon owner, who receives a note from a secret admirer. Unbeknownst to Émilie, that admirer is none other than the salon’s janitor, Jean (Bouajila), who also has a few surprises up his sleeve.

There are some interesting issues of class and race that play out in this film. A scene with two Asian women is pivotal, though it mostly plays as comedy to the audience.

Complications arise when Émilie decides to copy her admirer’s note and send it to her mother Maddy (Nathalie Baye), a depressed divorcee unwilling to leave her home. The thought of a secret admirer invigorates Maddy, which inevitably leads to Émilie continuing to send letters in the guise of the nameless admirer. Eventually Jean is drawn into the scheme as well, and hilarity (and heartbreak) ensues.

I found the movie fairly compelling, for rom com fare. However, I must point out that the last act includes plotting that might not mesh well with typical American values. We in the states tend to like our lines drawn clear, at least in rom coms and action films. Émilie never quite becomes a likeable person. In fact, the character has few redeeming qualities, save her love for her mother. Furthermore, Maddy’s little revenge near the end of the film will come as a shocker–and an unnecessary one, at that–to  American audiences.

My verdict? I liked the film. It was fresh and fun, and moved at a lively pace. Director Pierre Salvadori has a keen eye for humor and the light syncopation of flirtation and lust. There was just enough variation in plot and tone to differentiate the film from the usual genre fluff, though not enough variation to push the movie to the top of 2010′s offerings.

Tautou is lovely, as always, and Bouajila makes a believable, albeit passive, leading man. Though talent could be found in all aspects on screen, the scene-stealer was certainly Nathalie Baye. With Maddy, Baye manages to create a character who is at once pathetic and endearing, with both a loving heart and a malicious streak.

I screened this film at the ColCoa French Film Festival earlier this year, and it was a treat to be able to sit back and enjoy some lighter fare, along with darker films such as My Piece of the Pie (Ma part du gâteau) and more sentimental pieces like My Afternoons With Margueritte (La Tête en friche). Reviews of both of those films coming soon.

Well, not so much the unibrow, but you get the point.

In that vein (in that brow?) here’s a lovely clip, for those of you who haven’t seen it yet:

I think Wilde would approve of the Jersey Shore cast’s hedonism, but definitely not their sense (or lack thereof) of style.

SMG‘s new series, Ringer, is an action-packed mystery thriller, a wonderful complement to the vastly improved Nikita.

Gellar will play dual roles as twin sisters Bridget and Siobhan. After witnessing a crime, Bridget runs from her dysfunctional life and, through a series of events, decides to take over her missing sister’s life.

Naturally, unbenownst to Bridget, Siobhan is apparently alive and deeply inolved in a complex web of lies and violence. Intriguing!

Catch the video after the jump.

Ringer starts September 19, on theCW. I know I’ll be watching.

This is the Weeds we used to know and love. The past few seasons have been spotty, and this season’s first few episodes have been touch-and-go, but “Fingers Only Meat Banquet” is a bona fide classic in the making.

This episode flawlessly integrates all of the main cast, weaving together the sometimes disparate storylines into a cohesive whole. Doug (Kevin Nealon) has troubles at his office, where Nancy (Mary-Louise Parker) now works. Nancy and her attorney (Martin Short) fly to California, with Silas (Hunter Parrish) in tow, for a custody hearing. Shane (Alexander Gould) pays for the tickets with his student loan money.

There’s more than just those plot arcs, though. This episode is stuffed with different character narratives, as well as opportunities for growth and future problems. The last scene is a great kicker too–a huge payoff for loyal fans.

Critics have turned their backs on Nancy these past few seasons. She started off as a caring suburban housewife who was forced to turn to drugs to support her children. Later, her reckless streak and manipulative nature made her less and less emotionally likeable. The past few seasons have shown again and again how flawed Nancy is as a mother.

However, it’s important to note that, despite her flaws, Nancy never loses sight of her priorities. She is always fiercely protective of her sons, and this episode sees a return to the characterization of Nancy as a maternal figure. Silas has been openly resentful of his mother this season, yet Nancy chooses to bring him as a character witness in the custody trial for Stevie. During this process, Silas comes to terms with his mother as a human being. He gives a touching speech to the judge, but also to the audience, who is likely used to years of judging Nancy.

While Silas is convincing the judge, Nancy has a confrontation with her sister (Jennifer Jason Leigh), her brother-in-law (Mel Fair), and a neighborhood security officer. Scott, the brother-in-law is sympathetic to Nancy, but fears his wife. The security officer has a surprisingly large role for a bit part. I’m pretty sure we’ll see at least one of these men play a pivotal role later in the season. Nonetheless, this episode sets up the conflict well, with Nancy practically in tears when unable to see her son.

Back in New York…

–Doug finds out that his company has been reporting false figures for a while now. His boss (NAME) implies that Doug should continue the practice, which kills Doug’s usual relaxed vibe.

–Shane finally enrolls in college, bribing his way into a Criminal Justice class. Figures.

–Andy (Justin Kirk) breaks up with Maxeen (Lindsay Sloane) after finding himself uncomfortable with the prospect of dating a woman whose husband has terminal cancer.

Lest we forget, Nancy is still missing a weed supply, which brings us to the fantastic closing sequence. The director focuses on Silas and Nancy driving in an unknown area, with the judge’s convenient voiceover suggesting Nancy pursue a return to basics, a return to her roots and the things and people that surrounded her when she was a “good mother.”

And then we see Heylia James (Tonye Patano). Boom.

My writing background has mostly been in arts and entertainment, and in that beat, I usually focus on music. I love music, but really, who doesn’t?

I never meant to ignore the glories of the musical form, but I find that I no longer have the time or impetus to see as many shows as I used to, or listen to as many albums in full. However, as always, I am full of opinions (bursting!), and the best and worst part of keeping in the know with music is the fast turnover rate. A band is unknown one day, hot the second, disbanded or forgotten by the next.

Long story short, this post will be the start of many. I will post and (briefly) discuss songs that I’m enjoying, or songs I find intriguing. Possibly songs I detest. Who knows.

First one follows after the jump.

Here’s a tune that I love. It’s mellow, but with a driving beat and a beautiful rise and fall. I particularly like the bit around 1:34.

Enjoy.