It is fairly common for Hollywood to release at least a few films each year about, well, films. Possibly nothing is more characteristic of American cinema than its frequent vanity-driven practice of looking at itself in the mirror, praising itself for bringing “magic” to the masses.
Occasionally, however, there comes a movie that takes a significant step back and really does portray the beauty and wonder of film, in a way that displays both Hollywood’s obvious flaws and its unparalleled skill for telling magnificent stories. 2011 brought us two unlikely such films, both of which are competing in the race for Best Picture at the 84th Academy Awards this Sunday.
The first movie, Martin Scorsese’s Hugo, brought superstar cast members, high production value, and the latest technology to its story. The second, Michel Hazanavicius’s The Artist, took almost the opposite approach – a cast whose leads are mainly unknowns (in America at least), a low budget of only $15 million (as opposed to Hugo’s approximately $150 million), and a total reversal of techniques back to that of the late 1920s.
It is interesting to note, then, that their stories share similar characters and a common fervor for the wonder of cinema, even during the same time period – yet the approaches taken by each reflect the disparate views on modern filmmaking and the movies in general. Out with the old and in with the new, or stick with tried-and-true methodologies?
Upon examination of the film’s origins, it begins to make sense that the filmmakers behind Hugo would be as innovative and forward-thinking as they were. The inspiration for Martin Scorsese’s first 3D film was, in fact, a children’s book – but one that stretches and alters the definition of what a book can be.
At 526 pages, Brian Selznick’s Caldecott Award-winning The Invention of Hugo Cabret appears at first glance to be a hefty volume more along the lines of the longer Harry Potter books. But, once the cover is opened, the book’s true colors – or rather, lack thereof – are revealed. 284 pages of Selznick’s novel are highly detailed, black-and-white pencil drawings, which as the reader progresses through the story, play out in sequence like a storyboard – or, as one critic for The New York Times put it, “like a silent film on paper.” The remaining pages appear just as they would in a regular children’s novel, with paragraphs of text.
The striking similarity to silent film is later revealed to be quite intentional. The Invention of Hugo Cabret, as well as its filmed counterpart, follows the story of Hugo, a young orphan living in the walls of a Paris train station. There, he operates and maintains the building’s many clocks, keeping up with the job left to him by his recently-deceased uncle, as well as hiding from the malevolent Station Inspector and stealing food from nearby shops in order to survive.
What truly drives our young protagonist, however, is a mysterious mechanical man (an automaton) that Hugo’s father had left for him and that Hugo hopes to repair. As the mystery surrounding the automaton unfolds, as well as that of the old toy shop owner in the station, the plot begins to delve into the early days of cinema and the history of some of the world’s first filmmakers, many of whom were also inventors, mechanics, or magicians.
As a sort of tribute to the revolutionary and forward-thinking artists and innovators of the early movies, director Martin Scorsese took a huge next step into the evolution of modern cinema – stereoscopic 3D. Hugo, many would argue, marked the first time a filmmaker of Scorsese’s caliber and influence had fully adopted the 3D format, designing and shooting every aspect of his production in three dimensions. (He is soon to be followed in late 2012 by Peter Jackson, with The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, and Baz Luhrmann, with his adaptation of The Great Gatsby, both of whom will be shooting in 3D.)
Overall, the story of The Invention of Hugo Cabret, its movie adaptation, and the innovation surrounding them advocate for the constant evolution of storytelling techniques and technologies, altering the established perception of how stories can and should be told – just as early pioneers of the movies such as the Lumiere Brothers and Georges Melies did.
At the other end of the 2011 movie spectrum lies The Artist, a tribute to the golden age of Hollywood in the truest, purest sense. The film follows silent movie actor George Valentin, a charming, talented star in the Golden Age of Hollywood, whose career quickly begins to falter with the arrival of sound and the new faces brought with it. French filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius tells a story familiar to many audiences already – a similar plot exists in the 1952 classic Singin’ in the Rain – but with an interesting stylistic twist.
Just like the films from the era in which Hazanavicius’s film takes place, The Artist is shot in black-and-white, in a 4:3 aspect
ratio, without sound (excluding an early 30s-style soundtrack). This style of filmmaking represents a level of artistic (no pun intended) dedication few modern filmmakers rise to, but that if executed properly can prove highly effective in transporting the audience to another, simpler time.
The Artist succeeds extremely well in this area – the old-style cinematography, coupled with the charmingly expressive performances of the movie’s leads, altogether replicates a style of filmmaking that hasn’t been the norm since the early 1930s.
In a way, it is heartening to see that a film returning to its roots become so popular with critics and audiences. Admittedly, this is the kind of material that movie critics typically eat up regardless of originality or good performances; but the very fact that a film so non-reliant on dialogue, in the wake of such recent movies as Pixar’s WALL-E and Up which each use minimal dialogue for some lengthy sequences, can captivate modern audiences gives one faith in the current condition of cinema. It shows that filmmakers are still willing to take risks in order to tell their stories in the best way possible and recognizes that the visual language of humanity often speaks more than words.
So the question remains: who will win the Oscar? Which film will ultimately triumph as the greatest film of the past year – the one that continued Hollywood’s longstanding tradition of evolution, innovation, and moving forward, or the one that achieved seemingly impossible success by replicating the more simplistic elements of a bygone era?
Despite its uniqueness, as well as the unparalleled craft and talent that went into creating it, Hugo remains in the same category as most Best Picture nominees and critical successes – inspiring, well-packaged artistic achievement that usually stays out of the mainstream gaze but still manages to have big names attached to it.
The Artist, in contrast, despite its main asset being its imitation of earlier films, is something completely fresh and new to the Academy’s usual roster. It breaks the mold by being everything movies have tried to work away from for the past 70 years, while still showcasing an excellent set of performances and a rather good, albeit familiar, screenplay.
What is driving this film through the awards circuit, more than the pure talent, skill, and hard work that went into creating it, is the idea that what Hazavanicius has done with his film is incredibly unorthodox, and thus it fascinates and captivates people more than any other movie this year.
As a result, The Artist will most likely be the film to take home the gold at this year’s Academy Awards. But while there’s nothing wrong with rewarding those artists and storytellers who create the most extraordinary work, does it ultimately matter?
Regardless of what the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences thinks, everyone has their own opinion, and thus there’s no honest way of determining the greater work objectively. That much is easy to tell. Despite their striking similarity and simultaneously their many differences, it is clear that both Hugo and The Artist represent the best that contemporary filmmaking has to offer – unique cinematography, beautiful art direction, skilled production design, superb writing, and brilliant acting, as well as a shared love of the art of the motion picture. While telling distinct stories, their messages are essentially the same – your art may come to define who you are, but it is the friendships that blossom from it which make you whole.
