Finally, last night I went to see The Artist.
People who know me personally might already know that I really wasn't convinced this film was for me. Not because I don't like silent films (though I admit to not having seen huge numbers of them). Not because I don't like black-and-white films. And not even because I don't like homages.
I just felt, from seeing the trailers, that it didn't look as though it was offering anything original.
Nevertheless, I booked the tickets and found myself reasonably enthusiastic by the time the film came around.
Well, let's not beat about the bush, eh?
What an incredibly slight bit of nothing this film is.
Just fluff, seriously.
It's nicely made. It's nicely played. But the story can be summed up in half a dozen sentences. This film absolutely does not deserve all the awards and accolades piled upon it.
It. Just. Doesn't.
In my opinion, if the director wanted to make a film outside of the norm, he should have gone all the way and made a short. It's all this story deserved.
I give The Artist 48 out of 100.