IT -- Movie Review

Extremely good movie, high on creepiness even if it was low on scares. I'm normally not a fan of movies with child actors, but these guys did not disappoint. One of the better young casts, equal, but not better, than Rob Reiner's Stand by Me, based on King's novella, The Body. Good movie, quite a feat if, like me, you're a big fan of the book, so you know what happens. Faithful adaptation of the book with good new, creepy scenes.

Signs You're Gettin' Old

Photo: Bon Jovi, from its Wikipedia page

These are ways that are a little more subtle than, let's say, your hair thinning, or you just plain losing your hair.  Neither of these are happening to me, of course.

--You hear yourself constantly comparing yourself, or your generation, with the younger, and you constantly begin such comparisons with, "I don't mean to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but..."  And then you hear yourself sounding like an old fuddy-duddy.

--And you hear yourself using phrases like, "Fuddy-duddy."

--You take naps not because you want to, but because you have to.

--And such naps are unplanned.  You just suddenly wake up on the couch, and it's a few hours later.

--Friday nights are no longer nights you go out, but are just an extension of the workweek, just another night in which you're tired from the workday.

--If you're lucky, Saturday nights are party nights.  But more often than not, it's just a go out night, when you're happy to just go out for dinner somewhere.  Dinner and a movie in the same night is a truly special night.

--You pull a muscle simply by getting out of bed in the morning, or during the morning shower.

--You look forward to your garbage and recycling stuff getting emptied on Monday mornings.

--You pat yourself on the back whenever you manage to be utilitarian about something.  Today I brought five DVDs I don't watch anymore to F.Y.E., got $5.50 for them, and then turned that over, with $14, to get a DVD I've wanted for a long time, The Verdict.

--Speaking of which, you find yourself wanting DVDs of movies made in 1982.

--As a comic has said somewhere, you find your body is losing hair where you want it, and growing it in abundance where you don't want it.  (I'll leave the rest to your imagination.)

--It's possible that the high school you went to may be closed due to lack of enrollment.

--And your junior high school has already met the same fate.

--Your birthdays remind you more of the finish line, and so you no longer enjoy them.

--You find yourself thinking that a forty-five year old actress looks attractive.  Forty-five used to be old and ugly.

--You notice that it's been a very long time since your favorite musicians have recorded something new.

--And that actors you remember as a kid have started dying off.

--Or you're amazed that your favorite actors are still alive and kicking, if not exactly making movies anymore.

--And you realize that favorites like Kevin Bacon and Tom Cruise and Bruce Willis are the exceptions, not the rule, of longevity.

--And that Meryl Streep is the exception in terms of favorite actresses who are still a little bit of a force in Hollywood.

--Your favorite recent actors are younger, or, if they're your age, they're newer to the business.

--You don't know the newer musicians and singers anymore because you're too busy wearing out your CDs.

--And that Bon Jovi and David Bowie and Green Day are the aforementioned exceptions, not the rule.

--And that you tend to listen to the one station playing 80s music, which you realize is in existence solely for those who, like you, have realized that they're gettin' old.

The Artist

photo: Poster, from the movie's Wikipedia page

I wanted to see the Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Best Actor and Best Director, and I knew I had to see it fast before it left the theatre, as this is in the theatre now only because of its Oscar wins.  I can't comment too much on its Oscar qualifications, as I have not seen too many of this past year's nominated films, except for Hugo.  So all I can really do is comment on the film itself.

It's obviously an allegory (as was Hugo), or perhaps a fable, as the awesome dog plays a big part.  The direction was superb, and as I only have Scorsese to compare it to, I have to give the nod to this movie's director.  He had a lot more to do, with the black and white (though I didn't miss the 3D credits at the end), the silence, the actors (as this is more of an actors' movie than was Hugo) and the pressure of making a (mostly) silent film zing.  Which it does.

The Oscar has gone to worse performances than the one given here.  From what I understand, this actor is huge in his native France, and for good reason.  Without his voice to help him, he's still an obviously gifted actor.  He looks a bit like Clark Gable, too, and is a born-again 20s and 30s look-alike actor, so he certainly fit the bill.  I'm not sure this film could've been made without the biggest name in the country of its origin, though it shouldn't go unsaid that this is essentially a French production, using mostly American actors, filmed entirely in L.A., about the Hollywood of the 20s and early 30s.  This movie really should have been made by an American company, but sometimes the best mirror can be shown by someone holding it, not the one peering into it.  And American films aren't artistic allegories these days, either, in case you haven't noticed.  They don't simply tell stories, as this one does.  It's a creatively complex way to tell an essentially simple story.

Now, the story.  I have to say first that it's really like the pre-Shakespearean morality plays, this one a warning against Pride (yes, with a capital-P).  And maybe a little bit of Vanity.  I know this not just because I'm an astute guy, but because two different characters (and maybe a third, a cop near the end [played by a guy who's in Mad Men, the one who peed himself]) tell him to beware of his own pride.  But here's where it gets dicey for me: no fewer than three awesome beings (a man, a woman, and a dog) cling to this self-pitying, stubborn man.  The dog, who steals the movie from its Oscar-winning cast and director, walks with him, sleeps with him, acts with him, mugs with him, and is very clearly the love of his life, even surpassing Peppy Miller (an awesome name that unfortunately brings to my mind Pepe LePue; but, again, that's me, not the movie's fault) and certainly superseding the woman he was living with.  You can say that he loves the dog even more than himself, and that's saying a lot.

James Cromwell (very cool seeing him again, looking the same, really, decades now from Babe and L.A. Confidential) is his chauffeur, and father-figure, and Arthur-like caretaker, and best and only human friend, and ever-suffering angel and confidant, and...and what's he supposed to represent in this allegory?  An angel by his side?  (Because that's also what the dog is.)  I don't know.  And Peppy Miller.  Beautiful, though too aware of it, but, whatever, again that's just me.  Lively, very flapper and, apparently, philosopher, and all-too 20s and 30s, and a great dancer, and what a smile, and a nobody until she bumps into him (literally) and he makes her a star.  But they don't have any friendly or romantic interaction between then and the end (in fact, there's a briefly curt scene), and yet she very clearly pines for him, and buys all of his stuff so he doesn't have to lose it (which only reminds him of his pride and vanity), and cares for him, and loves him, and finally resurrects him and his career (though it's a sad commentary that his self is forever entwined with his career)--and all because he gave her a start?  I guess, but for how long can you hold someone in such awe when he's in awe of nobody but himself?  For how long can you love a selfish, self-pitying, stubborn, vain fool?

Is that harsh?  But the movie makes it all work, of course, as it's all very clearly allegorical anyway, and never meant to be taken as literally as I am perhaps taking it.

The Artist is also an obvious homage to, first and foremost, Citizen Kane.  The shots over the breakfast table between the star and his jealous co-star (who doesn't like playing second fiddle to the dog, or to the guy's superior stardom), the freak-out scene when he trashes the film and his room, the closet in Peppy's mansion that holds all his vainglory belongings (like the pan shots of Kane's statues), the ponderous painting of himself, and even the shots of him standing up in the film-light splashed black-and-white backdrop, a la the newsmen in the beginning of Citizen Kane--sometimes, it bordered on a re-showing of that movie, the homage was so obvious.  But that was okay, as it never crossed the line, and I love Kane anyway.  There's also a lot of Singin' in the Rain in The Artist, as the star looks a bit like Gene Kelly as well, and the dancing scenes are a dead giveaway, as is the rain-soaked scene when she visits him.  He also passes on an older, less-talented woman to fall in love with the pretty, younger starlet, who also dances with him, and the silent/talkies thing, and...yeah, if Citizen Kane and Singin' in the Rain could have a child, here it is.

And it was wonderful.