The Artist

I went to see The Artist on Saturday at the Bo’ness Hippodrome. Well, that’s a bit of a misnomer I reckon, as it is the teeniest little cinema I’ve ever seen. Very cute and 100 years old with a starry ceiling. Some of the seats are original which merely means that even my short legs don’t fit in without poking the person in front’s head.

But you wanted to hear about the film, didn’t you? Well, it was surprisingly good actually, thanks for asking. Surprisingly? After winning all those awards? Well, yes. Because I just didn’t really fancy a silent movie. (You remember what I’m like with silence.) I’ve not seen many, it has to be said, but I am one of those few people who doesn’t care for Charlie Chaplin one little bit. And what’s the point in seeing a silent movie when you can get a talkie for just the same money?

You probably know by now what the film is all about. Silent movie actor (with a look of Clark Gable or Errol Flynn about him) and his dog are hugely successful. Young aspiring actress comes along trying to get into films. He helps her. Talkies come in. Actor says they’ll never make it. Actress gives it a go. Actor puts all his money into big silent movie. Actress stars in talkie film and makes it big. Actor’s wife leaves him and he ends up penniless. Actress helps him. The End. (All accompanied by lovely music and very few subtitles.)

It was a feel-good film and rather sweet. The dog was the star, by far. Worth it for that, if nothing else.