The Artist... really?

Thanks a lot Oscar nominators - you wrangled 10 bucks out of my pocket.  Oh yeah, Golden Globes, you didn't help much either.  And to all you Yahoo! movie reviewers who gave this 4 1/2 stars - I'll see you in HELL!

After all the buildup and buzz, I felt I finally needed to see The Artist.  You know, on that one night out in like 6 months when I actually get to see something in the theater that doesn't require 3D glasses, or multiple trips to the restroom to track down my restless 6 year-old.

I really wanted to like this, I tried... really. The Artist is clever and well-made, but c'mon already, it's PAINFULLY predictable. I guess it would've been ok if it was a 20-minute short film... and it didn't suck.

Ok, ok, I'm being too harsh, it doesn't actually suck, but best picture? no effing way.

It doesn't even belong in the same conversation as Drive, Tree of Life, 13 Assassins or the Descendents.

If you want a heartfelt, nostalgic look at the magical beginnings of cinema, watch the truly inspired, Hugo.

If you want a clever and romantic look into the past, please check out Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris.
 
And if you actually want to sit through a black and white silent film, do yourself a favor and watch Mel Brooks' Silent Movie.  It actually does all that The Artist tries to do, but it's actually funny - and good - and clever - and original.

All through the film my mind kept wandering, hoping that something unexpected would happen - dreaming up twists and tangents that would elevate the film past a simple, pedantic homage.  At the end (spoiler alert)  when he finds all his old belongings in the home of Peppy Le Pew ... I mean Miller,  I was desperately hoping she would turn out to be a psychopathic stalker, jump out from under the sheets and knife him through the chest while the dog lapped up his blood.

Hey, I can dream can't I?