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Supplementing real dogs with digital animation produces performances that have benefits on many different levels. Firstly, they are much more effective dramatically because they can become more anthropomorphically expressive to suit the needs of the story. Economically they are less time-consuming and therefore less expensive because the performance is no longer determined by the unpredictable or intractable volition of real animals, however ‘well-trained’. The problems that arise even when working with ‘professional’ dog actors can be exasperating.

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SPOILER ALERT!

I’m talking about the Oscar-studded film, The Artist.  If you’d rather not know…

• why it won “Best Film”
• why it didn’t deserve to win    and…
• why it would have been better if George Valentin had blown his head off…

then get back to work on your novel and we’ll see you next week.

The Artist, an overview

Silent movie star, George Valentin, makes a stand against the coming of talking pictures.  George believes passionately in silent movies, and it’s a belief system that refuses to die.

Good characters have belief systems that refuse to die.  But die they must! 

Who wants to watch a movie about a hero whose philosophies (dogmas, principles, whatever you call them) out-muscle his will to live?  Imagine being dictated to by strategies that are outmoded yet fatally entrenched.  This happens.  People’s minds prevail over their evolution as more omnipotent beings.  How depressing. 

How tragic! 

George Valentin presents a classic case of a belief system under attack.  He’s a silent movie god—then along come the talkies.  He digs in his heels because silent movies are… well… they’re Art.  Sound ruins everything.  But sound sells tickets.  Alas, George isn’t buying it at all. 

Why The Artist won

The Artist presents a rare and graphic example of a character struggling against his habitual belief system.  Half way through the film, George Valentin would appear to have nothing to live for—no job, no girl, no money, no fans.  Yet he refuses to believe that silent movies are dead. 

With half a movie left, what else can the script writer take away from George?  Lots.

His comb, his razor.  His self-discipline, self-respect, self-esteem.  From the look of that gun barrel in his mouth, George hates himself. 

This is why The Artist won—the film devotes half its length to stripping George down to self-loathing.  You can’t do better than that.  A gun in his mouth—Wow—that’s the dead-end of all dead-end

Blah blah blah... Oscars. I watched with half an eye open last night. Yay for The Artist, a truly original film with some brilliant performances. I figure the rest of the blogosphere will be abuzz with Oscar-ness, so I'm bringing you this delicious blast from my past, a desert ANYONE can make in less than five minutes (prep time--it does bake for 30-40). And I did make it in less than five minutes, twice this weekend for guests my wife invited. This happens.

A lot.

Poor Man's Fruit Crisp

Ingredients:

1 cup of flour
1 cup of sugar
1 stick of butter (softened)
1 can of fruit pie filling

Directions:

1. Preheat the oven to 350 F.
2. Dump the pie filling in an 8" x 8" square pan or 8"/9" round.
3. Mix the first three ingredients to a lumpy texture (a fork works well--just press it into the goo until it combines).
4. Drop and loosely spread the topping on the pie filling.
5. Bake for 30-40 minutes until bubbly and brown. You may want to crank the temperature to 400 F for the last 5-10 minutes for a nice browned crust.

Simple. Freaking delicious.

You can always combine fresh fruit and sugar to make your own pie filling. I like to add 1/4-1/3 cup of rolled oats to the topping. It looks more healthy that way. ;)

Have a special week. 

Last week I started teaching the spring course in Childrens Literature for grad students in the MFA in Creative Writing and Literature at Stony Brook Southampton. We spent the first class discussing the many formats of children’s lit, and began our picture book study (we’ll move on to chapter books, middle grade and YA fiction later in the term) by reading aloud and discussing some classic and contemporary books in the genre. In the former category, we read Ludwig Bemelman’s Madeline, Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are and Ezra Jack Keats’ Whistle for Willie. In the latter, we read Ian Falconer’s Olivia and Mo Willem’s Knuffle Bunny, by way of introduction.

Each book turned out to be a unique lesson in showing versus telling, meaning letting the art reveal as much, if not more, than the text does. We discussed at length how we knew that Madeline and her friends attended a Catholic boarding school as opposed to an orphanage, how clear it was that Max’s mother had forgiven him, where Peter and Willie lived, and how much we knew about Olivia’s and Trixie’s families without being directly told… simply by way of their actions in the story, and most of all, through the illustrations.

That night, with showing versus telling on my mind, I watched “The Artist” – Michel Hazanavicius‘ valentine to silent films that is a contender for this year’s Best Picture Oscar. Since the story takes place in Hollywood during the time when silent cinema was replaced by the talkies, 90% of the film is silent. (It is also shot in balck and white.) The result is not only a wonderful, uplifting film and a terrific evening’s entertainment, but an invaluable lesson in showing versus telling.

With so little dialogue – which, when it occurs, is told through title cards – the story is almost entirely conveyed through action, behavior and expression.  It is a truly inspiring lesson for picture book authors, in terms of how little text is necessary to tell a story… as long as you know how to think visually, and show rather than tell. It also left me wondering how many other great silent movies might offer the same lesson.

The year is 1927. Star actor of the silent age, George Valentin, has premiered another film to roaring applause. His puppy, Jack, almost steals the show, as the audience cheers and cheers and cheers … or so we assume. We never actually hear the audience at all. It was the silent movie era in 1927, and Valentin’s world was one of exaggerated expression and symphony score. So begins The Artist—a modern film about an era long lost and rightly missed.

I knew it was a silent film, because I read up on it before I went. Jake knew, because I told him. Our buddy, Randy, who joined us, had no idea. I’m sure it was a shock to him, but the shock was overcome by the sheer genius of French actor Jean Dujardin, via his portrayal of Valentin.

Apparently, not everyone was taken with the leading man. Apparently, some theaters, including one in Liverpool, England, issued refunds to moviegoers who were unaware that The Artist was a silent film, and walked out early. Their loss. Plus the irony is palpable, since The Artist focuses on the decade between silent film and the introduction of “talkies,” which eventually killed off movies without sound.  If these perturbed movie-goers had stuck around, maybe they would have learned something.

As The Artist opens, George Valentin is on top of the world. Men love him; women love him; dogs love him. He’s the star of every blockbuster film! And he eats it up. Following the aforementioned movie premiere, he steps outside and runs into star-struck Peppy Miller (played by the enchantingly gorgeous Berenice Bejo). In that single meeting, they are taken with each other. Valentin goes home to his wife and continues his miserable marriage; Peppy gets a role dancing in the movies. Their paths diverge, just as audiences become split between the age-old silent flick and the shiny, new talkies. Will Valentin be able to survive in a world filled with sound? Or will young stars like Peppy steal the spotlight for good?

The Artist is masterfully made. It’s shot in black and white, which makes the actors—and their elaborate costumes—glow. It is a silent film. I’m not kidding about that, and neither is director Michel Hazanavicius—a Frenchie, not well known in America. But he is now. The film already won the Golden Globes for Best Motion Picture—Comedy or Musical and Best Actor (Dujardin). It’s nominated for ten Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Actor, and Best Actress. And Hazanavicius did it without dialogue! Yes, he uses the usual silent film dialogue cards in certain scenes, but they’re not always necessary. The actors’ expressions are spot on. As a viewer, I knew what was going on. I laughed and cried, and hero George Valentin did nothing more than lower or raise an eyebrow.

Halfway through the film, it was hard to remember I was watching something different. It didn’t feel different. I was totally connected to the characters. I was fascinated by what might happen next. I didn’t need words. I didn’t need the slam of a door or the scuffle of dress shoes on sidewalk. I’ll bet studios thought it was crazy, to produce a silent film in 2012. I bet Dujardin and Bejo spoke quite loudly when offered the roles. I’m sure they said, “Are you crazy? That’ll never work in a society filled with action films and explosions!” Yet, it did work. It worked beautifully.

The Artist will leave you feeling like a million bucks. It’l

We escaped a day of rain and headed for the Bryn Mawr Film Institute, where "The Artist," a film I'd been eager to see, was playing. 

If you watch this trailer you won't benefit from any explanation I might offer.  It's all there—the silent film star's liquid eyes, the irradiated charisma of up-and-comer, the end of one era, the beginning of another, the wordlessness, the story.  It's a beguiling film, a French play on Hollywood traditions.