Movies I would force Hitler to sit through V

In 1986, Geraldo Rivera hosted a television special in which he would open up a mysterious vault belonging to none other than Chicago's infamous gangster, Al Capone. Nobody had any clue what would be hidden in the depths of this Italian man's secured room, but people just assumed it was something big anyway. Maybe this vault was where Scarface had stowed away classic cars or disposed of mutilated bodies? Analysts even concluded that millions of dollars could be stored inside. Well, Geraldo and his mustache dynamited the doors in front of millions of Americans that night in April and this was their reaction. Well, obviously there was no commercial and for fans of A Christmas Story, you understand what just happened. All of this hype had been built up around the Al Capone vault, and yet nothing was found except empty bottle and a license plate. So why and how does this relate to a movie review? I saw The Artist recently, easily one of the most sought after films of this years award season. I didn't understand how people could become so enamored with a movie that wasn't The Shawshank Redemption. I thought I would see it and hopefully join The Artist fanboy wagon. I got to the theater, paid a ridiculous $9.50 for a ticket, and proceeded to sleep through the next two and a half hours of my life. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you with French cinema.

Set in 1920s Hollywood, The Artist tells the story of silent film superstar George Valentine (Jean Dujardin) and his fall from fame as movies begin being made with sound. Oh, I forgot. The entire film is silent.

Before I begin bashing the country of France for producing what can only be described as a means of taunting America, I will mention something I liked. I give director Michel Hazanavicius credit for making me feel like I lived in the 1920s, before Facebook, before the car was as plentiful as bowler hats. Michel essentially brought The Depression to the viewer. To initiate that kind of emotion in me is quite simply, a daunting task, but that French bastard did it. Probably thinking this way the whole time.

Now back to the bashing. I fell asleep within fifteen minutes of the opening credits. I don't know how people of the Roaring 20's did it. There was always intensity on the screen, all actors present brought 110% of their abilities because they had to. Without any sound to accompany them, the actors needed to over exaggerate their mannerisms which, in a sense, took away from the realism. I guess not being able to speak takes away from realism as well. Without sound or hearing vocals, it is also difficult to sympathize with characters. There is a piece missing from the puzzle.

I guess the film couldn't have been that bad, it did win Best Film at the Oscars. I'm mad because The Descendants didn't win and it turned out to be my favorite film of the year. So maybe I wouldn't force Hitler to sit through this one. Maybe I'd put Eichmann or Goebbels in the front row instead. Everyone who sees this movie, however, will grow personally. You will never take your ears for granted again.