Tuesday May 17th 2011
There’s been so much abuse at this year’s Cannes Film Festival that the mere idea of seeing anything pleasant is inordinately exciting. And pleasant is exactly what I expected from The Artist, Michel Hazanavicius’ black and white, Academy ratio, silent tribute to Hollywood’s Golden Age.
What I wasn’t expecting was to see my favourite film of the festival so far.
It’s bound to pick up UK distribution in no time, and you’re probably better seeing it without knowing too much beforehand, so I won’t give anything away except to say that it’s one of the most shamelessly joyous movies I’ve ever seen.
Now all it needs is a dog raping a baby while a pedophile tortures his wife with a sledgehammer and that Palme d’Or is in the bag.