This was written prior to The Academy Awards, so take the “award” update as…well, an update.

I didn’t give “The Artist” a coveted five-tower rating out of critical respect for filmmakers daring to explore the archaic, black-and-white silent film genre. We’ve had color and sound for a while now – why not use it? If not done with purpose and style, a movie like this could be considered devolutionary. But this film has style to spare, and in all its beautiful silence, it has more to say than any five Michael Bay productions combined (you can pick these at random). Similar to experiencing sharper hearing after suffering blindness, French director Michel Hazanavicius demands audiences to sacrifice basic movie-going expectations and activate a section of their brains that modern cinema rarely calls upon.

Jean Dujardin received best actor honors at Cannes for his performance as George Valentin, a silent film superstar who refuses to follow Hollywood into the new era of “talkies.” Dujardin’s smile is almost a character in itself as he proves he doesn’t need words to create an undeniably authentic and captivating personality – one that is only strengthened by a supporting cast who looks like they’re having as much fun as the audience in the theater. The storyline is an homage of sorts to such classics as “Singin’ in the Rain” and “Sunset Boulevard,” with enough cleverness and attention to detail to stand alongside those legendary works. The scenes where George Valentin and Peppy Miller (played with a stir of confidence and fragility by Argentinean beauty Bérénice Bejo) interact exhibit more charm than you’ll find in two dozen sitcoms. The story is tight, if not a little predictable, acting as a simple framework in which symbols and themes are creatively communicated.

The “magic of the movies” of yesteryear seems to be buried beneath sex-filled film reels,  pointless remakes and box office battles. “The Artist” is a reminder that, sometimes, they still make ‘em like they used to.