READ: ‘Fambul Tok’ reveals the power of forgiveness- A film review by Brent Marchant

“Fambul Tok” (2011). Director: Sara Terry. http://www.fambultok.com

From 1991 to 2002, the West African nation of Sierra Leone was plunged into a collective madness. The country was ravaged by a civil war in which countless unspeakable atrocities were inflicted upon the populace, often by individuals (and, in some cases, family members) who knew one another personally. It’s hard to imagine that anyone, let alone an entire nation, could heal the deep wounds produced by such barbarism. Yet that’s just what this tiny country has been working toward through an innovative reconciliation effort that’s the subject of the inspiring documentary, “Fambul Tok.”

Director Sara Terry’s film examines the workings of a grass-roots initiative known as the Fambul Tok program, whose name in Creole means “Family Talk.” The program is based on traditional village bonfire gatherings in which victims and perpetrators address one another, not only to make amends, but also to help restore the longstanding Sierra Leonean tradition of “community” as a way of life. Victims are afforded an opportunity to articulate their suffering – usually in painfully explicit detail – and perpetrators are subsequently offered the chance to express their remorse, after which victims are asked if they can accept the apologies of their offenders. And, remarkably, forgiveness is nearly always the result, even in the most egregious cases.

The film opens with an explanation of the program, which was founded in 2007 by John Caulker, executive director of the human rights organization Forum of Conscience. Through interviews with Caulker, the documentary illustrates how the program came into being and the significance of its methods, which were founded on traditional principles of Sierra Leonean culture.

As explained in the film, many of those who engaged in the atrocities were coerced into doing so by warlords from various political and tribal factions, often facing certain death if they failed to cooperate. Such practices ripped villages apart, frequently pitting friends and family against one another in life-or-death struggles and assailing the fundamental concept upon which the nation’s culture was based – the sense of community. Yet, through the Fambul Tok program, perpetrators have an opportunity to be welcomed back as full-fledged members of their villages, resuming their place as participating constituents of their communities.

“Fambul Tok” focuses on several personal stories to illustrate the initiative’s power in action. There’s the story of Esther, who at age 12 was captured by rebels and raped by 15 men, including her uncle, Joseph, who faced death if he didn’t cooperate with his captors. Then there’s the account of  Nyumah, who was ordered by rebels to beat his best friend Sahr, doing so to the point of crippling him, and then commanded to slit the throat of Sahr’s father. Tamba Joe, meanwhile, turned on the villagers of Foendor, beheading 17 members of his own clan. In each of these cases, however, despite their heinous acts, the perpetrators were ultimately forgiven and welcomed back into their communities.

Cynics might be tempted to look upon this initiative as naïve in its outlook and approach, that such monstrous acts are beyond forgiveness. But those critics should look at what the Fambul Tok participants are creating for themselves – a genuine example of real forgiveness. And what an example to follow. We often elevate the concept of forgiveness to an exalted status, but do we truly practice it when presented with the circumstances to implement it? Or do we just pay it lip service? Over the years there have been countless public examples of apologies being accepted by victims from high-profile transgressors only to have the perpetrators continually criticized by outsiders after the fact. In these situations, one can’t help but see the blatant hypocrisy and judgmentalism, inevitably prompting such observations as “It’s not enough to apologize anymore.” Clearly we could stand to learn a few things from these enlightened souls.

On some level, the Fambul Tok participants understand the conscious creation concept dealing with the inherent connectedness of all things in the reality around us. And that’s important, for an awareness of that principle is essential to creating a bona fide sense of community. It’s also important in understanding how to restore that sense of community when it becomes fractured, as happened during Sierra Leone’s civil war. All the parts of the whole need to be drawn back into it, even in the aftermath of such a tragedy, if it’s ever to be properly reintegrated once again.

There’s also been an amazing irony to come out of this program. In the wake of the conflict, the government established a special trial court to prosecute war criminals, and over the course of many years and exorbitant expenditures of funds, the court tried only a handful of criminals. By contrast, over the course of only four years, the Fambul Tok program conducted numerous forgiveness ceremonies, successfully reconciling countless victims and perpetrators, and at only a fraction of the cost. Whoever said peace only comes at a high price obviously never met the people of Sierra Leone.

“Fambul Tok” is one fine piece of filmmaking from start to finish, an engrossing documentary that holds viewers riveted throughout. It never loses sight of its objectivity, no matter how emotionally painful some of its individual stories are, yet it ultimately delivers an undeniable message of hope, enlightenment and inspiration, one that we all could learn from. The film has been shown at a number of festivals and special screenings (check the picture’s web site), and it’s available on DVD.

Philosophers and theologians have long maintained that there’s tremendous power in the act of forgiveness, though rarely has its impact been illustrated as eloquently as in this documentary. Those interested in alternative means of making peace will be intrigued by the quiet power of this profoundly moving film.

Copyright © 2012, by Brent Marchant. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: "Fambul Tok", "Family Talk", aftermath, apologies, Brent Marchant, civil war, community, connectedness, conscious creation, Creole, documentary, DVD, festival, Film, forgiveness, Forum of Conscience, human rights, hypocrisy, John Caulker, judgmentalism, lip service, making peace, objectivity, perpetrator, reconciliation, remorse, Sara Terry, Sierra Leone, special screening, transgressor, victim

READ: ‘Extremely Loud…’ proves incredibly unsatisfying

“Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” (2011). Cast: Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock, Thomas Horn, Max von Sydow, Viola Davis, Jeffrey Wright, John Goodman, Zoe Caldwell, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Bernadette Drayton. Director: Stephen Daldry. Screenplay: Eric Roth. Book: Jonathan Safran Foer.  http://extremelyloudandincrediblyclose.warnerbros.com/index.html

Tackling a sensitive, larger-than-life topic is a risky proposition in almost any context, but it can be especially problematic in the movie industry. In most instances, endeavors like that are bound to attract their share of both supporters and detractors (those involved in these productions no doubt hoping for more of the former than the latter). Such is the challenge that’s been undertaken by director Stephen Daldry in his latest offering, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.”

Nine-year-old New Yorker Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn) adores his attentive, fun-loving father (Tom Hanks). They do everything together, from practicing tai chi to exploring the city that is their playground. They particularly enjoy playing a game that dad made up called “Reconnaissance Mission,” a scavenger hunt of sorts designed to encourage Oskar’s curiosity, to develop his problem-solving skills and to teach him about his world. And, being the methodical, inquisitive kid that he is, Oskar relishes the challenges posed to him, not only for the fun involved, but also for the father-and-son quality time that they afford. It’s easy to see that these two are best buds. Which is why it’s so hard for Oskar to cope with the events of 9/11, the disaster that claimed his dad’s life when the World Trade Center towers collapsed.

In the wake of this tragedy, Oskar desperately looks for a way to hold on to his connection to his dad, and he gets that opportunity when he unexpectedly finds a key in his father’s bedroom closet. Oskar wonders what the key opens, the only clue being the word “Black” written on the envelope that held it. He concludes that his dad must have left the key for him to find, the enigmatic object serving as the focus of one last Reconnaissance Mission. Oskar also surmises that, since the key could potentially open anything, the challenge posed by this exercise could keep him occupied for years – literally. What better way to keep the paternal connection alive, perhaps indefinitely?

And so Oskar embarks on a scavenger hunt that takes him all over New York. His quest introduces him to Gothamites from every borough and of every stripe, including, among others, a kindly divorcée (Viola Davis), a spiritualist healer (Bernadette Drayton) and a mute stranger simply known as “the Renter” (Max von Sydow). But, despite Oskar’s tenacity, his quest seems futile, causing him considerable frustration and straining relations with his mother (Sandra Bullock), who’s attempting to resolve her own grief over her husband’s loss. Oskar thus struggles to come to terms with the task that he’s given himself and whether it will ultimately help him reconcile – or merely prolong – his sorrow.

The foregoing summary probably makes the film’s narrative sound reasonably straightforward. If only that were the case. In actuality, the picture’s story line is all over the map, using a variety of storytelling devices and introducing subplots that either get dropped for no apparent reason or are awkwardly resurrected when seemingly forgotten. Because of that, it’s difficult to get a handle on what this movie is really trying to say.

To be sure, there are some conscious creation themes explored in the film, most notably those related to facing fears, examining unexplored probabilities, understanding the nature of the reality we experience, embracing change by letting go and appreciating the inherent connectedness of all things. However, the passing and often-haphazard treatment they receive reminds viewers of just how many other pictures are out there that handle these subjects much more deftly and substantively.

That aside, however, the theme that would-be viewers are perhaps most curious about going in is the picture’s treatment of the 9/11 subject matter. The world at large, and New Yorkers in particular, truly deserve a thoughtful film that effectively addresses the impact of this event in a way that can help promote the much-needed collective healing that’s still being sought a decade later. Regrettably, however, “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” fails to deliver on this point.

As it’s employed in this film, the 9/11 connection is, unfortunately, little more than a means to heighten the anguish of the survivors of a great personal loss, which is, in actuality, the primary thrust of the picture’s overall story line. Given that, then, Oskar and his mother likely would have been devastated by their circumstances no matter how their father/husband had died, so drawing upon 9/11 as a means to accentuate that pathos, without the event being given any more meaningful relevance within the overall narrative, only serves to reduce this tragedy to a plot device. In my view, the events of that fateful day clearly deserve more profound consideration than they have received here.

Progressively minded viewers have been anticipating this picture for some time, fueled in large part by a well-orchestrated marketing campaign. I, too, was looking forward to this offering far in advance of its release. I was truly hoping that I would like it, and I wish I had better things to say about it, but its meandering screenplay, choppy editing and unfocused direction combine to derail this effort. Making matters worse is the often-irritating performance of the film’s young male lead; his manic, shrill delivery exacerbates the many problems created by uneven writing and his character’s poorly crafted persona, that of a young man who’s either overly quirky and annoyingly precocious or a hyperactive special needs child receiving insufficient care (neither of which is made especially clear in the script or in his character’s development).

However, the film is not without its merits. Bullock turns in a fantastic performance (even if there wasn’t enough of her), as does von Sydow, who rightfully earned an Oscar nomination for best supporting actor for his portrayal of a silent, inscrutable enigma. But, despite these fine portrayals, there’s also an awful lot of great talent in this film that gets seriously underused, particularly Davis, Jeffrey Wright and John Goodman; they’re relegated to largely insignificant roles that could have been capably played by any number of aspiring actors looking to get some big screen exposure.

Despite the picture’s shortcomings (and a wealth of unflattering reviews), it nevertheless has its supporters. It received two Academy Award nominations, one deservedly for von Sydow’s supporting performance and one inexplicably for best picture. Earlier this month it also received four Critics Choice Award nominations, including nods for best picture, best director and best adapted screenplay, as well as a stunning (and bewildering) win for Horn as best young actor/actress.

Some have suggested that a good many reviewers have been overly critical of this picture, that it’s perhaps even the victim of a certain sort of fashionable cynicism. However, when a picture aspires to greatness by taking on an imposing subject, it had better measure up or its creators must be prepared to face the consequences. This sentiment is perhaps best summed up by film critic Gary Wolcott of The Tri-City Herald, who astutely observed, “Somewhere in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close there probably is a great movie. It just didn’t get made.”

Sadly, I couldn’t agree more.

Copyright © 2012, by Brent Marchant. All rights reserved.

 

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READ: ‘The Iron Lady’ reveals how ‘what we think, we become’

“The Iron Lady” (2011). Cast: Meryl Streep, Jim Broadbent, Olivia Colman, Anthony Head, Alexandra Roach, Harry Lloyd, Nicholas Farrell. Director: Phyllida Lloyd. Screenplay: Abi Morgan. http://weinsteinco.com/sites/iron-lady/

One of the hallmark principles of contemporary metaphysical thought is that we each create our own reality (and in a highly personal way, I might add) through our beliefs and intents. But, as widely as this notion has been embraced, rarely has it been portrayed cinematically as eloquently as it is in the new biographical character study, “The Iron Lady.”

The film examines the life of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher (1979-1990) (Meryl Streep) from the protagonist’s personal perspective. As the picture opens, we see the “Iron Lady” (a nickname the P.M. earned for her rigidly conservative political views, particularly regarding Communism) as an elderly recluse, her mental and physical health failing after a series of small strokes. She’s prone to engaging in lengthy conversations with her husband, Denis (Jim Broadbent), who died many years before but somehow manages to “appear” on cue. She seems adrift in delusion, detached from most everyone, including those attempting to care for her, such as her daughter Carol (Olivia Colman) and an assortment of domestic, personal and medical handlers.

After years of floating about in this psychological fog, however, Margaret quietly starts taking steps to get her life back. She embarks on this process by deciding—finally—to sort through and dispense with the personal effects of her late husband, possessions that she’s been holding onto for years. But, by doing this, she opens a Pandora’s Box of memories of her personal and political life. Recollections of her past relentlessly come flooding back to her (an experience not unlike the so-called “life review” that many contend we go through after we pass on). This deluge of memories forces Margaret to come to grips with what she’s done, for better or worse, as well as the rewards she received and the prices she paid for her successes and failures, both personally and politically.

Through flashbacks, we see Margaret’s younger self (Alexandra Roach) as a clerk in the family grocery during World War II, as an outspoken aspiring politician in post-war England and as the love interest of the successful young businessman who would become her eventual husband (Harry Lloyd). From there we witness her rise through the ranks of British government, first as a member of Parliament, then as Secretary of State for Education and Science, then as leader of the Conservative Party, and eventually as England’s longest-serving Prime Minister of the Twentieth Century (and the first woman ever to hold that office).

Once in power, we witness the challenges Margaret faced in dealing with such issues as Britain’s labor unions, the sagging English economy, the Falklands War with Argentina, the terrorist attacks of the Irish Republican Army (which took the life of her trusted advisor, Airey Neave (Nicholas Farrell), and nearly cost Margaret her own life through an unsuccessful assassination attempt), and heady international affairs involving the European Union and the end of the Cold War. And, through it all, we see the depth of her famous (or infamous) steely resolve to see her plans through.

On her climb up the ladder of success, Margaret triumphantly overcomes the many roadblocks thrown up by the privileged Parliamentary old boys’ club, obstacles intentionally designed to thwart the upward mobility of women and those of middle class background. But, in spite of her successes, Margaret also paid some high prices for her accomplishments. While she had her allies, she also made her share of enemies in government, the international arena and the public at large. Her family life frequently took a back seat to her public calling, straining relationships with her children and even her beloved Denis. And eventually she paid a tremendous price politically, when her inflexibility cost her the support of longstanding ally Geoffrey Howe (Anthony Head), her control of the Conservative Party and, in the end, the leadership of her country. It’s these costs that the elder Margaret must come to terms with as she struggles to take back her life.

At its metaphysical core, “The Iron Lady” showcases one individual’s efforts at practicing conscious creation, the philosophy that maintains we each create our own reality. This theme is perhaps best summed up by a quote from the protagonist: “Watch your thoughts, for they become words. Watch your words, for they become actions. Watch your actions, for they become habits. Watch your habits, for they become your character. And watch your character, for it becomes your destiny! What we think, we become.” In saying this, Margaret embodies many of this discipline’s principles, particularly those outlined in author Jane Roberts’s book The Nature of Personal Reality, one of the cornerstone works on this philosophy and how it operates.

Of course, we would be wise to monitor the elements that go into what we ultimately create, with a particular eye on being prepared for everything that comes with this process. To do otherwise is to practice what I have termed “creation by default” or “un-conscious creation,” whereby we put out our intents and inattentively let the chips fall where they may. Acts of creation always come with consequences, some of which we may dislike (a painful lesson that Margaret wrestles with in the course of her personal reflections). This is particularly true when we allow ambition to become a significant part of the mix, for its forcefulness can amplify the impact of the outcomes; the more we “push the Universe,” our divine collaborator in this process, the more exacerbated the results will be. Margaret learns this the hard way, too, especially when she’s challenged by her peers for the leadership of her party; her unwavering views, coupled with a penchant for “lecturing” her colleagues, play a huge role in bringing about her eventual political downfall.

Many have been highly critical of this film for allegedly playing fast and loose with “the facts,” even going so far as to say that it gives viewers a sanitized revisionist history of Thatcher’s life and career. But it’s on that point that I believe many of the picture’s detractors have missed the movie’s intent. “The Iron Lady,” in essence, is a character study, not a historical chronicle of the protagonist’s life, examining her outlooks and motivations from her own personal viewpoint (not unlike what the excellent made-for-cable production “The Life and Death of Peter Sellers” did for the legendary British actor). It’s meant to provide a look at what she was thinking and feeling about the historical events portrayed in the film, not what an outside, “objective” historian might have to say about her life and career. In that sense, then, the picture is more about the life of a person who just happened to be a British Prime Minister than about the life of a British Prime Minister who just happened to be a person.

Some have also been critical of the film’s portrayal of Thatcher as a dementia patient lost in a sea of delusion, suggesting that someone of her stature and character would never engage in acts as seemingly outlandish as protracted, hallucinatory conversations with her dead husband. Such speculation, they assert, is not only disrespectful but also patently unrealistic. But how do we know with certainty that this isn’t happening with her? Are we inside Margaret’s consciousness to verify such activities? If, indeed, we each create our own reality, then who’s to say that such an existence couldn’t be created with the thoughts of one’s mind, even for a respectable public figure like Margaret Thatcher. Besides, even if this portrayal is nothing more than a piece of fiction, that doesn’t automatically invalidate the narrative’s premise or format; fictional works based on the life events and personal ruminations of historical figures, including everyone from Mark Twain to LBJ, have been staples of Broadway and public television for years, so why not in the movies, too?

Lastly, many have been critical of the movie’s depiction of Thatcher’s politics. However, given the very personal nature of the story, I’d like to hope that audiences can see past the politics and look instead to the picture’s sublime metaphysical content. Again, the film is a fine portrayal of the conscious creation process in action as seen through the eyes of someone who just happens to be a prominent public figure, not a history lesson re-created through a conventional docudrama format.

Many aspects of “The Iron Lady,” such as Streep’s positively phenomenal performance, come as no surprise (she handily does for Margaret Thatcher what she did for Julia Child in “Julie and Julia”). But other elements of the picture are indeed revelatory, such as the skillful direction of filmmaker Phyllida Lloyd, who has stepped up her game remarkably from her last outing in the truly abysmal “Mama Mia!” High marks also go to Broadbent for an excellent (and thus far largely overlooked) performance and to the film’s makeup department for coming up with aging prosthetics that actually look realistic for once.

Streep’s portrayal, however, is, by far, the film’s greatest asset, having earned her a Golden Globe Award for best actress in a drama. She also received nominations for this performance in the upcoming Screen Actors Guild Awards competition and in the recent Critics Choice Awards program, which also gave the picture a nod for its outstanding makeup work. It’s virtually assured that Streep will also pick up an Academy Award nomination for this role when the Oscar nominees are announced next week.

Many moviegoers have characterized “The Iron Lady” as a fine performance wrapped up in a mediocre film, though I believe that assessment really sells the picture short. It’s a captivating metaphysical exploration of how we create our own reality—and how we should exercise care in doing so, because, as the protagonist so articulately and accurately observes, “what we think, we become.”

Copyright © 2012, by Brent Marchant. All rights reserved.

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READ: ‘A Better Life’ shows how expectations govern outcomes

“A Better Life” (2011). Cast: Demián Bichir, José Julián, Joaquín Cosio, Dolores Heredia, Carlos Linares, Bobby Soto, Chelsea Rendon, Richard Cabral, Todd Felix. Director: Chris Weitz. Screenplay: Eric Eason. Story: Roger L. Simon. www.ABetterLife-movie.com, www.imdb.com/title/tt1554091/

So often in life we wonder why things turn out as they do. We ponder the outcomes we experience, especially when they have a significant personal impact on us. But, if we’re truly honest with ourselves, we invariably find that those results are generally driven by our beliefs and expectations, a theme explored in depth in the absorbing drama, “A Better Life,” now available on DVD.

Like many who make their way to the U.S., Carlos Galindo (Demián Bichir) desires a brighter future for himself and his teenage son, Luis (José Julián). He spends his days tending the gardens of wealthy homeowners in and around Los Angeles with his boss, Blasco (Joaquín Cosio). He works hard, but, as an illegal Mexican immigrant, he also keeps a low profile, ever aware that even the slightest infraction could get him deported in a heartbeat. He also keeps a watchful eye on Luis; as a single father, he’s concerned that his son might fall prey to the gangs that heavily recruit neighborhood youths.

Carlos’s hopes for a better life get an unexpected boost one day when Blasco announces plans to sell his truck, the primary asset of his landscaping business. Having achieved his business goals, Blasco plans to move on, but, before departing, he gives Carlos first crack at buying the vehicle and taking on his client list. Carlos is hesitant initially, but he realizes that, if he doesn’t make the purchase, he’ll probably be out of a job, since there’s no guarantee that a different owner would hire him.

Carlos decides to take a chance and become his own boss; he borrows money from his sister Anita (Dolores Heredia) to buy the truck and set himself up in business. It’s a big step, one with the potential to deliver great rewards, but one that also carries more risk now that he must assume a higher profile. And it’s not long before he discovers just how big a risk that can be; when he hires an assistant (Carlos Linares) to help him, Carlos quickly has his world turned upside down, threatening everything he’s worked so hard to achieve.

“A Better Life” provides an excellent illustration of the power of expectation in governing the outcomes we experience. As conscious creation practitioners well know, expectations are based on our beliefs, the driving force in what materializes in the reality surrounding us, and that concept is clearly on display here. The picture is particularly effective at demonstrating what happens when conflicting beliefs come into play. For example, Carlos genuinely believes that a better life is possible in the U.S., yet this aspiration is constantly burdened by the conflicting influence of fear that he’ll be exposed as an illegal alien, an element that not only sabotages his hopeful intentions but that also threatens to make his worst nightmares become self-fulfilling prophecies.

On the other hand, the film also shows the malleability of beliefs, that they’re always capable of being changed or rewritten and that even second chances are possible, provided we choose carefully. This is especially apparent in the relationship between Carlos and Luis. As Carlos spends more and more of his time working and Luis spends more of his time with questionable peers (Bobby Soto, Chelsea Rendon, Richard Cabral), we see a father growing progressively worried about an impressionable son, fearing not only for his child’s future but also concerned about the deterioration of their bond with one another. Since Luis is obviously the most important aspect of Carlos’s life, he creates circumstances that draw the two of them back closer together, though it’s a choice that carries potentially high-cost consequences and that may well involve subsequent belief rewrites – changes that, in themselves, may prompt the rise of additional new opportunities for second chances as well.

Given the subject matter of this picture, it might be easy to let political views color one’s opinion of it, regardless of which side of the fence one’s views fall on. However, I’d like to hope that audiences could find it in themselves to look past such superficial considerations and assess the movie on a deeper level, giving its profound metaphysical themes a critical examination. To be frank, doing less than that, in my opinion, constitutes “lazy viewing” on the audience’s part. Perhaps this is a pet peeve of mine, but I was sorely disappointed when many viewers did just that with the release of “Crash” in 2005, unfairly saddling the picture with a stigma based on oversimplified interpretations that it has carried around with it ever since, despite its critical acclaim and numerous accolades, including the Academy Award for best picture. I would hate to see “A Better Life” befall a similar fate.

With that said, however, I must hasten to add that “A Better Life” is no “Crash,” either. It’s an engaging drama that tells its story well, despite some rather improbable plot line elements, and its narrative is heartfelt and moving, particularly where the father-son relationship is concerned. It’s well acted across the board, and it provides a probing look at a world that most us probably never see.

If you haven’t heard of this film, you’re not alone; it had a verybrief theatrical run at independent movie houses last summer, though, if you blinked, you probably missed it. However, the picture’s visibility has risen of late with its DVD release and with two well-deserved best actor nominations for Bichir in the Screen Actors Guild and Independent Spirit Awards competitions (there’s even talk of an outside shot at an Oscar nod, too). It’s certainly heartening to see a small film like this receive some noteworthy recognition, considering how easily its voice might have been overpowered by the noise associated with other larger, better-financed productions.

It’s been said that we should be careful what we wish for, because we just might get it. And therein lies the power of expectations in manifesting the results we experience, especially when powerful elements like fear and conflicting beliefs get wrapped up in the mix. “A Better Life” reinforces that notion, showing us that we’d be wise to choose those beliefs carefully in the first place – and maybe to even think twice before doing so.

Copyright © 2012, by Brent Marchant. All rights reserved.

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READ: ‘The Artist’ explores the need to evolve by Brent Marchant

“The Artist” (2011). Cast: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller, Missi Pyle, Malcolm McDowell, Ed Lauter, Beth Grant, Joel Murray, Uggie. Director: Michel Hazanavicius. Screenplay: Michel Hazanavicius. http://weinsteinco.com/sites/the-artist/

All too often, staying put means staying locked in place, a circumstance frequently distinguished by anguish, melancholy and regret. Allowing oneself to evolve, however, usually leads to satisfaction and boundless rewards. Both sides of this particular coin are examined in the new comedy-drama, “The Artist,” a black-and-white silent movie from director Michel Hazanavicius.

In 1927 Hollywood, silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is at the peak of his career, fabulously successful, adored by his fans and rich. He’s so popular that he’s even influential in helping to launch the acting career of movie extra Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), an aspiring starlet with whom he has a very public chance encounter. Life is good.

But, over the next two years, George’s life begins to unravel. His wife, Doris (Penelope Ann Miller), is unhappy with the publicity surrounding his public flirtation with Peppy. And then comes word from George’s studio head (John Goodman) that the company plans to pursue the production of talkies, a development that George laughingly dismisses as a passing fad of which he wants no part, a decision that eventually results in his dismissal from the studio. Undeterred by these changes, George presses on with silent movie work, writing, directing and starring in a film of his own. But, given the new talky technology, fans ignore George’s picture in favor of fresh, new fare. And, if the shunning of his film weren’t enough, along comes the October 1929 stock market crash, wiping out George and his production company. His public has largely forgotten him, too, his only friends being his loyal chauffeur/valet Clifton (James Cromwell) and his ever-faithful canine co-star (Uggie).

As George’s star plummets, Peppy’s rises dramatically, becoming Hollywood’s new darling. She could have anything and anyone she wants, but she has a soft spot for George. She witnesses his painful descent into drunkenness, bankruptcy and despair, hoping to help him the way he once helped her. But she can do little to assist her friend and mentor unless he’ll allow it, a decision ultimately dependent on his willingness to evolve both personally and professionally.

It’s been said that the only constant in life is change, and the more we make friends with it, the better off we’ll be in the long run. Such thinking is also one of the cornerstone principles of conscious creation, which maintains that we’re all in a constant state of becoming, ever evolving to something new. The more we embrace this idea – and even try to uncover the underlying beliefs to what we’re evolving into – the less distressing (and more enjoyable) the process will be.

We get ourselves into trouble, however, when we stifle this fundamental impulse. This approach is inherently limiting and can become particularly problematic when we allow ego and pride to hold sway over things. Buying into the belief that whatever we’ve created is the insurmountable pinnacle of manifestation only serves to set ourselves up for needless difficulty. Frustration and stagnation set in and, if left unattended, can facilitate in a wide range of related hardships.

George, unfortunately, allows himself to fall into this trap. By pursuing this path, he winds up materially destitute and artistically drained, left to languish in the memories of faded glory, and all because his foolish pride stands in the way of his creative and metaphysical evolution. Peppy, by contrast, embraces change and reaps great rewards for her decision. She willingly welcomes innovation, and it pays off in big ways. Now if only she can get George to see the wisdom of such thinking.

Following our intuition is the key in such situations, for it generally points the way to discovering our true selves. In many instances, however, we ignore the intuitive messages that come our way, either because they go against the conventional wisdom or seemingly don’t make sense. When these circumstances arise, they represent significant choice points where we can either embrace or disregard the information in question. Obviously, choosing carefully is crucial.

When George’s studio informs him of its decision to pursue the production of talkies, he rejects it out of hand, because it’s something that hasn’t been tried before and goes against traditional thinking. His out-of-hand dismissal, however, costs him dearly. By contrast, when Peppy has her initial encounter with George, under potentially embarrassing circumstances, rather than shy away from the situation, she makes the most of it. It’s a decision that ultimately sets her off on a path to fame, fortune and fulfillment. We should all be so wise.

For their part, the creators of “The Artist” apparently listened to their intuition about the development of this project. Who would have thought that a silent, black-and-white film would stand a chance in today’s demanding movie market? But the decision to go with it has paid off handsomely in terms of critical acclaim and numerous accolades.

Overall, “The Artist” is an amusing little film, cute and clever in many respects, with terrific production values and wonderful performances by Dujardin, Bejo and Goodman, as well as the undeniably adorable pooch. The story is a bit predictable – not unlike the pictures of the era to which it pays homage – but it still might have benefited from a little more originality, especially given the unique nature of the vehicle used for carrying the narrative. The screenplay and editing could have used some tidying up, too, especially in the middle.

While “The Artist” may not be epic filmmaking, it’s enjoyable nevertheless (although for those interested in a picture that pays tribute to the silent movie era, I’d much more readily recommend Martin Scorsese’s “Hugo” over this offering). And, despite its shortcomings, the film is cleaning up in the early season awards competitions. Earlier this year, the picture received the best actor award at the Cannes Film Festival, as well as a nomination for the Palme d’Or, the Festival’s highest honor. Since then, it has been showered with nominations in various contests, including six Golden Globe Award nods (best comedy/musical picture, comedy/musical actor, supporting actress, director, score, screenplay), 11 Critics Choice Award nominations (best picture, actor, supporting actress, acting ensemble, director, original screenplay, cinematography, art direction, editing, score, costume design), three Screen Actors Guild Award honors (best ensemble cast, actor, supporting actress) and five Independent Spirit Award nominations (best feature, director, screenplay, male lead, cinematography).

The next time you’re tempted to disregard your intuition or to snooze away in your comfort zone, think of this picture. You might end up reconsidering your decision, and what you reap from your efforts just might leave you … speechless!

Copyright © 2011, by Brent Marchant. All rights reserved.

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