No contest: 'The Artist' is 2011's true Best Picture

The single most delightful thing about seeing "The Artist," 2011's Best Picture Academy Award-winner, on the big screen at Regal Downtown West last night is it reminded me of the reasons why I lost it at the movies, with apologies to Pauline Kael.

At their best, movies shake you, take you tripping, re-create nostalgia for something you've never known.

Such is the case with writer/director Michel Hazanavicius's triumph. Prior to last night, my favorite silent movie was the Greta Garbo/John Gilbert classic "Flesh and the Devil." Prior to last night, my favorite movie about the transition from silents to talkies was "Singing in the Rain."

"The Artist" beats them both.

For a film like this to be made at all, much less made so well, in 2011 is nothing short of a miracle. And for all you jokers who don't think you can watch either a silent film or -- God help you -- a black and white film, "The Artist" will demolish that wall, too.

Briefly, the film is about a superstar silent actor named George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), sort of a cross between Gilbert and Gene Kelly's character in "Singing in the Rain." His hubris and insecurities won't let him make the jump from silents to talkies. Meanwhile, he is both taken with and somewhat resents beautiful up-and-comer Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), who worked with Valentin in her first film. She secretly loves him. The feeling, despite some ambiguity on Valentin's part, is mutual.

Oh, what a joy. The sound, the score, the cinematography. This is a triumph.

Bonus points go to an extraordinarily talented cast of supporting players: James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller, Ed Lauter, Malcolm McDowell and the incomparable John Goodman.

During the Academy Awards, I was rooting for "The Descendants" and "Moneyball" and "J. Edgar."

Forget it. The best picture of the year is indeed "The Artist."

It is one of the best motion pictures I have ever seen.

Special kudos to Regal Cinemas and Downtown West, which do it better than any other movie theater in town.

Losing it with Garbo and Gilbert

Did something quite special for my birthday yesterday.

Jenn and I traveled through time, back to the '20s, thanks to Ron Carter, Clarence Brown, Greta Garbo, John Gilbert and the Tennessee Theatre.

Knoxville's grand old movie palace is hosting an excellent Silent Film Sundays series, honoring Brown, our fair city's most famous director. Today's picture was "Flesh and the Devil" (1926), a good ol' good one, starring John Gilbert and the stunning, sensuous Greta Garbo.

The movie alone would have been enough to get me there, but the icing on the cake was Carter, a renowned organist and retired Georgia law enforcement official, who played the silent film's original score on the Tennessee's Mighty Wurlitzer. What a treat.

They showed a digital print, which I normally hate. Call me crazy, but movies on the big screen are meant to be seen in 35 millimeter. In this case, however, it was perfect. The digital print had been restored. It looked fantastic.

"Flesh and the Devil" was the first picture to pair Gilbert and Garbo, two of Hollywood's biggest stars during the Roaring Twenties. And it's easy to see why they were so hot. Their onscreen chemistry is palpable enough to cut with a knife.

Both were destined for lonely lives. Garbo successfully made the transition from silents to talkies, but became more and more reclusive. She retired for good in 1941, having made only 27 films, and lived in seclusion until her death in 1990.

Gilbert notoriously crashed and burned during his first talkie, "His Glorious Night." Audiences reportedly laughed out loud upon hearing his voice. Here is a clip. Judge for yourself. (I don't think it's all that bad.)

Some swear his decline had nothing to do with his voice. He reportedly feuded for years with Louis B. Mayer, even by one account going so far as to hit the MGM boss during Gilbert's aborted marriage ceremony to Garbo (who didn't show). Gilbert died, of complications from alcoholism, at age 38 in 1936.

The surprising thing about "Flesh and the Devil" is that Gilbert's acting outshines even the great Garbo. She was one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the silver screen, but Gilbert had everything it took to be a silent film star. His emotive and inspired performance needed no words.

Carter pointed out before the picture that Brown's trademark was getting natural performances out of his actors, even during the silent era. Silent film acting almost by definition is melodramatic (one has to make up for the lack of sound) but Brown's style was such that the performances in "Flesh and the Devil" are as realistic as a silent film is going to get. (Compare them to, say, those in "The Birth of a Nation.")

Carter did a masterful job on the Mighty Wurlitzer. Ten minutes into the picture, I forgot he was there.

It was a trip to yesteryear, a memorable moment, a perfect period to a perfect birthday weekend. Like Pauline Kael, I lost it at the movies a long time ago, anyway.

With Garbo and Gilbert, it's easy to get lost.