Yoyo

A gifted entertainer exactingly resides in opulent isolation within his castle, every second of every day meticulously corresponding to specified curriculum. 

He dreams of the girl he once fell in love with who still routinely travels and brilliantly performs, their improvised union having spiritedly crafted a darling youngster raised in the circus.

The Great Depression miserably emerges and millions of people find themselves out of work, the idle artist losing his staff then rejoining his family on the staggering road.

His son grows up immersed in lively spectacular entertaining multivariable humours, wholesomely ensconced within random variation he gradually becomes a celebrated clown.

World War II despotically interrupts and lighthearted sentiments are cast aside, the mad dissemination of militaristic bravado autocratically obscuring the chill and genuine.

After the war, the invention of television once again problematizes circus life, as more people find immediate entertainment laidback and tranquil with the fam at home.

Yet little Yoyo reinvents himself once more and becomes even more famous within the medium.

Hosting lavish galas back at his father's castle.

With storytelling, everlastingly at home.

I would argue that gifted storytellers never lose their love of animals, and sincerely respond to their adorable genius no matter how austere their lives become.

The just and the wicked, there's a remarkable difference between world-weary desert-of-the-real morbid tales, and blossoming effervescent dynamic lifeforces ethereally etched with generous compassion.

Thus we see in Pierre Étaix's Yoyo a friendly elephant at different times, who genuinely loves the wee mischievous lad at the auspicious outset and at the conclusion.

Yoyo never really feels quite right when requisitely hobnobbing within the superstructure, and is greatly relieved indeed more down-to-earth when that same caring elephant interrupts his ball.

You see the details of his innocent world magnanimously shared throughout the film, as scene after scene showcases warm unpredictable spontaneous carefree pleasant wonder.

Never lose that love of animals and there's no doubt you'll continue to enjoy this film.

Which inherently investigates artistic re/invention.

From the Silent Film Era to the Age of Television.

*Interesting sounds too.

Yoyo doesn't rely on the stock film sounds you often hear.

Piccadilly

A popular night club routinely offers exceptional dynamic crowd pleasing performances, its dancers showcasing sundry coveted moves and flourishing finesse with fluid elegance.

The spice freely flows the rhythms distill freeflowing upbeat pleasant fun merrymaking, half their tables zealously reserved (by noon) intense sprightly jocose reliable industry.

But as so often happens, the urge to change one's steadfast surroundings bluntly coaxes, and one of the famous sought after dancers decides he'd rather entertain North America.

The blow is indeed distressing as dependable revenue streams quickly dry up, his equally flexible former partner remaining but not enough of a draw to firmly bring hundreds in.

Then one night an ornery client vehemently complains about a stain on his plate, which prompts the owner to visit the kitchen the scullery in fact where he finds a new spectacle. 

Soon the act is passionately displayed for the curious public who responds with praise, the newfound sensation turning critical heads and swiftly redefining the business's mantra.

But the old act once incredibly loved isn't as willing to be warm and pleasantly accommodating. 

The owner caught between the stubborn lithe rivals.

Following his heart, wherever it leads.

Several decades before the Civil Rights Movement emerged with formidable vigour, Piccadilly sought to break down race barriers with a bold and courageous daring silent film.

Released in England not the United States and in British cinemas not on American television, it still predates William Shatner and Nichelle Nichols's kiss by almost a dashing and carefree 30 years.

I don't know enough about silent films so I'm not sure if such stories were often told at the time, I just know from my own observations that I've rarely seen interracial tales pre-1960.

Pioneering no less and also cool to watch it's still a captivating film, I was interested to see something starring Anna May Wong after she appeared on the American quarter.

She was tired of being typecast in early Hollywood and moved to Europe to find more diverse roles so I'm told, bravery rewarded in this instance at least she clearly steals the show in Dupont's Piccadilly.

If curious about silent film and alternative ways to tell compelling tales, it's worth checking out for sure with many of its themes still resonating today.  

The Artist

Pride leads to a tragic fall in Michel Hazanavicius's The Artist, as silent film superstar George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) refuses to adapt to a technological paradigm shift. Losing everything after the advent of the Talkies, he descends into a self-obsessed alcoholic tailspin while remaining loyal to his preferred form of artistic expression.

To which he was an unparalleled sensation.

Paying hommage to an abandoned form of film making which was responsible for cinema's resounding success, The Artist works, presenting a remarkable synthesis of motion and sound whose historical resonances are fashionably festooned.

Ludovic Bource's original music playfully harmonizes with the action and temporally positions us within a revitalized inspirational epoch. Jean Dujardin and Bérénice Bejo (Peppy Miller) use the full range of their creative non-verbal subtly to emit an understated existential dialogue which encourages evocative sensual reflections as one tries to imagine what might have been said.

Even as Valentin seems destined for dereliction, a sense of innocent naivety permeates The Artist's being, as its expertly timed stylistic complexities leisurely conjure an effervescent cascade of childlike simplicity by delicately condensing multilayered supporting complements into an affective cry.

Nothing that surprising takes place in the narrative itself. It's the cohesive viscid micro-details which transform each moment into an exception of its own that make The Artist such a compelling film.

Nice to see Ed Lauter with a supporting role.