Rated PG-13

In the winter, studios populate theaters with big, serious awards-contenders and misfit (usually mediocre) flicks they never got around to releasing earlier in the year. “The Artist” straddles the line between the two camps—it’s already racked up some awards (including honors at Cannes and a few Golden Globes), but it’s  also an alien visitor to Planet Multiplex. Where are the crazy CG effects? How come the cute dog isn’t saying something sassy or pooping on the hero?

“The Artist” is a welcome escape from both the usual winter-time cinematic dregs and from more somber fare, a light-yet-serious treat. A mostly silent, black-and-white film, it features real actors fervently, joyfully acting, and only a few special effects. The story starts out with a knowing wink—when we first meet our hero George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), he’s strapped down and about to be electrocuted by some Russian scientists. “I won’t talk! I won’t say a word!” reads a title card (we are firmly in the silent era, of course).

Valentin’s latest silent blockbuster is a spy thriller that receives prolonged applause from the audience. It’s 1927 and George is at the height of his star powers. But change is approaching fast. George meets Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), a beautiful, beaming girl looking for a big break, and gets her a role as an extra in his next movie. They become infatuated with each other, two impossibly handsome people whose natural good humor and cheer keep them grounded. Talking pictures arrive and George scoffs at the notion. “If that’s the future, you can have it!” he says.  The studio head (played with expressive gusto by John Goodman) gives George an ultimatum: make a talkie or become a has-been.

George’s pride leaves him with one choice: he departs the studio and sets out to make his own silent film. It flops and he falls, losing his fortune, his house and his wife. His dog and his chauffeur (a nice turn by James Cromwell) stick by his side, but George is a washed-up nobody with no future. Meanwhile, Peppy becomes the studio’s newest starlet, the girl who everybody wants to hear onscreen. Talking pictures haunt George’s dreams; in one brilliant sequence, the film breaks its silence and George has a nightmare in which everyday sounds—a barking dog, a ringing phone—drive him mad.

While it’s no mystery that things work out happily for George and Peppy, it’s a delight to watch Dujardin and Bejo go through the requisite highs and lows. Dujardin and director Michel Hazanavicius have collaborated before on the “OSS  117” films, a series of French ’60s spy spoofs that lovingly mock and expertly channel the fun and energy of the early Bond flicks and other secret agent movies. Dujardin is a fantastic comedic actor. He’s square-jawed and smugly handsome, but with the sort of expressive face and outsized personality that can tell a joke with a raised eyebrow or a knowing smirk. Silent film accentuates his abilities. He mugs when he needs to but is also adept at subtle expressions. He’s well-matched with Bejo, who’s just as effervescent and charming. When they share the screen, they float together like champagne bubbles.

Hazanavicius is like Tarantino for the film classics crowd. “The Artist” is a light, confectionary movie, and Hazanavicius’ recipe borrows liberally from the silent era and “Citizen Kane” to “Singin’ in the Rain” and even “Vertigo.” Valentin’s faithful terrier isn’t too far removed from Asta, Nick and Nora Charles’ pooch in “The Thin Man.” References and homages pack “The Artist,” but it never feels derivative. It’s a film that is in love with a very specific age and style of moviemaking. Hazanavicius isn’t adding anything new to the cinematic landscape, but he is giving audiences a gentle reminder of an age, almost a century past, when each new film promised something that probably had never been seen on screen before.

“The Artist” verges on contradiction, but it’s not the sort of movie that’s out to make a statement or issue a call to arms. It’s a fond reminiscence of past delights, so expertly made and skillfully acted that it doesn’t need to be anything more than it is: a quiet, monochromatic oasis in a sea of movies that otherwise all look and sound the same.