Marcel curls, drop-waisted dresses, top hat n’ tails, pearls galore. These are the elements contained in the divine trailer of “The Artist,” a silent film lovingly fashioned by Michel Hazanavicius (“Mes amis”) as a tender homage to the Roaring Twenties.

The Artist

The Weinstein Company

Yeah, it’s weird that a film in the 2010s would dare strip away all the extras that make movies what they are ­— i.e. voice, color, CGI, explosions, Megan Fox, etc. — but “The Artist” is styled with such finesse it’s difficult to find much fault with the absence. Its lack of sound doesn’t even feel gimmicky, just necessary. There’s a scene where the doe-eyed heroine glides effortlessly with a coatrack and suit in tow, Benny Goodman trumpeting jubilantly in the background. It’s a moment so sublime, it needs no words. And there’s a love story! Ah, young, French love.

“The Artist” doesn’t feel of this world. If Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly were to rematerialize and grace Tinseltown with their presence, this would be the movie to find them in.

When was the last time a movie just made you feel good? Hell, when was the last time a two-minute clip of a movie made you want to twirl around the lampposts singin’ in the rain? For all of our country’s obsession with ye olde times, nostalgia and authenticity, it’s about time somebody buckled down and tap danced their way into a solution.

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