Hugo First

New Year's Day hit me like a hair-pin turn. Shortly before awakening that morning, I was hit with an attack of gremlins, and woke up in a sweat of anxiety, the myriad of worries I'd set aside for Christmas flying at me like panicked bats. What I'd like to know is, do I get overwhelmed by anxiety in the wee small hours because I'm vulnerable with lack of sleep, or is it because I'm seeing things with dangerous clarity? Oh gawd, I really don't want to know, do I? I'm blaming this on PMS.

Best to cling to what is beautiful. I started the new year with the almost completely silent filmThe Artist because I've heard so many good things about it, and it is charming and lovingly made, but I'm going to make a plea for what is the most gorgeous and beguiling movie I've seen in ages:

Hugo is also a tribute to the art of silent film, but the much earlier works of Georges Méliès. The movie itself is not silent; it's a russet-brown and midnight-blue fantasy of Paris eight or nine decades ago. It's meant to be seen in 3D but the Resident Fan Boy, younger daughter and I saw it in 2D in a small-screen cinema and you know what? We were still enchanted.

There is not a single ugly shot in this entire work, and the performances by Ben Kingsley, the two child leads, and a half-dozen not-quite-cameo supporting performances are a joy to watch. If this doesn't get some sort of Oscar recognition, I certainly will be pelting the television with foodstuffs.

If you haven't seen it, go. 3D or 2D, it won't matter.