Last year, the Oscar winner for Best Picture was a flick about a king who just couldn’t speak. And then, thanks to a lovable tutor and a long string of expletives, he could. This year, the front-runner is a film whose protagonist is stuck in the silent era altogether. In a world where explosions make the money and biting screenplays grab the praise, **”The Artist”** stripped away color, special effects and talking and left us with a reminder of why we love movies in the first place: dogs. Well, yes, dogs, but also because movies — good ones, at least — have a lasting effect on us. They make us laugh (**”Midnight in Paris,”** **”Moneyball”**), they make us cry (**”The Help,”** **”Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close”**), they make us think (**”The Tree of Life,”** **”The Descendants”**), and they make us come up with Sarah Jessica Parker jokes (**”War Horse”**). Above all, like dogs, movies make us smile. And I think that’s why everyone fell in love with “The Artist.” At least, that’s why I did.