Four films by Jacques Tati

Originally published in FILMWAVES in 2004.

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Jacques Tati is not a neglected director awaiting rediscovery: he is widely regarded as the greatest French comic actor of all time (despite having an ancestry drawn from across Europe), succeeding the tragic Max Linder, and his output garnered much critical acclaim during his lifetime, with his reputation undiminished since his death in 1982. Often compared to the greats of silent comedy – especially Chaplin, whose reputation has suffered somewhat recently, necessitating the high-profile reissue of his great films by Warner in 2003 – Tati was, and remains, much admired for his deft use of sound and dialogue, his impeccable comic timing and his hilarious command of the relationship between his characters and their surroundings. This BFI reissue of four of his most-loved films, then, represents an opportunity to see how well the films have aged and reassess their critical reputation.

Tati’s début, Jour de fête (1949) is an uncomplicated film, with a simple plot about a postman, François, who is shown a mock video documenting the efficiency of the American postal service and becomes obsessed with introducing US methods into his rural French village, despite only having a bicycle at his command. The result is an endearing blend of satire and farcical slapstick, with the humour derived from the most traditional source, that of the situation. A gentle, affectionate film, introducing the theme of the contrast between a rustic individual and urban modernity that ran throughout Tati’s work, Jour de fête stands up well both as an individual film and as an indicator of how Tati would develop his comedic style. Particularly noteworthy is the music that accompanies François’ frantic, ill-advised dash across the countryside to deliver his post, especially in the scene where his bicycle escapes him and dashes down a winding country road.

Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot (1953) introduced the character with which Tati became synonymous. Less plotted than Jour de fête, Les Vacances features M. Hulot blissfully unaware of the havoc he unwittingly unleashes on a small French holiday resort. The most immediate of the four films, the humour of Les Vacances is derived from clever use of sound, particularly smooth and Dixieland jazz music (the scenes where Hulot interrupts relaxed chalet activity with a loud, incongruous gramophone record are a joy) and masterful sight gags. Tati’s characterisation of Hulot – a simple Everyman who speaks little, lost in a world that is modernising without him – drew many comparisons to Chaplin’s tramp, but Hulot is always disengaged from his surroundings, accidentally causing chaos and then continuing blind to its consequences, unlike the Tramp whose comedy is often derived from his exaggerated facial expressions and frantic interaction with his environment. This form of characterisation, in which many objects, especially Hulot’s car, are as deeply sketched as the people, works to great effect in Les Vacances, and confirmed Tati as a major directorial talent.

Tati gave Hulot a family in Mon Oncle (1958), skilfully exploiting the affection that women and children felt for Hulot with the impatience that he engendered in more dynamic businessmen and officials. Although the pace is slower than in Les Vacances (The Gold Rush serves as an interesting comparison, with its brilliant passages of high comedy constructed by long scenes building character relations and plot), there are plenty of comic set pieces involving misfiring machinery and tedious jobs that point towards Tati’s most ambitious project.

Playtime (1967) is generally considered to be Tati’s masterpiece. Conceived on a breathtaking scale, the film necessitated the construction of a massive set on the outskirts of Paris, which came to be known as ‘Tativille’. Although the set, the protracted filming and the refusal of American distributors to back Playtime bankrupted Tati, costing him his house and the rights to his films, he remained fond of the film, regarding it as his greatest work and describing it as “exactly the picture I wanted to make”. Of all four films, Playtime is the least suited to television, with several immediate and running gags unfolding simultaneously in single, often lengthy shots; it is undoubtedly meant for cinema. Watched on a large screen, Tati’s judgement cannot be questioned: Playtime is so subtle, so intelligently layered in its construction, and constructed with such architectural imagination, that it is fascinating on first view and increasingly hysterical with each subsequent viewing. The logical conclusion to his development, Playtime seems like a new form of comedy, eschewing character identification, plot, or the facial close-ups that made Chaplin such a star. Instead, the humour is derived from repetition (of comic riffs, sounds effects and repetitive scenery, particularly in the offices and streets dominated by skyscrapers), and from the subtle attempts of the people, usually playing themselves, to remain human in such an impersonal environment. Although best understood in the context of Tati’s entire career, it is Playtime that remains his most outstanding achievement.

As for extras, Jour de fête and Mon Oncle include three trailers, while Les Vacances features an interview with Richard Lester, director of A Hard Day’s Night and absurdist comedies such as The Running Jumping and Standing Still Film (1959), visibly influenced by Tati’s earlier works. Playtime has the most enlightening extras, with a short documentary on the construction and fate of ‘Tativille’, a brief interview with Sylvette Baudrot on Tati’s directorial methods, a short film about Tati and a commentary by Philip Kemp, who wrote the sleeve notes for these delightfully packaged films. More information on the process that restored the colour to Jour de fête, originally discarded in favour of a black and white version when the untested Thomsoncolor negatives could not be printed, would have been appreciated; Kemp explains the origins of the process in his notes but we hear nothing from those who worked on the 1995 restoration.

Effectively transferred to DVD, although Jour de fête’s colouration is occasionally fragile, the BFI selection represents the high points of Tati’s oeuvre, charting his development from the charming simplicity of Jour de fête to the beautiful complexity of Playtime. They are a pleasure to see again.