Playtime a Jacques Tati Masterpiece

PLAYTIME (1967)

Directed by Jacques Tati

Janus Films, 124 minutes, Not-rated

In English and French (with subtitles)

★★★★★

 

 

Though he made only six full-length films in his lifetime, many film aficionados consider Jacques Tati (1907-82 ) one of Europe's greatest directors. That might be objectively true, but you need to appreciate droll humor, languid pacing, and surrealism for full impact.

 

Playtime is often viewed as his very best picture and many rank it among the top 50 greatest comedies ever made. If you are patient, you will find a sharp critique of pretense, consumerism, and manufactured desire. Tati was a mime in his youth, but don't hold that against him. His character, Monsieur Hulot, is a nattier version of Charlie Chaplin's Tramp in that he is the sort of guy who stumbles into weird circumstances but manages to land on his feet. He's also like Chaplin in that Hulot doesn't say much, so don't worry that this is a French film. There's more silence and English than French.

 

Playtime was made in 1967, a cultural moment in which post-World War II France had shaken off the blues of combat devastation, post-colonialism, and economic dislocation. Things are shiny and new in Paris, and some of its trendoids are anxious to show off its modern face and gadgets. Hulot arrives in Paris along with hordes of tourists, including some stereotypical “ugly Americans,” as showy, opinionated, and culturally ignorant US travelers used to be called. (It wasn't yet a multicultural world, but 1967 was on the cusp of many changes.)

 

Hulot is supposed to see Monsieur Giffard (Georges Montant), but we are never quite sure why. (Nor do we know why the film opens in what might be a medical clinic populated by people we will never see again.) Just getting through the front door involves mad scientist button-pushing that only places Hulot inside a glass cube with perplexing furniture. He eventually enters a Dilbert-cube maze, spots Giffard,  but never finds him. (Those who have seen Tati’s Mon Oncle know that Tati often took pot shots at International style architecture.)

 

Hulot ends up at a trade exposition where all manner of “innovations” are for sale, such as brooms with headlights, soundproof doors, and things Rube Goldberg might have cooked up. Visitors are thrilled by all of this, though one American, Barbara (Barbara Dennek), wants to see more than the Eiffel Tower reflected in a glass door!

 

Tati and cinematographers Jean Badal and André took chances in that most of the film is shot at street level. You don't need any fancy academic theories to see that Tati is lampooning the sterility of modern life. The shots of people living in street-facing glass apartments echoes the homogeneity of the offices and hotels seen earlier. Why would anyone wish to live in such places? Conformity, my dears! Note also what Tati does with cars and men in suits. Hulot gets waylaid in various ways, but eventually ends up at the Royal Garden.Up to this point, Playtime is so deliberate you might think it boring.

 

Things enliven at the Royal Garden in ways analogous to the future humor of Jean-Pierre Junot (Delicatessen, Amelie.) The spot is the hottest new nightclub in Paris, even though it hasn't even opened­­­­­–mostly because it's not actually finished. Management rush matters given the number of people in town with lots of money in their pockets. It’s not hard to see what Tati is driving at here. The scenes inside the club are hysterical. Barbara is there, as is a loudmouth cigar-chomping Yank (Billy Kearns) with designs on claiming the best table and procuring a big steak. No one wants the turbot, the featured dish from a kitchen that’s a construction zone. Early 1960s decorum, fancy threads, high heels, and big hair dominate, but what does it tell you that few are having fun until  things literally fall apart? Call it spontaneity versus sterility, capped the next morning with breakfast for the survivors at the drug store across the street, and a Chaplinesque moment between Hulot and Barbara. Even then the carnival isn't quite over.

 

One reviewer called the nightclub scene akin to a Bruegel painting and he wasn't wrong, though Tati’s canvas comes with naff music scored by James Campbell. Note allusions to change on the horizon and before you consider the entire film a snapshot from yesteryear, try switching out a few designs, desires, trends, and gadgets. Tell me where you land.

 

Rob Weir