Jacques Tati: Playtime Review

• 29th Nov 2010

Playtime (1967) is Tati’s third outing as the iconic Monsieur Hulot and arguably his best. To a French audience Tati’s Hulot is as recognizable as Chaplin and, akin to Chaplin liked to have total control of his films in that he co-wrote, starred and directed them all. Hulot is a man of impeccable manners, kind and charming but his situations lead him into conflict with others around him, particularly it would seem with those in the service industry. The doorman who, after Hulot has inadvertently smashed the glass, continues to hold the door open by holding the door handle. To a UK audience Tati’s image of Hulot may be familiar through the comical mocking of the petaniste characters played for surreal comedy laughs by comedy duo Reeves and Mortimer as Le Corbussier et Papin.

The story is largely plotless and is built around the premiss of Hulot arriving in Paris to meet an old army buddy and is caught up in a series of misadventures along the way. In Mon Oncle, Hulot is staying in his sister’s house and is befuddled by all the modern household appliances of the ultra-modernist house. Here that theme is extended further to the unrecognizable city of Paris, one made of glass and steel. We really only know its Paris when the iconic and ancient buildings of the city are reflected in the glass windows, showing the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower in the reflection of an opening door. This is the Paris of 60s post-war Brutalist architecture, but Tati did not shoot his movie on the streets of Paris. Instead, at great expense, he built his own modern urban environment on the edge of Paris. This included building facades, real escalators and tarmac streets and pavements. In some cases cardboard cut outs are used in the background instead of extras (as mentioned in the two making of documentaries with footage on the extras).  This was done so Tati could control his environment, he refused to shoot in a studio to give a feel of openness instead of claustrophobia. The restored colour is particularly bright and benefits from being shot on 70mm film, given absolute justice in Blu-Ray and giving this city of glass and steel a new sheen that may have been missing from older prints.

Seen as a masterpiece by some and a flawed attempt at making it so by others, Playtime certainly has some of Tati’s brightest moments. Everything else remains the same as in Tati’s previous films: the balletic movements of people (and traffic), Hulot walking around as though a stranger on this Earth and the sparse use of dialogue. He is, in every sense, a Baudelarian flaneur, working around observing people and the city. However, unlike Baudelaire he is not championing the modern world, but is bemused by it. This is a study of the modern urban environment, tourism, consumerism and corporate culture.

Sadly many of the situations Hulot finds himself in are not very funny and some seem to drag on interminably. They are at best repetitive, especially the dinner party scene at the films climax lasting for an excruciating 45 minutes. This is not quite the point, though: where it does work, it works very well. However, as with previous Tati films, dialogue is very minimal and is often reduced to background noise. There is the usual interspersing of American and British accents throughout. Here though, it seems to be that the Americans are the ones most comfortable in this metropolis, perhaps the exporters of this vision to France with Hulot representing old fashioned values.

Playtime, was made with a meticulous attention to detail and took an astonishing four years to film, spending an astonishing 7 million francs (about £1 million) for the time. It led to Tati becoming bankrupt and forced him to sell his house. Also included on the disc is an audio interview with Tati, recorded at the NFT in 1968 in which he breaks from the interview and reverts to clown mode, as well as two ‘making of’ documentaries and a biographical documentary. In other words the Tati fans won’t feel short changed by the collections.

Chris Hick