Jacques Tati's Playtime (1967); Film Review by Izzy Sieveking

Earning 23rd place in the BFI's 'Greatest Films of all Time' list, Jacques Tati's Playtime (1967) is a bold departure from the ambling Frenchman of his previous hits, 1958's Mon Uncle and 1953's Les Vancances de Monsieur Hulot/ Monsieur Hulot's Holiday. The third of Tati's films in which he both directs and plays the accident-prone Mr. Hulot - as recognizable with his cap and pipe as the outline of Alfred Hitchcock- Playtime is a sleek and meticulously crafted satirical piece on the modernity fast approaching the 1970's. Yet, despite appreciation for Hulot's character and the critical appraisal of Playtime in later years, this would be a production that almost bankrupted Tati as the most expensive French film made by that period. It's this scale of ambition, risk and occasionally enigmatic quality of the film that brings us to review it almost 60 years on.

As per Tati's style, we get the observational comedy of following Mr Hulot through the impersonal architecture, consumer goods and business etiquette. Just as his fellow Francophile Agnes Varda achieved with Cleo from 5-7 in 1952, the time frame of a single day in Paris lends a helpful form to Playtime's loosely arranged, almost secondary plot. In the first of six different locations, 'The Airport' quickly replaces workers (a midwife briskly sweeping by with a wailing infant, a befuddled and lost-looking cleaner, a photographer) with a horde of American tourists. Soon arriving, of course, is Hulot, instantly recognizable for his wide-stepped gait and flash of patterned socks in the mass of business grey and high fashion/Jacqueline Kennedy style of the time. Just as in his other movies, incidental friendships come about- the German salesman of a 'silently slamming' door from the 'Trade Exhibition'; Barbara, the more free-spirited young woman drifting away from the ladies tourist group and, in the chaotic 'Royal Garden' cut of a fine dining restaurant, the ostentatious generosity of an American businessman getting the rounds. Hulot's momentary appearances, rather than his usual centrality of disaster, might owe for the film's cooler reception upon release. As Criterion critic Kent Jones pointed out, Playtime was Tati "inching his way towards a new kind of film...that would be about "everybody" "*. One wonders if this amicable intention distracted from what made Mr. Hulot such an enduring figure in comedy- his aloof and genuine distinction from everybody else.

But where the stardom of Mr. Hulot is lacking, Tati's signature creative sound design makes up for it. Alongside the visual gags, it's a key part of any Tati feature. Contemporary French filmmaker Sylvain Chomet honored his style of ambient, expressionistic noise instead of dialogue in the quirky 2003 animation The Triplets of Belleville. In 2010, Chomet even based The Illusionist on an undeveloped Tati script, so influential has Tati been across comedy cinema. In Playtime, Tati makes full use of the gadgets and vehicles of the 60's consumerist boom via synchronized sound. As cars honk in the street, the neon signage of the restaurant flickers back to life. Aptly named 'The Carousel of Cars', a girl hitching a motorbike ride raises and lowers herself as you might perch on the side of a merry-go-round horse (or chicken, if you too were one of those children not wishing it to feel left out). There's a pleasing order in noticing how the clank of parting meter change jolts things back into action. Living up to his democratic aims, of members Tati's non-professional cast also create their own sound effects, like the young men whistling to make the window glass-fitters 'dance'. Even if Tati felt disillusioned with both Mr. Hulot and the new Paris before embarking on this film, the playful audio certainly doesn't reflect it.

Compared to the picturesque commune of his 1949 debut feature, Jour de fete (The Big Day), or even childminding in the modern Parisian suburbs as Mon Uncle (1958) that Hulot's lone comic gags feel less performative and more a real bewilderment with these stark buildings and electrical gadgets. There's not a bicycle in sight in Andreas Winding's cinematography, whose unflinching wide shots of the mid-century modern architecture make where to look confusing for us, too. A made-for-film set, ‘Tativille' saw the director fully realize the alienating effects of technology, from the glass cages of waiting rooms to steely office blocks that cordon off all human interaction. The apartment scene (shot entirely from outside) had no need for commentary on how normalized social TV watching had become, either. So all encompassing are these windows, high-rises and cars that perhaps only the most devoted Tati fans will appreciate Mr. Hulot's brief comic relief. The Royal Garden's disastrous opening night feels crammed full of typical slapstick gags out of necessity instead of coincidence, as if to counteract the meandering time it took to get there.

Thankfully, the clinical aspect of the production design never obscures the classically 'French' elements. Parisian landmarks are briefly glimpsed through a clever angling of windows (and money-saving photographs to emulate the real thing), their momentariness speaking to Tati's fear of losing the old Paris forever. And he's not alone- Barbara repeatedly tries to photograph an elderly flower seller, only for pedestrians to block or interrupt the shot. In the end, it's her crossing paths with Mr. Hulot (and the coincidental flash of orange flowers with a passer-by's shirt) that helps her capture that part of France. Other markers of French culture- Citroen vans, the attentive preparation of a dish, a heaving local store- almost balance out the mostly industrial tone, whilst the new generation of Mods and different languages heard throughout the film even celebrates France's openness to diversity. That is surely something that the congenial Mr. Hulot would approve of.

Jones, Kent, 2001. 'Playtime', The Criterion Collection. https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/115 playtime?srsltid=AfmBOoqMzXBlZyZ_5mvdF8Ld8E-F5BOxFHt9io30VTxrnnluSjAXfbWY