(Part of The Complete Jacques Tati)
Distributor: The Criterion Collection
Release Date: October 28, 2014
MSRP: $124.95
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Film: A / Video: A / Audio: A- / Extras: A
Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday belongs on the shortlist of the most charming films ever made, a critique of tourism that nonetheless delights in the beauty of its getaway. Part of its elegance comes from the introduction of a key facet of Tati’s filmography, not Monsieur Hulot himself but the humanistic anarchy he represents. The mailman of Jour de Fête aggressively attempts to keep pace with the increasing speed of the modern world, but Hulot’s ambling sloth is forever a disruptive agent. Hulot enters the frame in a car that seems to move forward solely on the propulsive power of its incessant backfiring, a vehicle whose twin capacities to inhibit fast movement and shatter calm with noise reflect on its chaotic owner.
As he would later depict via the influx of tourist chattel into the modernized Paris of Playtime, Tati starts the film with an amusing gag at a train station in which tinny speakers render announcements unintelligible and sends passengers scurrying as a hivemind to and from platforms in a random chase to be at the right place at the right time for an arriving train. From the get-go, Tati pokes fun at the paradox of vacations, in which everyone ostensibly leaves work behind to cut loose yet go to places with carefully planned social activities that transfer rigid work routines to those of play. The common room of the central hotel is constantly filled with painfully silent guests playing card games; its dining room operates with the tedious strictness of a school cafeteria. When people talk, they do so as if conducting business luncheons or, in the case of a jabbering Marxist thinker, a classroom lecture.
Hulot upends that, never consciously attempting to sow ruin but sending everything into disarray. He has a habit of opening the hotel door into high wind, sending cards and papers flying in the main room. Playing tennis, he perfects a serve that is utterly unprofessional yet proves unbeatable to the more experienced players who are bewildered by his motions. Hulot’s serves are like his inimitable (and indescribable) gait, an ambling that, above all others, typifies the definition of walking as perpetually falling and catching oneself. Tati’s top half seems to lean into every step as his feet belatedly snap to attention under him, a constant two-step that lends clumsiness and grace to every gesture. This is borne out in a series of inventive, subtle sight gags that emphasize Hulot’s dissonant placement among the collectivized idyll of his peers. One of the best involves yet another card game, with Hulot accidentally swiveling an oblivious man away from his table and into another, where he confidently plays his card before being turned back to his actual game, leaving the man waiting for the next person to take their turn as they all look at him to make his, prompting a feedback loop of uncomfortable, expectant silence between all parties.
As much as the other patrons view Hulot as a nuisance, he may be the only person in the film truly on vacation; the guests are often indistinguishable from the hotel staff, but Hulot stands out for irritating both camps. Yet though he breaks things, plays his music at metal concert levels, and wades into areas where he does not belong, Hulot never detracts from the beauty of the setting but instead throws it into sharper relief. It’s easier to appreciate the beaches and tennis courts and quaint parlors when Hulot makes an unintentional tear through them than it is when occupied by people who just want a change of scenery to do what they do every day. Hulot sends the film off in explosive fashion, accidentally lighting a fireworks shed on fire and sending rockets into the hotel, and for such a conservative-looking figure, Hulot appears to wage war on the stifling, conformist attitude that grips the place. The film’s serene vistas are still captivating 60 years later, but they wouldn’t be the same without Hulot there to push them into action.
A/V
As with the disc for Jour de Fête, Criterion’s Blu-ray comes with multiple cuts of the film, in this case relegating Tati’s original cut to the land of “Supplements.” The 1978 version received the 2K treatment, and it looks positively stunning. Compared to the rough shooting conditions for the film’s low-budget predecessor, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday benefits from Tati having the time to exercise his perfectionism, and the bright, detailed frames look dazzling in HD. Black levels are consistent, but most of the movie takes place under gorgeous, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky sunlight. The lossless audio is also superb, with the host of hyper-specific sound effects rendered clearly and the deliberately unclear dialogue left appropriately muffled. The original version naturally looks worse for the wear and has lossy Dolby, but it looks more than good enough for anyone wanting to see Tati’s film as it initially exposed him to international viewers.
Extras
Monty Python alum Terry Jones introduces the film with a brief rave that betrays just how deep the Englishman’s affection for the film runs. Composer/critic Michel Chion discusses Tati’s unreal, carefully ordered sound design, one of the greatest elements of his direction, and his essay even incorporates some of the playful tricks of Tati’s style. “Clear Skies, Light Breeze” is another Stéphane Goudet video essay, this one clocking in at 40 minutes and covering the film as extensively as the last one dug into Jour de Fête. Only two discs deep into this Tati set, I already feel confident in labeling Goudet’s contributions among the most substantial ever contained in a Criterion package. Speaking of video essays, a 1978 interview with Tati for French TV occurs in the director’s editing bay, which allows Tati to answer questions with the help of relevant footage, in effect crafting a video essay to explore his own film.
Overall
Jacques Tati’s sublime, elegant comedy is a comic masterpiece, and Criterion give it an exceptional A/V transfer and yet more terrific extras.