Playtime: The Making of the Films of Jacques Tati

The following is excerpted from an essay written by myself for History of Film at Harford Community College, Spring 2004:

A look at the films of Jacques Tati reveal the perfectionism and dedication that Tati brought to each of his productions as a filmmaker. Although he only directed six feature films, Tati left his personal stamp on each one of them. His unique view of the society in which he lived and worked give his films a flavor of social satire, mixed with the tradition of the French music hall pantomime. Tati went to great lengths to achieve the effects he wanted onscreen. The story behind each one of his six feature films is almost as interesting as the films themselves.

Jacques Tati was born on October 9, 1907 in Le Pecq, France (Bellos 9). Many of the places and people depicted in his films were based on things he knew in his youth. His comedy was heavily influenced by the great short comedies of the 1910s and 1920s, featuring such performers as Max Linder, Charles Chaplin, and Buster Keaton (Bellos 18). Performers such as these were seen throughout the world in international distribution during the silent era and reached wide audiences (Adair 46).

It was during the early 1930s that Tati developed his trademark style. This consisted of mimicking the actions of various sports through pantomime, the most notable of which was a tennis pantomime (Bellos 67). Tati made his film debut in 1932, as writer and performer only, in a short comedy called Oscar champion de tennis. This film, now considered lost, recorded on film his trademark comic tennis routine (Bellos 47). Tati developed an interest in directing, and after appearing in one more short film, On demande une brute, directed two short films himself: Gai Dimanche (1935) and Son toigne gauche (1936), in which he also starred (Bellos 51). However, this new career was interrupted when Tati served in the military during World War II, a time in which he was almost mistakenly executed as a spy in his native country after misplacing his ID and papers (Bellos 78). Following the war, Tati worked in films as an actor for one of France’s most acclaimed pre-New Wave directors, Claude Autant-Lara. But Tati realized he wanted to continue on in the tradition of the great Hollywood silent clowns, who had had complete control over their films. He particularly enjoyed Chaplin and Keaton, as well as the short films of Mack Sennett (Bellos 100). Tati would direct one last short, L’ecole des facteurs (1947), about the modernization and stream-lining of the bicycle postal service, before embarking on his first feature film. Tati and fellow producer Fred Orain first collaborated on L’ecole des facteurs. Together they founded Cady Films to produce this picture. (Bellos 105).

For his first feature, Tati decided to use a script he had been polishing since 1945 entitled Jour de fete. This film marked the return collaboration of producer Fred Orain (Bellos 105). Tati labored over his script, refining bits of business and detailing the story, depicting a simple French postman named Francois (Tati) who finds the idyllic, old-world rural France slowing decaying away in the post-war years. The film depicted the shift from the rural, agrarian culture giving way to the more industrialized France that sprang up following the war (Bellos 110). The film marked many things to come which would occur again and again in the production of Tati’s films. For one, there was the concerns over financing, a problem that would plague Tati to the end of his career. Most of the money was raised by producer Fred Orain, but the budget was still quite tight, only about 25 million francs, and the production was continually met by new obstacles (Bellos 111). Tati had decided to shoot Jour de fete in an experimental color process, Thomsoncolor. This costly process would enhance the mood of the film, Tati believed, and it would be worth the extra expense. However, as a back-up, Tati simultaneously shot a black and white version of the film; it was through this foresight that the film survived at all in the first place. The color company, Thomson-Houston, went bankrupt and never was able to figure out a way to develop and print the color negative, so the film only survived in its black and white version (Bellos 111). Despite all the setbacks, Jour de fete proved to be a success commercially and artistically, and helped to draw attention to Tati’s talents as both an actor and filmmaker (Bellos 115). Tati would expand on this film again in 1961, when he went back and shot additional scenes to “update” the film. Whether or not these new scenes add anything is a matter of taste. However, the film was remade yet again in 1995; by this time, Tati’s daughter had raised finances to develop a method of printing the Thomsoncolor film, so Jour de fete can now be seen in its original glory. For the scenes that could not be recovered, the black and white film was colorized digitally by means of computer technology (Bellos 334). Despite urgings from friends and fellow artists to make another film revolving around Francois the postman, Tati chose instead to develop a new comic alter ago in the form of Mr. Hulot. The costume consisted of a trench coat, lopsided hat, umbrella and pipe. This would become his recognizable trademark comic character through his next four films until 1971 (Bellos 170).

His next film would revolve around Mr Hulot at a seaside resort. Les vacances de M. Hulot was released in 1953. Production took place at the seaside resort of Saint Nazaire near Brittany (http://www.mairie-saintnazaire.fr/english/tati_eng.htm). Tati and crew arrived in June, 1951 where shooting would continue over the next year. The cast consisted of many unknowns, and many actual vacationers on holiday at the resort were recruited as extras (http://www.mairie-saintnazaire.fr/english/tati_eng.htm). The story revolves around the misadventures of Mr. Hulot, who arrives at Saint Nazaire for a holiday and proceeds to wreak havoc among the quiet resort. One of the most celebrated gag sequences occurs on the beach at night, as a confused Mr. Hulot attempts to extinguish fireworks with the aid of a garden watering can (Bellos 175). The cost of filming was budgeted at 105 million francs, considerable more than on his previous effort, but still a modest sum. The film was lensed in black and white, a wise choice considering the Thomsoncolor debacle on the previous film. The cost was actually kept to a minimum by the location shooting at Saint Nazaire, where a statue of Tati overlooking the oceanfront stands to this day to commemorate the filming of his picture there (http://www.mairie-saintnazaire.fr/english/tati_eng.htm). Les vacances de M. Hulot was released in the US as Mr. Hulot’s Holiday, in an English language version trimmed from 114 minutes to 86 minutes, but still maintaining much of the charm and whimsy of the original. The film quickly became a hit in the art-house theatres and did good business on that circuit (Ebert).

For his next project, tentatively titled Tati No. 3, Tati quickly set about raising funds. This was to be his most expensive production to date, elaborately designed and photographed in Eastmancolor (Tati had a contact in the Rochester lab of Eastman Kodak to insure the availability of the film stock). Tati would serve as producer this time around, and managed to secure a budget of nearly 150 million francs. Tati abandoned his old partner Fred Orain and the Cady Films production company; now he created his own company Specta-Films, which would handle his productions through the end of his career (Bellos 197). In addition to the cost of the stock, the most expensive aspect of this film would be the elaborate set design, including the eccentric modern house inhabited by the lead characters. This house was built in the studio by production designer Jacques Lagrange. It would inspire a real house to be built in its exact image in Paris by a very enthusiastic fan of the film (Bellos 206). There were many gags to be had at the expense of the ultra-modern house with all its electronic conveniences, including the giant fish fountain, the electronic gate that constantly jams, the automatic garage door opener that traps its victims inside when a dog accidentally trips the laser sensor beam, and of course, the sequence in which Mr. Hulot discovers a plastic bowl in the cabinet that bounces when it is dropped (the glass cup however, is not designed in quite the same way, as he quickly finds out). These gags helped make Tati No. 3 a memorable piece of cinema (Bellos 210).

The film, which would eventually be titled Mon Oncle, was Tati’s greatest success commercially and artistically. Tati had poured extra effort into this production, and it showed. An English language version, My Uncle, was filmed simultaneously for the overseas market (Bellos 215). The film went on to win an Academy Award for Best Foreign Film of 1958, and Tati traveled to Hollywood to collect his prize (Bellos 225). Tati put in appearances on The Tonight Show, where he performed his pantomime routines, then posed for a comic series of photographs depicting his sports routine for “Sports Illustrated” magazine in the November 1958 issue (Bellos 228). While in Hollywood, he was offered the chance to direct and star in a film for Warner Bros. entitled Mr. Hulot Goes West featuring Sophia Loren, but this was never completed. He was also offered a prize of his choice, and the one thing he asked was to be able to visit the aging silent comedians in the Hollywood rest homes. He paid visits to Stan Laurel, Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd, and Mack Sennett. Tati even learned to speak English just for this occasion (Bellos 226).

Upon returning to France, Tati remained unsure of his next project. He had envisioned a film so big, so expensive that the financing it would require was a near impossibility for his company. His next film would only appear on screens a full nine years after his last film (Bellos 235). Playtime was envisioned as a comic epic. It would be presented as a special attraction, complete with a live stage show, 6-track surround sound, and full 70mm projection (Bellos 234). Tati wanted to build an entire city in which to film his production. His collaborators warned him that it would be financial folly to do so, unless they could somehow build a fully functional city that could then be sold off as real estate and help reign in the costs that way. Tati, however, insisted on making it a set that would be torn down at the end of the production so that he could have more artistic freedom over the whole project (Bellos 248). When financing fell through, Tati put up his own money and signed over his house, car and everything that he owned that could be put up for backing. Tati would never fully recover from the investments he lost in producing Playtime (Bellos 250).

There is no real “story” to speak of in Playtime. It is merely a series of events, taking place in a Paris of glass and steel, as seen through the eyes of a group of American tourists. Tati himself said that it was “perhaps the smallest script every to be made in 70mm.” (Klawans 174). The humor stems from jokes involving the language barrier, confusion of different cultures, mechanical gadgets, and Mr. Hulot trying to keep an appointment with a businessman in the large glass-and-steel structure; at one point Hulot swings open a door only to find himself in the middle of a big board meeting. He politely excuses himself and shuts the door (Klawans 175). The finale takes place in a brand new nightclub which finally collapses under its own weight (Adair 147). British critic Gilbert Adair has noted that Playtime really has to be seen “several times, each from a different seat in the auditorium” in order to catch all of the small, sometimes microscopic gags that play out on its 70mm screen (Adair 146).

There were 365 shooting days allocated on Playtime, one of the longest shooting schedules for a commercial film ever. Tati managed to alienate his first director of photography, the brilliant Hungarian cinematographer Jean Badal, halfway through production due to what Badal perceived as excesses in spending. Tati wanted a reflection of the Eiffel Tower to appear on a glass door, and when Badal informed him the only way to do that was to build a scale model, Tati went ahead and did it, adding considerable time and cost for a single shot. Badal finally quit and was replaced by Andreas Winding, who lensed the remainder of the picture (Bellos 242). On top of all this, the structure of Tativille (the city that had been built solely for filming purposes) was blown down by winds in 1965, and everything had to start over at an additional cost of 1.4 million francs when Tati found out that his insurance policy on the structure had been cancelled just days earlier due to lack of payment (Bellos 244).

When production finally wrapped in 1966, costs had run as high as 12 million dollars. However, it is impossible to say exactly how much was spent because a great many bills went unpaid (Bellos 243). Despite his attempts to bring people away from the TV and back to the cinema, Tati’s latest film was a flop. It was one of the largest cost-to profit losses in history. The film was never even released in the United States. Over the years, nearly 20 minutes were cut and eventually lost from the film, though these have recently been recovered and are in the process of being restored. The film ran 155 minutes in its entirety (Bellos 260).

After the failure of Playtime, Tati decided to make his next film a less ambitious project. He had filed for bankruptcy, and all the rights to all his films had been seized by the courts (Bellos 287). As a result, Tati’s following film Trafic (1971) had a much less eventful production history. The film was intended as a satire on the automotive industry. Tati would appear for the last time onscreen as Mr. Hulot, on his way to a car show, getting caught up in a massive traffic jam in his modern, almost futuristic car (Bellos 295). As always, Tati was attentive to detail, especially when it came to directing his actors, but all in all the film was much more low-scale than his previous work. Tati raised financing from outside companies, and even was able to earn extra money by directing a commercial for one of the first ATM banking machines (Bellos 299). Trafic was a modest success, primarily in the art-house circuit, for at this time, Tati was beginning to be seen as a far more serious filmmaker by the important critics than he had in the past. Tati considered himself a member of the New Wave film movement in France, as well (Bellos 296). Tati’s film was produced as part of a deal with Swedish television. Tati wanted to make a made-for-television movie, but instead of using the large, cumbersome TV cameras, he wanted to shoot in 16mm and then have than transferred to the tape so that he could have the freedom of shooting on film and not be burdened by the TV equipment (Bellos 302).

As part of the deal, Tati would direct a “variety” style film for Swedish television, featuring popular circus acts of the time. The circus act would be photographed “live” using three video cameras, with the video tape later blown up to 35mm, on the night of October 29, 1973 (Bellos 318). This film, entitled Parade (1974), was shot quickly and inexpensively. It was not one of Tati’s more innovative films, but it was a satisfying end to his career in the motion picture business. The format of the film can be seen as a tribute to his love for live performing, which is how Tati got his start in the entertainment world to begin with (Bellos 303).

Following the release of Parade on Swedish TV in 1974, Tati returned to work on a new script called “Confusion” that was never completed (Bellos 328). He worked on shooting new footage to cut in to Mr. Hulot’s Holiday in 1975, much in the same way he had with Jour de fete in 1961. He maintained a close friendship with many of his old collaborators as well as directors such as Steven Spielberg, who had wanted to cast Tati as Claude Lecombe (the role eventually played by Francois Truffaut) in his film Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977). Tati was unable to do the role but he paid homage to Spielberg’s film Jaws (1975) in one of the new sequences he shot for Mr. Hulot’s Holiday in 1978, the last project he tackled before his death in 1982 (Bellos 330-331).

Though production of Tati’s films was often plagued with financial and technical difficulties, he secured himself a place in the cinema by the expert mastery and professionalism with which he undertook each project and the extreme attention to detail that he applied to each situation he portrayed on film.

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Works Cited:

Adair, Gilbert. Flickers. Buckinghamshire: Hazell Books, Ltd., 1995. 146-147
Bellos, David. Jacques Tati. Great Britain: Butler & Tanner Ltd., 1999. 9-333
Ebert, Roger. “Mr. Hulot’s Holiday.” Chicago-Sun Times. http://www.suntimes.com/ebert
Klawans, Stuart. Film Follies. London: Cassell, 1999. 174-176
Ville de Saint-Nazaire: Mr. Hulot’s Holiday. 2 February, 2002. Ville de Saint-Nazaire. 3 May 2004. http://www.mairie-saintnazaire.fr/english/tati_eng.htm