Monsieur Hulot (whose first name we never learn) was first introduced to audiences in Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (Les vacances de Monsieur Hulot), which Tati both wrote and directed. He enters the film tooling down a French country road in his ancient, clattering automobile, a 1924 Amilcar, which is so old and feeble that it has trouble making it up hills. We understand what Hulot is all about long before we actually see him on-screen, as this silly excuse for a car becomes a visual stand-in for the man himself. Tati must have had a special affinity for Hulot’s car, not only because it plays a role in many of the film’s early gags, but because it works as a metonym for the film’s adherence to the conventions of silent comedy, which had been largely forgotten in the 25 years since the introduction of sound. Not only that, but the car is a precursor to the satiric images of modernization that would dominate Tati’s later Hulot films: Mon oncle (1958), PlayTime (1967), and Trafic (1971).

The plot of Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is disarmingly simple; in fact, it’s really no plot at all, but a series of comical incidents in which we observe a group of people going about their seaside holiday. When the film was first released in the United States in the mid-1950s, it came with an opening disclaimer that read: “Don’t look for a plot, for a holiday is meant purely for fun.” However, as critic Dave Kehr has pointed out, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is much more than just fun (although it is that, as well). In fact, Kehr has argued that the film was nothing short of revolutionary, paving the way for French New Wave directors like Jean-Luc Godard by driving “the decisive first wedge between the cinema and classical narration.”

The story takes place in a modest, old-fashioned seaside resort in Normandy, the kind that is populated with elderly British women, military officers, and trouble-seeking kids. Much of the film is a gentle parody of the conventions of the European vacation, with Alain Romans’s jaunty, melodic score enhancing the comedy on-screen. We get an immediate sense of what Tati is up to when he juxtaposes the opening credits sequence, a romantic view of crashing waves on a deserted beach, with the sudden cacophony and confusion of a train station overflowing with tourists and travelers, the air filled with distorted announcements over an intercom (it’s not quite the jarring, epochs-spanning cut between a bone-as-weapon and a spaceship that Kubrick would give us a decade and a half later in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but it’s close).

Hulot arrives at the resort, and in keeping with the tradition of so many blissfully unaware screen clowns, commences to wreak havoc everywhere he goes. Yet, the havoc in Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is much different than most movie slapstick in that it rarely gets laughs out of violence and clumsiness. Rather, Tati’s comic rhythms are graceful and almost elegant, heavily reliant on strict timing and careful composition. He gives the film a slow, deliberate pace with a complete reliance on wide shots and long takes (there is not a single close-up or reaction shot in the entire film), which allows his sight gags to build up over time and refuses simple, quick punch-lines. Tati doesn’t try to force your eye toward what’s funny in each scene; rather, he lets you find it on your own.

Tati has the luxury of leisurely pacing because the story isn’t really going anywhere, thus there’s no rush. There are no plot points to follow or problems requiring resolution; rather, Tati is content to follow Hulot and the other amiable hotel guests in their daily activities, which are not that far removed from everyday life. Tati brings a kind of simple realism to his comedy; Hulot is a clown, to be sure, but he is a clown who you wouldn’t be surprised to run into in a hotel lobby or in a restaurant. In fact, Tati based Hulot on a real person, a distracted French soldier he observed while serving as a sergeant in World War II.

Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is a rare film that seamlessly interweaves the tropes of silent and sound comedy. Although there is dialogue in the film, the vast majority of it is unnecessary; you can easily watch and enjoy the film without ever knowing what anyone says. (The original theatrical version was more dialogue heavy, but Tati continued refining it over the years, and by the time he settled on a final version in 1978, almost all dialogue was left on the cutting room floor.) However, that does not mean that sound plays no role in the film’s comedy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Tati was extremely studious in the film’s sound design, and many of the jokes are enhanced by Romans’s score and the various sound effects, from the rattle-trap clattering of Hulot’s car, to the cartoonish thwunk every time a swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room is used, to the use of the natural sounds of birds and the ocean as a background.

Of course, most of the jokes are visual in nature, and they play out as they would on the silent screen (some of the best involve Hulot trying to bring a resistant horse out of a stable and the difficulties he encounters while attempting to straighten a picture on a wall). The end gag is the broadest, as it finds Hulot setting off an entire shed full of fireworks and trying to fill a can of water from a rotating sprinkler. Here, Tati shows that he is just as adept at the art of broad slapstick as he is in the more subtle forms of physical comedy, which is more than enough to point up just what an inventive and assured comedic performer he was.

Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday Criterion Collection Blu-ray
Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is available as part of The Criterion Collection’s “The Complete Jacques Tati” boxset, which also includes Jour de fête (1949), Mon oncle (1958), PlayTime (1967), Trafic (1971), Parade (1974), and a disc of short films. It is available on both Blu-ray (SRP $124.95) and DVD (SRP $99.95).
Aspect Ratio	1.37:1
Audio	French Linear PCM 1.0 monaural English Linear PCM 1.0 monaural
Subtitles	English
Supplements	Introduction by actor and comedian Terry Jones “Clear Skies, Light Breeze,” a 2013 visual essay by Tati expert Stéphane Goudet Interview with Tati from a 1978 episode of the French television program Ciné regards New interview with film composer and critic Michel Chion on Tati’s use of sound design
Distributor	The Criterion Collection
SRP	$124.95 (boxset)
Release Date	October 29, 2014
VIDEO
A long awaited upgrade, Criterion’s new transfer of Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday finally replaces their long-out-of-print 2001 DVD. The new transfer in “The Complete Jacques Tati” boxset comes from an interpositive struck from the original nitrate negative at Technicolor in Burbank, California, where the film was also restored. The overall visual quality of Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is outstanding—a clear improvement over the DVD. The black-and-white picture is absolutely gorgeous, with solid black levels, fine contrast and shading, and a high level of detail that give Tati’s careful compositions and creative use of mise-en-scène their due. Digital and chemical restoration have removed virtually all signs of damage in the form of nicks, tears, or dirt. With the exception of the occasional, barely noticeable vertical line, the image on this disc is pretty much flawless. Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday also features one of the better Linear PCM monaural soundtracks I have heard. Transferred at 24-bit from the soundtrack negative, it is completely free of any hiss or distortion, which is crucial because so much of the film is either silent or features very limited sound effects. Alain Romans’s fun, upbeat score also sounds excellent for a one-channel mix. Also included on the disc is a rare English soundtrack prepared by Tati himself, which is somewhat different from the French soundtrack in both dialogue and effects. It should be noted that the high-definition transfer and restoration of Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is of Tati’s 1978 rerelease version, which is the director’s preferred version that differs quite a bit from the original 1953 theatrical release: the music is different and the film features a completely remixed soundtrack (which is probably why it sounds much better than we would expect from a film made in mono in the early ’50s); almost 12 minutes of footage has been cut out, mostly of dialogue, while some shots have been expanded; and new footage was shot and incorporated in order to extend the shark gag, supposedly in response to the massive success of Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) a few years earlier. Unfortunately, the 1953 version is not treated as well, as it is presented as a supplement in an upconverted standard-definition transfer that has not been afforded the same care of restoration (note, for example, the presence of fairly sizable vertical hairlines in the shot of the boat on the beach just after the credits). It’s wonderful to have it, especially for the completests out there, but it would have been nice if it had been given a better presentation.
SUPPLEMENTS
The supplements begin with a brief introduction by Terry Jones, former Monty Python member and director of several films, which was originally recorded for Criterion’s 2001 DVD. Jones reminisces about his first experience with the Hulot films and tells us what he loves about Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday. The rest of the supplements are all new to the Tati boxset. “Clear Skies, Light Breeze” (2013) is an excellent 40-minute visual essay by Tati expert Stéphane Goudet that offers close thematic and visual analysis. There is also a new 32-minute video interview with film composer and critic Michel Chion about Tati’s clever sound design. From the archives we get an engaging 27-minute interview with Tati from a 1978 episode of the French television program Ciné regards. Tati’s interview is wide-ranging and covers elements of all of his feature films.

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