A decade in the making and, at the time, the most expensive film ever made in France, PlayTime is indeed a cinematic masterpiece, and it indeed ruined Tati financially when it flopped at the box office, both in France and abroad, and underwhelmed (or was misunderstood by) critics. He would go on to make two more films, Trafic (1971) and Parade (1974), but neither would come close to touching the achievement of PlayTime and its simple, yet profound, observations of human life in the increasingly alienating modern world.

Of course, it is impossible to fully appreciate PlayTime without having seen the two films that preceded it, Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (1953), which introduced audiences to Tati’s near-silent screen clown Monsieur Hulot, and Mon oncle (1958), which used Hulot as a peripheral character in a study of two competing worlds, the old and the new. Tati and his cinematic alter ego, Hulot, were both firmly rooted in the old world, symbolized in Hulot’s pleasantly rough working-class neighborhood.

PlayTime is borne directly out of Mon oncle, with the difference being that there is no longer a competition between the two worlds: The old has lost, and the realm of sterile modernization—of synthetic black chairs, glass and steel skyscrapers, and glossy waxed floors—has prevailed. The only glimpses of the old world we catch in PlayTime are literally dim reflections in glass doors and windows. The rest of Paris has been subsumed by mindless progress and has devolved into an alien, but strikingly recognizable, futuristic cityscape.

Of course, the Paris in PlayTime has never really existed. Built almost entirely on studio lots at great expense, the Paris we see here is a projection, Tati’s imagination of the worst possible outcome of modernization in which all remnants of the old—the fully human—have been wiped away in the pursuit of cleanliness, order, and convenience. For Tati, this meant the erasure of all that was wonderful about humanity, and he literalizes this in the film by filling the distant background of his shots with cardboard stand-ins for people that don’t do anything except take up space.

Like Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday and Mon oncle, PlayTime has no real plot to speak of. Tati simply follows his hero, Monsieur Hulot—always recognizable in the crowd with his pleasantly goofy stride and signature raincoat, hat, umbrella, and argyle socks—over the course of a day in Paris. He is ostensibly there to make an appointment in an office building, but it never comes about because of a series of misadventures and accidents. He ends up running into some old friends and eventually winds up in a polished high-class restaurant that is the epitome of posh blandness.

In PlayTime, we can see Tati’s signature visual style reach the apotheosis of its subtle creativity. Few directors have ever reached the venerable auteur status with so few films to their credit (Tati only directly six features in his lifetime), yet few directors have been so unique and consistent in their cinematic vision as Tati. PlayTime is composed almost entirely of static long and medium shots—there is not a single close-up to be found, and when the camera moves, it is usually a short dolly. Tati doesn’t draw attention to any one thing in the frame because there is always more than one thing going on (this is why his films demand multiple viewings).

PlayTime is by far his most complex work in terms of mis-en-scene. This was Tati’s first use of widescreen, and he made the most of it, shooting the film in 70mm, the scope and detail of which gave him that much more of a canvas on which to work. His compositions are exquisite, deftly capturing the modern world and the people in it. There is no main character here; Hulot moves through the action, but he is rarely the center of attention. Rather, Tati’s camera is fascinated by interactions—interactions among people, interactions between people and their environment, and even interactions among various parts of the environment itself.

Tati constructs the modern world as nearly monochromatic; most of the architecture is glass and cold steel, but even the interiors are bland and gray, from the office building, to the restaurant, to his friend’s apartment (a logical extension of the color scheme in parts of Mon oncle). What seems to bother Tati the most about modernism is the lack of contrast—the uniformity of the world. This is perhaps best realized in a throwaway sequence in a travel agency, where the posters on the wall advertise trips to Mexico, Hawaii, and Stockholm, yet each poster features a picture of an interchangeable glass office building. The modern disdain for the ancient is best represented in a scene in a shopping mall in which reproducible remnants of ancient Greece are turned in kitschy garbage cans.

Tati keeps the film rolling with his unique brand of comedy, which by this point he had fine-tuned to a perfected art. Tati’s comedy is constructed of timing and composition. He doesn’t guide the viewer to the joke, but rather lets the viewer find it for him- or herself. Tati is also fond of running gags, such as the doorman who continues to hold out a door handle and act as though he is opening a plate-glass door even though Hulot broke it. There are moments of great hilarity scattered throughout PlayTime, but mostly you just marvel at Tati’s invention and audacity. PlayTime is certainly a masterpiece, and it is one of the great shames of cinema history that it wrecked Tati’s career.

PlayTime Criterion Collection Blu-ray
PlayTime is available as part of The Criterion Collection’s “The Complete Jacques Tati” boxset, which also includes Jour de fête (1949), Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (1953), Mon oncle (1958), 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	1.85:1
Audio	French DTS-HD Master Audio 3.0 surround
Subtitles	English
Supplements	Introduction by actor and comedian Terry Jones Three selected-scene commentaries, by film historian Philip Kemp, theater director Jérôme Deschamps, and Jacques Tati expert Stéphane Goudet Like Home (2013) visual essay by Goudet “Tativille,” 1967 episode of the British television program Tempo International Beyond “PlayTime” (2002) documentary Interview from 2006 with script supervisor Sylvette Baudrot Audio interview with Tati from the U.S. debut of PlayTime at the 1972 San Francisco Film Festival Alternate English-language soundtrack
Distributor	The Criterion Collection
SRP	$124.95 (boxset)
Release Date	October 29, 2014
VIDEO
In all honesty, no one can claim that he or she has really seen PlayTime unless it was viewed in a theater projected in 70mm, as Tati originally intended (and I am proud to say that I can lay claim to that, having seen it during its revival at the Paramount Theater in Austin, Texas, in 2004). But, of course, with the rare exception of such a revival, the only way you can see it is on home video, and Criterion’s new Blu-ray from “The Complete Jacques Tati” boxset is as good as it comes. This is actually the second time Criterion has issued PlayTime on Blu-ray, and the transfer included in this boxset is brand new and differs from the previous one in some significant ways. For starters, the transfer was sourced from three different elements: the original 65mm camera negative, a 1967 internegative, and a 2002 interpositive (the transfer was made at Arane-Gulliver in Clichy, France, where it was also restored). The initial transfer was made in 6.5K resolution (would love to see that!) and the restoration was done in 4K, so this is by far the sharpest, most detailed, and information-rich digital version of the film ever made. Interestingly, the color timing has shifted back to the slightly greenish tinge we saw on the original DVD transfer. It is not nearly as green as the DVD, but it definitely looks different than the steely-blue look of the previous Blu-ray (which some criticized as looking too “cool”). I’m not sure why there has been so much disagreement as to the color timing of this film and why Criterion has switched back and forth between two distinctly different looks, but given the involvement of the Tati estate with this boxset and the decision to go back to the greener hue, I have to assume that this is the intended look of the film (it does match up more closely with the color timing of the new transfers of both Mon oncle and Trafic). There are occasional flashes of brilliant color breaking up the film’s largely monochromatic palette—a red flower, a green dress, a bright blue bus—and these stand out beautifully. Digital restoration has removed most imperfections, including quite a few vertical white lines and some speckling from the DVD. The new image is finely detailed and very sharp, which helps draw out Tati’s superb compositions and attention to every last nuance. The version of Playtime presented here runs 124 minutes, which is the same as the 2006 Special Edition DVD and the 2009 Blu-ray. When it originally premiered in 1967, the film was 153 minutes long (some sources have said 155 minutes), but Tati eventually edited it down to about two hours (the fact that this transfer was made partially from the 65mm negative confirms that Tati cut the original negative to make the shorter version). In the liner notes of the original Criterion release, Kent Jones noted that no one knows the location of the 30 or so minutes that were cut, although in his article “The Death of Hulot,” Jonathan Rosenbaum noted that, as late as 1977, Tati still had possession of an original 70mm print of the original minute cut. It is a shame that much of that footage is now missing, as it would be fascinating to be able to compare Tati’s original vision with what he finally ended up with. Nevertheless, the version presented here is the one that was restored in 2002 and is the most complete version currently available. All of Tati’s films are heavily reliant on their soundtracks, and the DTS-HD Master Audio three-channel stereo mix included here is excellent. The original 70mm version had six-track sound, but all the speakers were intended to be placed behind the screen, so I’m assuming the three-track stereo mix here best replicates the sound directionality Tati intended (it was mastered at 24-bit from Tati’s final 70mm six-track mix from 1978). This is an incredibly nuanced soundtrack, with depth, scope, and direction. Sound effects are abundant throughout, and certain scenes in PlayTime are played out almost like musical setpieces. Like the reissued DVD and initial Blu-ray release, there is an option of two soundtracks: the original French soundtrack and an alternate international soundtrack. There is not a lot of difference between the two because the film has so little dialogue; the international soundtrack simply uses more English.
SUPPLEMENTS
The majority of the supplements included on Criterion’s Blu-ray of PlayTime first appeared on their 2006 two-disc Special Edition DVD and three years later on their initial Blu-ray release, although some of the material from those editions have been shifted to other discs in the boxset and a few new things have been added. The first supplement actually dates back to Criterion’s original 2002 single-disc DVD: a six-minute video introduction by ex-Monty Python member Terry Jones, who reminisces about his first time seeing the film and gives a few insights into its production. Then we have the same selected scene audio commentary by film historian Philip Kemp (running about 45 minutes total), who offers some intriguing and extremely informative insight into the film over seven scenes. This edition adds two new selected-scene commentaries, one by Jacques Tati expert Stéphane Goudet (who talks over two scenes) and one by theater director Jérôme Deschamps (who talks over four scenes). Also new to this edition is “Like Home,” an 18-minute visual essay in which Goudet analyzes the film’s visual style, and “Tativille,” a 26-minute episode of the British television program Tempo International from 1967 that features extensive behind-the-scenes footage during the production of the film, especially during the shooting of the restaurant scene, and several interviews with Tati from the set. From the 2006 DVD we get “Beyond PlayTime,” a short documentary featuring archival behind-the-scenes footage from the set of Tativille, including its unfortunate destruction. Also from that disc is an 11-minute video interview with Sylvette Baudrot, a long-time script supervisor who worked with Tati on three of his films, including PlayTime, and 14 minutes of an audio interview with Tati from the film’s U.S. debut at the 1972 San Francisco International Film Festival.

Copyright ©2014 James Kendrick

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