Playtime, directed by Jacques Tati, became France’s most expensive film in 1967, showcasing the sprawling, surreal world of Tativille. Like Tati’s other films, the dialogue here is sparse and muted, nudging the audience to focus on visual gags and behavioral quirks in an overly stylized environment. There is barely any plot, and the dialogue does not matter. Tati’s iconic alter ego, Monsieur Hulot, who first appeared in Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (1953), is present but often blends into the crowd.
The audience is primed to watch Hulot’s signature look—pipe, raincoat, and hat—as he wanders through Paris, looking out of place amidst the urban sprawl and modern gadgets. Hulot is to Tati what The Tramp was to Charlie Chaplin: a beloved character. However, unlike Chaplin, Tati seems eager to go beyond his famous creation, using Hulot as a gateway to explore entire environments, moving past traditional narratives to spotlight visual humor.
Without Hulot’s popularity, Playtime might have struggled commercially. While Hulot is technically in the movie, his role is minimal—he is just another face in the crowd. Moreover, that is precisely the point: Tati wants the audience to notice the world around them, uncovering humor, beauty, tragedy, and everything in between in the mundane.
Originally titled Récréation, Playtime critiques modern urban life while extending the ideas from Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday. The movie immerses us in Tativille, a dreamlike version of Paris, with its endless steel-and-glass structures in muted shades of gray. Hulot stumbles through these artificial spaces—airport corridors, maze-like office cubicles, trade shows, cramped apartments, chaotic restaurants, and that iconic door that seems to lead nowhere.
Systems are predetermined, but Hulot is not the motor; he becomes the basement-filling anchor in a bustling urban scene. Tati can then orchestrate all sorts of elaborate happenings in spaces. Real-world exteriors flow unhindered from the film into breathtaking detail caught with stunning 70mm: it is a leap forward into cinema for Tati. However, paying for such an ambition was tremendously expensive. He practically recreated an entire city segment to put his fantasy into practice.
Tati’s obsessive attention to detail shines through, even if it means stretching his resources to the limit.
Plot-wise, there is not much to Playtime. The movie follows American tourists who arrive at a Paris airport for a whirlwind European trip. Barbara, one of the tourists (Tati’s real-life neighbor and lover), plays a small, primarily symbolic role. Like Hulot, she does not do much in the story—she is more of a familiar face thrown in for a small quantity of fan service. It is easy to miss her appearance midway through the film because it is not meant to be central to the story.
The arrival was by plane but was further compounded by the diversion caused by Hulot-like figures dropping their umbrellas. Then came employment as a car salesperson, his brother-in-law in Mon Oncle. The audience’s first sighting of him is boarding a bus. Meanwhile, leaving the airport, Barbara’s tourist group overflows in, opening onto the sprawling world of Tativille, an interwoven maze of city streets, trade fairs, offices, apartment buildings, restaurants, and all that busy people bustling about that join through a series of fun interlinked jibes from funny street signs to prompts for exploring the world.
Tati keeps the camera far away, paying special attention to the principal shots. The shots invite the audience to explore the scene for jokes and subtexts that require viewing the action from various angles within the frame.
Playtime explores the alienation of modern life through Tativille’s unfettered visuals. While rooted in his stage experience, Tati’s comedic style blends careful choreography with improvisation. Hulot’s movements disobey everyday rigidity and illustrate the film’s central hook of space amidst confusion.
The production encountered severe uncertainties, with filming transiting over 365 days. Tati took on fierce economic problems, counting on state loans, vending assets, and pursuing help from friends, family, and fans. He bartered the ownership of his last three works to complete the film. With a final budget of five and twelve million francs, Tativille’s scope became both a load and an explanatory trait. Tati quipped that the cost of constructing Tativille could have secured a cast of famous actors, yet its grand vision cemented the film’s legacy.
Initially, Tati’s cameraman, Jean Badal, suggested constructing a single building for production. However, Tati had a much bigger, more idealistic vision. His newly formed company, Specta Films, decided to build an entire cityscape with large buildings, offices, and even an airport. While this construction was not intended to be functional or resold, Tati hoped it would serve as a resource for the French film industry.
Construction on Tativille began in September 1964, but delays and budget issues cropped up almost immediately. The project was not completed until March 1965, leaving Tati with an unfinished set, a stretched budget, and an enormous challenge ahead.
Using 70mm panoramic film, Playtime creates a sense of expansive visual detail within the sprawling world of Tativille. Tati’s decision to adopt a rectangular widescreen format was driven by his desire to capture a broader frame, moving beyond his earlier films’ standard square aspect ratio. This choice was not just about scale—it was about creating a more immersive experience, even though finding cinemas equipped with 70mm projectors capable of doing justice to his vision was (and still is) rarer than a Tarantino screening in 70mm.
For Tati, Playtime‘s instruments were not about pageants but subtlety. The frame urges viewers to catch the little pieces, like a single plug dropping in a vacant room, rather than driving them toward a Hollywood-style act. He evades close-ups wholly, giving the whole atmosphere on the net. It lets the audience analyze each scene’s meaning organically instead of standing spoon-fed pictorial lines. It is a method that blends cinema and art, encouraging viewers to find humor in unexpected ways.
Interestingly, Tati only shows Paris’s iconic monuments as reflections—illusions he carefully constructed for Playtime. Take, for example, the sequence where five workers balance large glass panels several stories above the ground. Below, a crowd gathers, captivated by the precarious act. However, here is the twist: the workers are holding nothing. It is all a pantomime designed to draw attention to the magic and whimsy of everyday movements. It is one of the most clever and playful uses of glass in cinema.
Countless other jokes and gags involving glass, pantomimes, and subtle gestures are scattered throughout the film. To fully appreciate them, you must watch Playtime multiple times, analyzing every detail from different angles—up close, at a distance, or as part of the bigger picture.
Tati saw himself as a filmmaker and a high-level artist, comparing his process to a painter working on a canvas. He described Playtime as a piece of absurd art, emphasizing his innovative approach to traditional cinema. His method rejected conventional narratives in favor of a deliberate, formal style that felt methodical and elegant.
Tati transforms the audience into participants in his absurd, meticulously crafted world by keeping the audience at a distance. This approach mirrors the process of a stand-up comedian, where the humor emerges from what is said or done and the subtle, often unnoticed details. Playtime, like all of Tati’s works, invites us into a world where even the most mundane moments become extraordinary. When viewers allow themselves to pay attention indeed, everyday life transforms into a form of recreation, turning everyone into an actor in the theater of the ordinary.
References
- Allen, R. (2013). Tati and the City: The Urban Space of Playtime. In J. Smith (Ed.), The City in Cinema (pp. 121-139). University of Chicago Press.
- Ciment, M. (2012). Jacques Tati: The Complete Films. Phaidon Press.
- Forbes, B. (2015). Visual Gags in Tati’s Playtime: An Exploration of Space and Movement. Journal of Film Studies, 21(3), 45-59.
- McDonald, T. (2010). The Cinema of Jacques Tati: The Search for Modernity. Cambridge University Press.
- Tati, J. (Director). (1967). Playtime [Film]. Specta Films.
Comments
I knew there were more Hulot films, but have only seen the first. Had no idea, this big-budget epic Hulot. Sadly, artistic success often leads to over-spending and, as in this case, commercial failure. Fascinating story behind it all.
Cases like this also apply with films like 2001: A Space Odyssey with Rashomon, albeit in a different context, where it takes decades to appreciate both films. As you said, Playtime, on the other hand, has a unique story behind the making and the content of the entire film. Thank you.