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Les Vacances de M. Hulot (1953)
(aka Mr. Hulot's Holiday)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 1997

The first of four outings for M. Hulot, Mr. Hulot's Holiday meanders through the ups and downs of his vacation in a plotless and brilliant comedy fashion. In the typical August manifestation, the French public is seen to down tools and migrate to their chosen summer destinations. Some travel on cramped trains, others by bulging bus, those who can by motor car. M. Hulot (Jacques Tati) is somehow a member of the last class, though his prestige is badly damaged by the parlous state of his archaic Amilcar. A spluttering and backfiring cloud of smoke it moves, but only just. Eventually he makes it to the Brittany seaside resort which awaits him, immediately alerting (and alarming) the other guests to his disruptive presence.

In the beachfront hotel there is the usual assortment of surly staff and foreign holidaymaker types, each with their own peculiarities. The Proprietor (Lucien Frégis) is curiously protective of his establishment, frowning at dripping clients yet content to empty ashtrays on the floor. Seemingly aided by only the Waiter (Raymond Carl), he has to deal with the driven Businessman (Jean-Pierre Zola), the bossy Englishwoman (Valentine Camax) and a Commandant (André Dubois) who's living in the past. The brightest ray here is Martine (Nathalie Pascaud), an attractive young lady who catches every man's eye. Unfortunately if Hulot is going to make any progress towards her, he must overcome his crippling shyness and desire to blend into the background.

Produced in the style of the silent comedy greats, Mr. Hulot's Holiday is both an update and a toning-down of these precursors. The preoccupation of Tati is not with colliding increasingly bizarre characters and objects, but with finding the humour in everyday life. Thus a seaside resort presents the perfect opportunity for Hulot's debut; the tourists behave exactly as they would at home, though with the frenzied edge that limited time brings. Hulot is just like everyone else in that he wants to get away and enjoy himself, yet there is a disconnection that invades his every action. While at almost every turn he leaves behind a trail of chaos, he remains oblivious. Besieged by incidents that might make a brave man weep, Hulot is never visibly perturbed or surprised. Why is this? Because, for Tati, Hulot is merely a catalyst and an opening for the audience; the comedy is independent of Hulot, it is in life itself.

This method of working thus explains just why Mr. Hulot's Holiday is so timeless and so approachable. There are no stooges or victims here, merely a fluid set of observations on the human condition; since this is essentially unchanging, an alert viewer will recognise situations and characters on a personal level. Helping this identification along is Tati's placing of the camera in the middle-distance, just where an outside observer might be standing. Without close-ups the extremes of physical comedy are smoothed down to a steady glow, warming the heart without bringing on paroxysms of laughter. So as scene follows scene, each superbly constructed in its own right yet with no particular connection to that which comes before, a nostalgic understanding grows. The gentle humour reaches out and takes you within its arms, like an old friend.

Strangely, while Hulot is not exactly the focus of Mr. Hulot's Holiday, he is the stand-out character. The reason for this is Tati's tremendously magnetic, if low-key, performance and mastery of physical comedy. Imbued with a stalk-like walk, he is always indecisive, missing steps and swaying back and forth in conflict. Often in a daze, though unflaggingly polite, he only picks up on things a few seconds after everyone else. Why does this make him such a joy to watch? Because he is genuine and he tries hard to do the right thing, qualities which all can admire. The more minor cast members are somewhat less impressive, though commandingly handled by Tati the director. The best that can be said about them is that they fill their roles with truth, missing out on poisonous sentimentality in any shape or form.

On the technical side, Tati never reaches for, or even seems to manufacture, a gag; they're simply there to be experienced. Even better he hardly ever does the obvious thing with a joke, sometimes to the extent of starting a sequence then simply dropping it and moving onto something else. These are marvellous facilities that Tati uses to the full; his locations are marvels of detail that disguise the effort put into creating them. Such perfection is also present in the soundtrack of Mr. Hulot's Holiday, a masterpiece of effects and music. Shorn of dialogue, the film is heavily dependent upon Tati's creativity in this sphere; he never falters. Perfect synchronisation creates an instantly familiar atmosphere, encompassing background and off-screen events alongside the central action. Ultimately Mr. Hulot's Holiday doesn't give you what you expect - it gives you what you need.


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