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In the small rural town of Sainte-Sévère-sur-Indre, the annual travelling fair is an occasion of great celebration. Children and adults alike spring from the woodwork, stretching in an insectile convoy behind the caravan. It seems almost as if the locals have been storing up their excitement for an entire year; at the very least the mayor has been planning this particular celebration for that long. With practised ease the fair owner Roger (Guy Decomble) begins assembly, handing down merry-go-round horses to enthusiastic kids. On the sidelines an old woman dryly remarks on the furore; she's seen it all before. For the townspeople this is merely an excuse to get stinking drunk, temporarily forgetting harvest troubles. With a great deal of noise the flagpole is broken out of storage, ready to be put up before the men become incapable. Unfortunately even sober their attempt is pitifully inept.
Pedalling onto the scene comes François (Jacques Tati), the village postman and general target of mirth. Burdened by a somewhat misplaced sense of his own importance, François is renowned for being easily teased. Appeal to his vanity and he'll do almost anything, which includes "supervising" the flagpole raising. Despite the near-disaster that ensues, François tries to ride away happy in the knowledge of a job well done. Regrettably he gets dragged in by the cafe owner (Jacques Beauvais) and plied with alcohol; his descent into stupor only halted by the film-show outside. Here they've humorously rigged up footage of stuntmen to narration that praises the bravery of the US postal service. Completely taken in by the jape, François determines to emulate their daredevil prowess. Naturally he's headed for a catastrophe of epic proportion.
While Jour de fête represents Tati's feature film debut, many years were spent honing his touch with comic shorts. Of these, his 1947 film L'Ecoles des facteurs stands as the direct antecedent to this later masterpiece. Here the simple notion of an annual fair is extended to place both the town in comic relief and to bring life to Tati's inept but humorous postman. In the first half of the story the inhabitants, young and old, cross the screen in a naturalistic procession. With a deft touch the social strata are laid bare, indicating how everyone has a place in the largely self-sufficient countryside economy. When François springs onto the scene it's clear that he's viewed as a figure of fun by all and sundry; yet because he accepts this with equanimity, he is loved and (to a degree) respected. The beauty of this vision is that despite the evocative muted colour scheme, this is no idyll; it's a wonderfully real world where people get mad and get drunk, just like the rest of us.
At the hub of Jour de fête stands Tati; director, writer and actor. His touch is integral to the film yet at no point does he, like François, overwhelm the picture. Instead the watchword here is subtlety, gently teasing a mild but penetrating humour from everyday situations. Thus Jour de fête is a warm and loving farce with one crucial twist; the extraordinary genius for visual comedy exhibited by Tati. His François is a man of badly judged action and crazy reaction, neither of which surprise him even as his predicament spirals wildly out of control. So perfectly timed is this kinetic jigsaw that Tati's repeated drunken attempts to mount his steed rouse laughter out of all proportion to the scene; Tati makes the obvious hilarious. Surrounding him is a cast of unknowns and amateurs, all uncannily right for their roles. There are no "beautiful people" here.
A point which became clear to Tati subsequent to Jour de fête was that the character of François was ultimately too constraining. There's only so much to do with a village postman; hence the cipher of Hulot was born. The great thing about Jour de fête is that Tati takes François right to the limit, then calls a halt just as he soars to the heights of mayhem. It's a brave move yet one in harmony with the Tati tradition of cinema. Combining the best of the previous generation of silent comedians into one unique package, he seems to crave the danger of creating cliff-edge situations right before your eyes. Even though the comic bones are there for all to see, Tati swirls his cape with a flourish and creates cinematic heaven. The addition of colour fails to alter this in any fundamental way, it merely gives the film a different angle and enhances the period feel. After all when you've got a classic to play with, why ruin it for no purpose?
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