Monsieur Hulot's Holiday

Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is a warm, precise comedy, and we recommend it with a small warning about its leisurely pace. Hulot is on holiday, but his well-meaning attempts to join in keep inconveniencing the people around him. Tati gives that simple situation enough care to make an open door worth watching. The pleasure comes from noticing how little it takes to make a gathering uncomfortable.

We laughed aloud when Hulot left the hotel door open and let the draught cause trouble. The mistake is so small, and the inconvenience spreads so readily, that the comedy hardly seems to require any effort. It also tells us how to watch the film: keep looking at what happens around Hulot, rather than concentrating exclusively on the man himself. He can be funny without having to perform another feat of clumsiness.

Jacques Mercanton and Jean Mousselle’s photography keeps that sort of physical joke readable. We need to understand where Hulot stands and what his movements disturb, and the images give us that information without fuss. The hotel-door routine works because we can connect a small action with the inconvenience it causes. There is pleasure in being allowed to make that connection without having every consequence pointed out to us.

Editors Jacques Grassi, Charles Bretoneiche and Suzanne Baron are important to the humour. Their timing lets a mishap register before the next piece of business competes with it, although this patience sometimes becomes a liability. A few routines carry on after we have understood everything they are going to do. We would lose a little of the lingering, but keep the pauses that let Hulot’s good intentions become embarrassingly clear.

Henri Schmitt and Roger Briaucourt’s production design gives the hotel a useful ordinariness; nothing needs to look especially comic for a door to become a problem. The surroundings suit a comedy in which fitting in ought to be easy and somehow isn’t. Alain Romans’s music helps the holiday feel unhurried, though its friendliness occasionally makes the comedy feel too comfortable. The semi-silent humour is most rewarding when it keeps us alert to the next small disturbance.

Tati’s performance makes the clumsiness endearing without asking us to pretend it would be pleasant to have Hulot nearby. We recognise the effort to behave properly even while the behaviour becomes a nuisance. The connection with older silent-film comedy is evident in the pantomime, and some of that business can feel familiar. What keeps it engaging is Tati’s interest in the embarrassment of someone who means well and still gets things wrong. He allows us to enjoy the mistake without making the person seem worthless.

We would choose it for an evening when conversation can wait and nobody needs the plot to hurry them along. The occasional slack stretch is a real reservation, especially for anyone who prefers comedy to keep escalating. Yet the care taken over a guest’s smallest mistake makes close watching worthwhile. Give it your attention rather than leaving it on while you do something else.