Rating:

One of the most endearing traits of Jacques Tati's Playtime is that you can watch it 50 times and never see the same film twice.  It is so rich, so full of comic exuberance, keen observations, and little details that there is a constant battle between my eyes and brain over what part of the screen to watch.  Seen in a theater on a 70 mm print, as it was meant to be seen, the comedy flows through you like a drug and each new high is found in the very next frame or even somewhere else in the existing frame.  In a film with thousands of people - starring all and none of them - and a set called Tativille, with its own road and several large buildings, Tati manages to orchestrate every character's motion, each gliding camera movement, and every background noise into a beautiful statement on the pettiness, vulnerability, and, more importantly, the comic possibilities of mankind.  There is no real plot, aside from Tati himself wondering throughout the city, but that is because Playtime is about something bigger.  It shows the world not necessarily how it is, but how it should be seen.  In this achievement, Tati satirizes our over-indulgence in technology yet embraces everything that remains human within us, allowing us to see the absurdity and wonder of being a part of humanity in the modern age.

Unlike his previous Monsieur Hulot films, Tati himself is not the center of attention, but merely an onlooker who is as much a participant in the comedy of daily living as the rest of us.  The camera is always observing, never intruding and functioning as the eye of the world.  It is certainly the most egalitarian film ever made as every person and object is given the same importance since the possibility of comedy exists everywhere and within us all.  The mise-en-scene is densely layered, usually packed with props and characters in the background, drawing attention to everything, yet rarely any one gag in particular.  The effect this has on the viewer cannot be appreciated outside of a theatrical setting - I noticed several times that I - or several others in the audience - found myself laughing alone.  Perhaps because your neighbor or the person behind you is seeing something different, Tati requested that audience members shout out when they see something of interest or a small detail that may have escaped others.  Although I assume this tradition is rarely upheld today, its communal spirit lives on in the film itself.

The complexity of the visual schemes Tati sets up not only leaves room for infinite permutations of comic possibilities, but they work with the soundtrack (an amusing combination of overlapping dialogue, quirky sounds, and absurd, shallow comments from American tourists) to create a rhythmic, almost operatic effect that keeps Playtime moving smoothly from the first to final shot.  The light, buoyant tone that these techniques create makes it easy to overlook some of the darker themes that are being dealt with.  Since Jour de Fete, each successive Tati film has focused on the increasing modernization and urbanization of France.  The American influence is increasingly felt in each, until Playtime, where the presence of American tourists, large skyscrapers, obsession with useless gadgets, and the barriers the modern world places between individual communication is the sign of cultural domination.  The France of the late 40s that Tati filmed in Jour de Fete has been methodically erased and covered by the capitalist paradise we see here.  It is fortunate that in the end, Tati had his revenge - he mocked the absurdity of the culture in the first half and in the brilliant tour de force restaurant sequence, destroys all semblance of class and order, making the selfish, callous bourgeoisie crumble under their own faulty constructions.  The fact that Tati expresses all of this with a warm heart and a smile is a miracle in itself.  To categorize this film as a comedy is doing it a major disservice, as it far greater than the sum of its laughs and gags - it is a new way of seeing the world around us and is both life affirming in its vision and brilliant in its satire.