Jacques Tati, My Uncle, 1958, stills from a color film in 35 mm, 115 minutes. Left: Gerard Arpel and Monsieur Hulot (Alain Bécourt and Jacques Tati). Right: Monsieur Hulot (Jacques Tati) (center).


SIMULTANEOUSLY CELEBRATED and overshadowed, My Uncle (1958) represents the peak of pantomime genius Jacques Tati’s career and yet earns a place in his sparse filmography as a transitional film. Located in between the earthy yet moribund “traditional France” satirized in Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (1953) and the insulated postmodern fun house of 1967 debacle/masterpiece Playtime, the setting of My Uncle depicts the former world giving way to the latter, with outdoor markets and quaint three-story walk-ups slowly being replaced by automated houses and efficient industrial plants. The contrast is especially marked in the shorter, reedited version of the 1958 original, featuring alternate takes and English dubbing that further accentuate Tati’s signature theme of globalized uniformity.

Lanky, befuddled, and moving with a staggeringly stiff gait that can best be described as hastily hesitant, Tati’s Monsieur Hulot is, of course, the bumbling refugee from a simpler era who must navigate the film’s different worlds. But whereas Buster Keaton’s The Electric House (1922) or Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times (1936) commented on the disorienting modern industrial era by employing jolting, even violent slapstick, Tati’s stategy is relatively subdued in its amusement. Like much of the Tati universe, My Uncle centers around the sight gag more than the physical gag, and the film’s real protagonist turns out to be the antiseptic, button-operated home of Hulot’s bourgeois, socialite sister Madame Arpel (Adrienne Servantie), with its inconvenient, surrealistically streamlined aesthetic—a garden that must be tiptoed through via haphazard paths, a fish-shaped fountain spewing too-blue water, a kitchen that looks and functions like a dentist’s office.

Comfortably situated in his dilapidated yet close-knit working-class environs, raincoat-attired, pipe-smoking Hulot causes chaos when placed in front of anything slightly modern, though just as often the supporting players find themselves flummoxed by the gadgets with which they’ve surrounded themselves. Disasters and visual puns patiently unfold in perfectly choreographed long shots that subordinate human beings to architecture, give precedence to aural rhythms (sci-fi hums, squeaks, and swooshes) over platitudinous dialogue, and allow the simultaneous occurrence of multiple planes of action (and bold, Pop art color, a first for Tati). As with Holiday and Playtime, the film reaches a high point in a posh party that disintegrates into anarchy as one accoutrement after another is destroyed or else wittily reconfigured for alternate use. Laugh-out-loud moments are rare but well earned; “aha” moments in which one recognizes the follies of technological absurdity are constant.

Though My Uncle’s pokes at the encroaching ersatz values and mindless consumerism of postwar France can be occasionally blunt (a drab, suburbanite couple offers another couple some plastic flowers as a gift), and though it views a vanishing era through a somewhat nostalgic lens (Hulot’s nephew breaks free from his mother and father’s materialistic existence to join a band of creatively mischievous kids who seem to have come from another time), Tati’s humor isn’t merely in the service of a reactionary Luddism. “You just have to get used to these things,” exclaims Arpel to her hopelessly old-fashioned maid in one of the film’s few important lines of dialogue. A decade later, Playtime would realize in the most radical, innovative terms Tati’s vision of a society completely overwhelmed by machines designed to make life easier, but in My Uncle he was already demonstrating that “getting used to” social estrangement—not to mention its accompanying bafflement—may be nearly impossible, even if the things that cause it are the stuff of comic malleability.

Michael Joshua Rowin

A new 35-mm restoration of Jacques Tati’s My Uncle runs September 8–16 at Film Forum in New York. For more details, click here.