If you are the sort of minority interest viewer who is not put off by the fact that this is subtitled, family viewing and filmed in 1949, then this is just for you. Witty, light-hearted innocent and wonderfully evocative of a holiday in rural France. By 'ek you can smell the sun on t' olive tree. The postman character is slap stick, but in a manner quite different to Keaton/Chaplin. Much more personable, and distinctly French. Although it is entirely suitable viewing for any age the humour would be lost on viewers between 8 and 20.
How can one review Jacques Tati? To watch him is to surrender willingly to a mood which some call slapstick, others the higher whimsy. As with Chaplin and Keaton before him, there is an inner logic to the absurd situations in which he finds himself as a simple man up against the System. In his first feature Jour de Fête (1949) he is a postman in a country town where, for Bastille Day, a flagpole is being erected, at which his assistance is, fortunately for us, inept. Duly plied with alcohol, he is goaded at the showing in a tent of a film about the extraordinary American innovation in delivering mail across that continent - a matter of aeroplanes and helicopters.
Inspired, deluded, he feels sure that he and his bicycle can match this locally. No more dawdling, he is determined the next day to ensure that this holiday he will be more hard-working than ever.
And so it is that the bicycle, often filmed - somehow - with a phantom life of its own, it traverses the lanes and squares at the mercy of a vacant saddle. Against the odds, the wheels survive many a tumble as the hapless Tati chases after it.
As one hoots, mere prose cannot match these visual delights, nor can one rise to the heights of Jean Yatove's jaunty music. The film was made in both colour and, as a safety measure, black and white, but, in the late-Forties, it was impossible to process the former, and so for a long while it was not seen as intended. Restoration of the colour brings a new-dimension to the film: it has a pleasingly bleached quality, one might say the equivalent of sepia; it is perfectly suited to the twin forces of a tranquil town against which Tati's frantic activities take place.
In this bleak midwinter, can there be any better way of alleviating the spirits than watching this with some pastis to hand?
For many years, to English speakers, Jacques Tati /was/French comedy. Maybe it helped that speech played little part in his comic art. There is some dialogue but he explored visual and character based humour which feels rooted in the musical hall. This was his debut as writer/director/star and predates his creation of Monsieur Hulot...
He is François, the postman, an irascible and pompous yet forlorn middle aged public servant working in a French rural backwater forsaken by progress. The routines are episodic, centred on preparations for the annual fiesta, which mainly amounts to a merry-go-round and getting drunk. But the principal routine involves Tati trying to compete with US postal efficiencies.
And after a slow start, the comedy gains momentum and becomes lot of fun, with the postman's bicycle his indispensable prop; it gets a credit. Tati has his own unique style, which has been copied. But in terms of global comedy he crosses the expressiveness of Charlie Chaplin with the mid-life frustration of WC Fields. Some gags go back to the Lumière Brothers!
It's his lanky, jerky choreography that sets him apart. There's some subtext about modernisation which remained a key theme for Monsieur Hulot. The support cast does little but provoke the officious postal worker into spasms of buffoonish overreaction. Children may no longer sit still for this cheerful optimism; but it should hit the spot with nostalgics.