tattarrattat

After being sated with a screening of Mon Oncle, I was seated waving my legs with all their childish energy in anticipation of part two of the Tati double feature which played Saturday, February 13th at the Siskel Film Center, where my gut was boldly intuitive of a most favorable reaction for Trafic. It's a dangerous and rather empty intuition which spurs from your gut -- and, really, what prophecy isn't? -- but it was a most fortunate accident for the film to play out more favorably than I could ever have imagined.
It didn't require much research to conjecture that Trafic was made mainly out of necessity to help Tati refund himself through the financial blow he took with Playtime. Moreover, after Playtime, apparently Tati never intended to make another film starring M. Hulot since the ending excused the use of a central comedian in favor of comedy's many variables. Therefore, with the mess of dire necessity suddenly on his plate, Tati reversed his notions and cooked up what is considered to be a quick and easy picture.
It seems that the somewhat conventional narrative and the considerably stripped visuals of Trafic are a sorry reaction to how Playtime fared with its audiences. Although the little funding Tati received for the project and the comparatively rushed planning certainly contributed to the films sort of undeveloped feel.
However, the situation which begat the film suggests a continuation of Tati's philosophy during what is a genuinely bitter and unexpected travail. This time around, the satire is unsure and some of it kindly points the finger at M. Hulot himself, who is the inventor of the do everything automobile which is supposed to be the showcase of an autoshow in Amsterdam. The idea turns out to be rather showy and silly and the transportation of it shows up to be a pain. The trip constantly digresses with car troubles, troubles with the police, and an elaborate accident, each situation again digressing from itself to the lives and personalities of locals. In fact, there are many other flighty digressions throughout the movie which aren't triggered by much of anything, the most delightful consisting of a candid montage of drivers carelessly picking their noses.
There is a sweet and autobiographical lyricism in the main characters' finding respite from their confounded odyssey in the cast of characters who accompany them through the apparent frustrations they face. The most striking event being the aforementioned elaborate accident, which at least shows to be the only gag of pure design -- besides the car and the soundtrack -- which is immediately followed by a sympathy towards all of the drivers and passengers hurt in the accident, then a special care by Hulot to an older gentleman who arrives late at the scene, crashes, and finds himself hurt. Hulot takes on the responsibility of taking the gentleman into care by delivering him to his home where we witness some of Hulot's trademark slapstick, too precious for words. Meanwhile, the truckdriver (Oh, right, there is a truckdriver and a public relations person (or something) who accompany Hulot through this trip, their roles weren't mentioned not out of unimportance, but out of fault of a lazy summary.) finds the pivotal automobile severely dented from the accident and winds up taking it to a most charming mechanic. The location of the garage turns out to be as close to an idyllic paradise as one would find in pictures, not because of the winds or blues or greens, but instead the beauty is translated through the characters and their amiability to one another.

Then the crew finally make it to the autoshow only to arrive too late for competition then Hulot and the public relations girl whose name is Francoise walk out and around in the rain.

The bittersweet nature of the film with all its baggage and its throw away narrative reminded me of a quote by Jean Renoir which I heard in the BBC documentary Jean Renoir:

When a picture is finished, it's successful, not successful --
I would prefer it to have it be a successful picture
because it convinces the producers to ask me to make another one,
that's the only reason -- but to look at the picture,
to watch the picture, I'm not interested.
What interests me is to make it!
It is to be on the stage with the actors, technicians,
and to try to build up something.
Now something which makes it even more delightful
is that I'm never making it alone
I'm trying to make it with the actors, the technicians.
I'm trying, you know, to catch what they have in mind.
I'm trying to discover human beings.
And sometimes I do!

This collaborative humor which Tati perfects in Playtime, and realizes in the meanest and mundanest of situations in Trafic, he exercises without any sort of boundaries, restraints, or frills in Parade. A toybox of endless joy and beauty where, as Tati addresses to the audience in the introduction:

the clown is you and me.