The Films of Jacques Tati

by Michel Chion

Jacques Tati's Monsieur Hulot has now entered the world of such comic screen legends as Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. As an artist, Tati was not afraid to take risks nor to put his entire being into each role. From Jour de fête to Parade , Tati unfailingly drew filmgoers into an intoxicating world, uniquely his own. This in-depth look at the techniques and cinematic vision of this important but often overlooked French director exposes the man behind this remarkable character. This replaces 0920717705.

Genres: Film, Nonfiction, Art

144 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1997

Reviews

[Tosh · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a very charming elegant small book by Michel Chion about the huge talent - Jacques Tati. Chion is a filmmaker (never seen his work) who also wrote various books on Kubrick and David Lynch. Tati belongs in that grouping of visionary filmmakers. Criterion has put out most of his films on DVD, and all of fantastic. But really recommend the 70mm print of "Playtime" in a movie theater of course. Tati's work is incredibly visual, and in many ways he reminds me of Buster Keaton. Forgetting the actual time-frame and of course gender, but Tati is like the son of Jean-Luc Godard and Buster Keaton. Or wait is it big brother to Godard, and step-son of Keaton. Whatever!

[Greg · Rating 3 out of 5]

For the hardcore only - interesting thoughts, though as an essay by a French writer for Cahiers du Cinema, it reads like - well, an essay by a French writer for Cahiers du Cinema. I kind of want to tell the guy to get the beret out of his eyes occasionally. I love me the Tati films (or I'd never have gotten the book), but nothing makes comedy, even complex comedy, less funny than pretentious people holding it up to the light and proclaiming that it's not even comedy, for eet eez too byooteeful. Ok. Fine.

Am I going to have to call off books-about-film the way I've done (about 95%) with books-on-music? Almost never works unless it's pure anecdote and zero analysis, because the temptation to get all hopped up on your own metaphor because you're blinded by the greatness reflecting off your forehead from the actual artist at work just exhausts me.

Still, though, I seem to have given this three stars because it's about M. Tati and if it keeps my mind on his work, I'm generally happy.

[Joe · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you've seen all 6 films, watched the Criterion extra features, read the excellent biography by Bellos, and you're still hungry for more Tati, then this little book is an enjoyable little adventure.

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

A great companion to Tati's films: explores his stylistic uniqueness, tracks his evolution, decodes -- or, at least, reveals -- his private hieroglyphics as well as actually fitting in your back pocket. Every strong filmmaker should have such a book about them.

[Skylar · Rating 3 out of 5]

The short, almost fragmentary or aphoristic, writing of Chion is full of intriguing insight into interpreting Tati beyond its surface comedy, yet this succinctness, full of ambiguous reflections, feels incohesive and rambling after a few chapters. Maybe this reads better in French. In all, Chion's understanding of sound/music is some of the best material in terms of criticizing Tati.

[Simon Popek · Rating 4 out of 5]

3,5 ⭐️

[Eileen · Rating 1 out of 5]

"Jacques Tati(scheff) had a number of good labels attached to his name; it was not difficult for him to be an artist. Little effort was needed for him to sign his name as an artist does. All he had to do was place the letter "r" between the "a" and "t" of his surname."

GROAN.

[Chadwick · Rating 2 out of 5]

You'd think that a serious French critic who writes for the Cahiers would be able to do a little better than this imagistic twaddle.

[Wendy Crittenden · Rating 5 out of 5]

for my thesis, and for pleasure, i thus far love the way this is written... complements tati's aesthetic. quick read.

[Jacob · Rating 3 out of 5]

This features a lot of useful information/observations about Tati's films, but at the same time it goes on too many useless tangents and the prose itself is occasionally unbearable.