My writing on this channel has been light of late, due to newer work duties, but I am proud that the meatiest of the pieces I gave y’all over the last few months were the two about the Josef Pieper book In Tune with the World: A Theory of Festivity. These were both “quote collection” essays. The first introduced the book and collected material from its first half, and the second did so for the remainder while meditating on the act of thinking about festivity in grim times like ours.
You perhaps noticed that a number of thinkers and artists came to my mind as natural interlocutors for Pieper regarding his theory, among them the literary blues-music expert Albert Murray, and the social-dance and social-life focused filmmaker Whit Stillman, but before turning to those guys, I believe our thinking on Pieper’s theory will be most readily expanded by attending to the master of French comic cinema, Jacques Tati.
Now Pieper relegated the idea of “play” and the modern institution of the “vacation” somewhat to the side of his theory of festivity, whereas each has a prominent role in Tati’s reflections, as the very titles of his two greatest films, Playtime and Hulot’s Holiday, would indicate.
It is not difficult to understand why Pieper somewhere says that the vacation is not a festival itself, although I would add that the vacation in one locale might feature a few festival-events, and a classic motive for the travelling type of vacation is to arrive at some town in time for a famous festival. At any rate, one big difference between the vacation itself and the festival is the more individualistic or family-unit character of the former compared to the more collective character of the latter.
The more difficult distinction to make is that of “play” from “festivity,” and this one is key for Pieper—he mentions it early on:
…we would hazard that the term play does not adequately define the distinguishing feature of free activity, let alone of festivity.
…Play, however, seems to be chiefly a mere modus of action, a specific way of performing something, at any rate, a purely formal determinant.
Huizinga…represents the religious festivals of primitive peoples purely as play…this view is tantamount to saying that all sacred acts are meaningless. (p.11)
Johan Huizinga was a culture-focused historian, most famous for The Waning of the Middle Ages, but he was also the author of Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture. The reason for Pieper’s last statement is the way Huizinga puts pretending at the heart of both play and of myth-telling and dance/ritual-enacting religion—one reason Pieper wants to put distance between his approach to festivity and Huizinga’s to play, is that his is rooted in his Christian belief, whereas’s Huizinga’s involves a dismissal of sincere pagan belief that perhaps extend to all religion.
Pieper does admit that just as real festivity nearly always involves the arts, it almost always makes a central place for play, when this is understood as jesting, games, and the mode of play-pretend which can be used for many activities. He does seem right that we would lose a balanced appreciation of the festival to regard the play element as the one which unites and sustains all its aspects, such as the rituals, the contests, the feasting, the dances (ritual and social), the deployment of arts (especially, but not exclusively, theater-arts), and the general socializing. To really enter into festivity, one must, we assume, become more childlike and spontaneous—but to take simply three examples, does not the singer of a sacred or a love song at the festival, does not the contestant in an athletic game at the festival, and does not the social dancer at the festival—especially the one looking to court—also bring seriousness to their festival activity? This takes us into a deeper and perennial paradox, highlighted by certain passages in Plato, Homer, Shakespeare, and other greats, of the at-times reciprocal relation between seriousness and play.
We won’t pursue insight into that paradox here, but again, I suspect there is no better food for our thinking on these subjects than the films of Jacques Tati. If you’re unacquainted with his work, well, you might take a look at this fine overview, and you really should read no further, until you’ve had the delight of seeing some of his films.
Tati made five feature films for regular release, The Big Day (Jour de Fête), Hulot’s Holiday, Mon Oncle, Playtime, and Traffic, although the first and last are lesser book-ends to the three central films, which are tied together by certain thematic links. The culminating one is Playtime (1967), a unique cinematic experience which highlights the impact of modern architecture on everyday life, and which arguably is the most “Postmodern Conservative in spirit” film ever made, but all three of the central films are masterpieces.
Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday is definitely the one to start with—note that the French title Les Vacances des Monsieur Hulot avoided the conflation of vacation with holy-day festival which might be implied by the inevitable English title—, and it does two things. First, it introduces us to the charmingly bumbling Keaton-like outsider Hulot, featured in all three of Tati’s remaining releases, using his obliviousness to set-up countless sight-gags among a group of middle-class vacationers staying a hotel in a beach town. Second, it immerses us in a vacation-like state of relaxed and aimless observation—the viewer is given little to no plot, but takes on the roll of people-watcher. Yes, the gags are center-stage, but through the use of a wonderfully mellow French jazz theme, the lapping of the waves, and a deliberately slow pace, you are taken on vacation yourself.
Now many critics say that Hulot’s character serves to bring a delightful chaos to an otherwise stuffy vacation scene—this is exemplified by the famous scene (see the last video embedded here) where he enters the parlor of the hotel, and by his leaving the door ajar to gather his luggage, a strangely stiff breeze ruffles the papers and equilibrium of all the guests lounging there. Poetically speaking, Hulot, Bringer of Comic Disorder, has made his entrance!
This is right to a degree, and many of the gags are instances where we observe Hulot unintentionally causing some chain of little disasters on the beach or in the hotel, ones which typically wind up blamed on someone else, or upon Chance. But it is important to notice that while many of the characters staying at the hotel, or in one of the nearby townhouse rentals, do have uptightness issues, not all of them do, nor to the same degree, and by the end of the season, a few of them have established friendly relations with Hulot. If we hear polite chatter between the vacationers at the end of the season expressing hopes that they will see one another again next year, we notice that the older British lady seeks him out to express her goodbyes and share her address. We suspect several of the adult characters know that he has been at the heart of their little temporary community, and the children definitely see it.
So it would be a mistake to think of the Hulot character (played by Tati himself, who had a background in theatre and mime) as simply a vehicle by which Tati the director can organize his delightful sight-gags, or, that he symbolically stands, through his difference from the other vacationers, for the Jester, or pure Outsider-ness.
He is an outsider, in that a majority of the vacationers seem to slight or ignore him, in that we never see him join the card games held every night in the parlor (which, do note, other characters decline to join also), and in that he is not connected to any companion, family, or group. While we get signs of other’s character’s careers or standing in society, we get none about his. He is not the only character who comes to the beach-vacation on his own, but he is the only one who does not seem to make an effort to be part of the main adult group. Still, in the journey-to-the-country-picnic scenes he has a friend in his car, and particularly in his “courtship” of Martine, we do see certain efforts of his to incorporate himself into the vacation community--he really wants to be at that picnic which he knows she will be at! And we see he is quite game for certain group activities, such as ping-pong, tennis, and the masquerade dance-party. He is daft and odd, sure: he blasts a frenetic Dixieland jazz record on a Victrola, but when the parlor-group outraged by the noise investigates, they find him sitting placidly beside the speaker, smoking his pipe. But he always seeks to be polite to others—there is no suggestion, as with Rowan Atkinson’s somewhat similar Mr. Bean character, of a mean streak. He is more like Buster Keaton’s typical character, but without the overt efforts to succeed on society’s terms. Hulot will participate in some of society’s ways, but is content to remain on his own wavelength.
A better approach is to see how Hulot’s contrast with most of the other vacationers causes us to ask, what is the purpose of a vacation? And, who succeeds at this, and why? For while it is not true, as some critics suggest, that no-one else is having a good time, we do see quite a few of Hulot’s fellow vacationers failing to do so. They never relax. They never play. Or, there is something forced about their efforts to. Unlike Hulot, funny things don’t happen around them, but intrude into their plans and annoy them. The most obvious example is the businessman whose vacation with his family keeps getting interrupted by phone calls from the office. Another is the young intellectual, who we constantly see pouring over some newspaper or seeking to expound about some point in one; he sniffs with contempt when he sees that Hulot purchases a paper, but merely for the purpose of folding it into a sun-hat. And again, there is the scene in the hotel parlor every night, where all those staying there gather, to play cards, listen to the radio, or to read on their own. Its civilized charm impresses 2022 eyes, but Tati shows in any number of ways that it is just too decorous, and needs some Hulot-triggered chaos to break-up its monotony.
In any case, it is plain that Hulot is the character that has the best holiday. This is most registered in the fact that he is the one who, albeit temporarily and fleetingly, “gets the girl.” This is Martine, blond and beautiful, whom we see several of the middle-aged men longingly gaze upon, and whom we notice several younger men trying to spend time with. She comes to the beach-town with a few of her more upper-middle-class relatives, and she stays, not in the hotel, but in a third-story room which overlooks the entire beach. Tati’s camera gravitates toward her, but especially, to that third-story balcony window, which perhaps, just perhaps, she might be gazing out of.
Hulot is mid-to-late 40s, and would seem to have little chance to win Martine’s attentions: we see several athletic young men talking with her, one of them boasting that he has some Billie Holiday records (by which he perhaps is suggesting that she come over to his place, to listen to them). We also see the young intellectual—who is handsome--spending some time with her on the romantically-set beach-rocks, but of course, he is wasting his chance by pontificating on some point, while she looks askance.
Hulot seems to draw her favorable notice with his chivalrous politeness, especially to her aunt (mother?), by his amusing tennis skills, and in the decisive scene, by being the only adult besides herself to show up for, and in costume dress, for the hotel’s advertised masquerade dance-party. The scene begins with embarrassment for Hulot and Martine, as they separately come into the parlor and see no-one else has taken the announcement seriously, and has bothered to dress up. So coming into the room set aside for the party, it is only they, and a few young boys who are there. And so? With all due chivalry, and after light playfulness with the children, Hulot asks her to dance.
Within the vacation there was this opportunity for a little festival, for the play of dress-up and the social dance, and because Hulot was the only man who took it seriously, he gets to hold the beauty of whole scene in his arms. He shows her a good time, and with decorum and style—the contrast with the boasting young man who wanted to win her without going through any of the motions of courtship, or of the intellectual, who subjected her to his own agenda when they were together, is plain.
That’s the key sign, but not the only one, that Hulot is the champion vacation-er.
Anyhow, Hulot then sets up a date with her to go horseback riding on the beach, and attempts to be with her at the picnic, but through various comic mishaps, he is prevented from making either event, and before you know it, the season is over, everyone’s heading home, and he won’t get anymore chances with her. The film suggests she becomes for Hulot the wistfully-remembered love-interest, the highlight of his holiday.
Now the film had shown us, I think prior to the dance with Martine, another instance of Hulot’s flirtation via chivalry, but one in which it went amiss: a group of bohemian hikers passes through the town, and eyeing the difficulty a pretty young woman among them is having with her heavy backpack, he offers to carry it to the group’s camp-shack. But that turns out to be at the top of a huge hill! What is more, once he’s finally arrived at their hill-top digs and drinking party, panting and gasping, he is literally torn-out of it by means of another sight-gag. Tati might be suggesting that Hulot’s ready eros for the young and beautiful leads him in this instance into a scene of festivity that he doesn’t properly belong at.
And that reminds me that we are shown that the loud singing of that hiker’s hill-top party is heard across the beach and wakes up many of those staying at hotel, and, that this is not the only instance of the film showing us the tranquil vibe of the beach-vacation being interrupted, not simply by comic mishaps, but by noise. (This is an insight I owe to Dr. Josh Matthews and the Tati segment of his Learning about Movies linked to above.) And no-one “brings the noise” more than Hulot: he drives a sputtering old car, whose noise delights children, but which wakes up the vacationers on another night, he plays the dixie-land jazz record too loud, and he accidentally sets off some fireworks that also rouses people from their slumber. This noise-bringing is not an unambiguous good in Tati’s view. Again, the film’s pacing, its various shots of the beach, and its mellow-jazz theme, all serve to impart a very relaxed feeling—so part of what’s happening with Hulot “spicing up” a too-staid vacation scene with his mishaps and noise-making, is that Tati is rudely intruding noise and chaos into the very beach-trance he’s lulled you into as a viewer. But the overall message seems to be: like much else in the modern world, the trick with the vacation is to run with it, to play with it, the “it” being the inevitable mishaps (and noises) that spoil your best-laid plans for the perfect moment of total relaxation.
So in some ways, Hulot represents the ideal vacationer, the one who embraces festival, is game for play, etc.; but in others, he is the bringer of the noise which frustrates our efforts to relax. Not that we wouldn’t have had that modern noisiness had he not come—the early scenes of the vacationers bustling on trains and busses to simply get to the beach town, and the fact that the bohemian hikers would have come in any case, underline that. The Tati-an message throughout his films is that we shouldn’t try to hold back the modern, nor the perennial disorderliness of human life (which modernity often seems to amplify), but that we need to be ready to embrace the comedy these can bring, and especially when the joke’s mainly on ourselves.
Vacation-time often is, after all, a time in which mishaps (and mishap-caused spats between family members) happen, because you’re operating outside your usual routines. It can and should involve those moments of relaxation, of letting nature’s beauty and quiet wash over you, but chaos, the modern, and if you’re lucky, characters like Hulot, are bound to show up also. And undoubtedly, Tati is suggesting that we’re better able to handle vacation-stresses, and similar stresses in everyday life, if we develop an appreciation for the comic in them, and to seek to play with the mishaps; perhaps then, he is also suggesting we ought to become a bit more like Monsieur Hulot.
I’m told Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday was my grandfather’s favorite film, so I dedicate this essay to his memory. It’s up there for me also. We will soon discuss his other two masterpieces, Mon Oncle and Playtime, and I hope it is already evident how his themes should help us think about Pieper’s little book on festivity.