1958 Jaques Tati (Msr Hulot) film that, frankly, we hated, but are slightly reticent about laying into that much.
Why did we hate it? In the kind of film that this is, a near silent physical comedy, Chaplin and Keaton showed how we can make great cinema by following the central character, identifying for emotional stress, and sympathising with the pratfalls and so on. This movie does not follow Hulot enough, he is secondary to the cool, far away, and slow visuals of the family in the modernist house. This family is simply not very funny, with cheap and obvious gags about adjusting to tecjnology not particularly intelligently inserted. The pace is also mournful.
So why the reticence? At least the film does something different. The long shots don't work, but at least he's tried something. The whole alienated style lacks sympathy and warmth, but perhaps it's better than no effort.
A trial and a displeasure, Hulot is sub-Keaton ramrod straight.
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