The Red Shoes - Analytical Essay

Kevin Smock

30 April 2014

            Similar to the burst of productivity during the post World War II period in the United States, Great Britain’s cinema also took off. Films like Carol Reed’s The Third Man and Laurence Oliver’s Shakespeare adaptations still serve as inspiration for many pertinent filmmakers today. However, Michael Powell’s and Emeric Pressburger’s The Red Shoes (1948) proves to be one of the most valuable within the era. Handled with such dexterity, the Impressionistic and Expressionistic story showing methods cannot go unnoticed. Not only that, but the film also exists as a wonderful narrative and sheds light onto some valuable themes. It is a film about decision-making; it is a film about making sacrifices; it is a film about choosing between one’s passion and one’s lover.

            The movie, like many of the time, takes on a concise three-act structure that keeps viewers engaged throughout. Most films of the 40s and 50s (and even today) take time in act one to establish all necessary exposition. During the studio era, though, information was given rather obviously and usually by word of mouth. Not to discredit the films of that time, because many of them are quite wonderful, but studio heads usually lent a heavy hand in making the movies as blatantly comprehensible as possible, often resulting in a repetition of information distribution. Getting back on track, the outstanding thing about The Red Shoes is the fact that the most imperative exposition is communicated visually, especially the defining moments of the central characters. For instance, Julian is enthralled with music and wouldn’t give it up for the world… until he’s forced to later in the film. With only two cuts this fact about him is definitively demonstrated.

Then, a similar occurrence, Victoria lives for dance, and like Julian, would not give it up for the world, again, until she’s forced to later in the film.

These two moments mirror one another, creating a crucial parallel for the whole film. From here, the two characters build their careers up step by step and synonymously. The film kicks off with two separate parties: Julian and co. + Victoria and co. They’re both attending a ballet, Heart of Fire, directed by Boris Lermontov and scored by Julian’s former professor, Palmer. Throughout the performance, Julian realizes that the score used in the ballet is actually a work of his own and Palmer has stolen it from him. Meanwhile, Lady Neston, who is friends with Palmer, delivers a note to him that invites him as well as Boris to a party she is throwing. However, she has an ulterior motive, which is to introduce her niece Victoria to Boris so she can get an opportunity to dance in his ballets. The way in which both Julian and Victoria are invited to partake in Boris’s production company is witty, funny, and visually wonderful.

When Boris is at Neston’s party he is in line for food with Victoria next to him. The audience is well aware of Victoria’s desire to be acquainted with him as well as the fact that Boris has no idea who she is. Victoria and Boris get to talking and Boris mentions the fact that he has been suckered into attending the party and he was only wanted to scope out another talent that he most likely will not be impressed with. At this point, the audience is most likely thinking something along the lines of, “uh-oh!” Victoria cannily responds by stating that she is that certain talent. Boris is charmed by Victoria though, as much as his personality would probably like to deny it. In result, he invites her to his company’s practice space. While this occurrence relies heavily on dramatic irony and a witty dialogue exchange, Julian’s episode that lands him in Boris’s company is dependent upon editing and sound design.

Julian storms into Boris’s office and explains that he is a former student of Palmer and that Palmer has lifted his score. Boris sardonically responds, “It is much more disheartening to have to steal than to be stolen from, hmmm?” On a complete side note: Truer words have never been spoken. Boris ends up inviting Julian to play a musical number to show him what he has got. Now, one would think that the ballet director would pay the utmost attention to a performance. However, this is not the case.

Cutting back and forth among these images creates a synthesis that states: These sorts of things constantly surround Boris, a musical performance is no big deal for him. The fact that the sounds of Boris’s eating utensils clanking around tend to overshadow Julian’s music and that Boris’s servant moves freely about the room in no regards to the performance doubles the effect of this concept. Julian takes his lackadaisical attitude as a huge insult and storms out of Boris’s office. He’s stopped before he can exit though and Boris invites him to be apart of his company. This simple moment is wholly demonstrative of each character. It exemplifies Boris’s years of experience in the business against Julian’s novice attitude. It also conveys Boris’s competence, the fact that he doesn’t even have to think twice about considering Julian for the part, he effortlessly makes the right decision.

            These two moments yield the beginning of act two, where the two main characters’ actively begin the pursuit of their established goals: to perform. The remainder of act two demonstrates the struggle for the two rookies to prove themselves. They both show up at Boris’s rehearsals expecting adequate treatment only to be let down by Boris hardly acknowledging them. Julian and Victoria, after showing Boris they have what it takes to succeed, are invited to hold honorary positions on Boris’s next ballet, The Red Shoes. The midpoint of the narrative occurs when Julian and Victoria meet for the first time, in high spirits, at the theaters balcony. Chemistry among the two is sensed early on; by the end of their encounter any ordinary audience member would receive the conception that an affair will bud from this. They observe a train car traveling below the balcony that blows a cloud of smoke their way. This image serves as a prominent motif for the film. In this scene, it represents the birth of a new relationship.

            One of the main reasons Victoria is able to land her role in the ballet is due to the former actress’s marriage. Boris feels that strong personal relationships distract one from their creative endeavors. Essentially, an individual can only have one love. By planting this piece of information we learn a lot about Boris’s philosophies and also yields for a much more interesting scene at the climax of the film. The whole cast and crew of the ballet is attending a celebratory party due to the ballet’s success. One of the member’s of the ballet playfully points out that two of the “members of the family” are not present. While the whole party admires the notion that the two are in love, the camera has a tendency to hold on Boris’s somber expression while the endearing voices of the other’s are heard, creating a wonderful counterpoint between the visuals and the dialogue. Due to the planting of information earlier in the movie – the fact that Boris doesn’t like his cast members involved in any sort of relationships – the audience does not need to hear Boris explicitly demonstrate his disapproval. The implication via the editing speaks much louder than any words could. It’s more effective to observe his bottled up contempt than to hear any sort of potentially contrived dialogue. Eventually, Julian and Victoria are confronted by Boris, which results in a mess of their careers and their relationship. Julian finds work in opera while Victoria stays out of work. Victoria returns to Boris’s ballet but Julian soon finds out and appears at the theater, sacrificing the opening night of his first opera just to confront the two. Julian ends up storming out of the theater, feeling immensely betrayed by Victoria. At this point in the narrative, viewers are designed to sympathize with Victoria. While she did in a way betray Julian, Julian also betrayed her in a sense: he moved on to opera, where dance does not exist. This leaves Victoria’s career, but more importantly her passion, to lie dormant. The ambivalent attitude Victoria comprises at this point is serious. What is she to do? In a fit of panic and bewilderment, she attempts suicide by jumping off a balcony, where the couple first met, onto the train tracks where a train is quickly approaching. We see the same location that was once painted with a palette of sunset colors and underscored with youthful compassion behaving in the opposite fashion. What once signified the birth of a fresh relationship now signifies the finale of it.

            Miraculously enough, and in proper fashion of 50s melodrama, Victoria survives. Julian then approaches Victoria, ensures she’s in good health, demonstrates his affection for her, and then a fantastic moment occurs. Their eyes are locked on one another while Vicky states, “Take off the red shoes.” This ever so simple subtextual line of dialogue speaks volumes. From the get go, from the first time the audience is introduced to Victoria, it is evident that her only real desire in life is to dance in a prodigious ballet. Now, for her to tell Julian to remove the shoes is a huge moment for her character. What it means is essentially I will give up my lifelong dream to be with you. To be with you is to surpass any feeling of satisfaction I could get from dance. Although the film’s plot has many elements of melodrama (which contemporary audiences have generally grown intolerant of) the film’s moments are handled with such craft. Instead of a long anecdote on how Victoria loves Julian and how she’ll give up dance for him and blah-blah-blah, it’s summed up into one line of dialogue. Given all that has been observed throughout the film, that’s all an audience needs to hear and see. This sort of subtlety cannot be topped.

            The relationships among the characters within the story are crucial to the organization and development of the film as a whole. As stated before, but will now be elaborated on further, the parallels among Julian and Victoria set the stage for the drama to come and also lead viewers into assuming that they will come to meet and form a sort of connection, whatever that may be. From the beginning of the film both of their lines of action are crosscut among one another, and grow symmetrically until they meet midway through the movie. The discernible parallels of the two include: They both intently observe their preferred medium at play, early on in the movie; they both have a long way to go and build themselves up, from rags to riches; they both have red hair; etc. The benefits of creating such connections give order to the narrative, and it’s human nature to seek some sort of form. Have you ever interrupted someone’s daily routine? Meddled with their morning coffee, their midday cigarette, or their post-dinner glass of wine? When the order of Julian and Victoria’s relationship is broken, viewers have a reaction and they take a stance. Well, that is what Boris does, but one cannot be quick to call him an antagonist because he’s given the two characters their greatest opportunity, he has given them a life they’ve always dreamed of. However, he can just as easily take it away and is more than willing to when he learns of their relationship. For a man of such creative talent, he’s adamant about terminating romance – a rather peculiar duality, a contradiction almost. This aspect of Boris though, this ambivalence, is what makes for a dense character, and that’s a major objective for the dramatist. All of this character disagreement can be summed up with one word: triangulation. Let us imagine an equilateral triangle with Boris at the top and Julian and Victoria at the two points below. Boris is almost like a puppeteer, with a sort of omniscient control over the two because he comprises the ticket to their success. The tension of the film is indicative of this push pull relationship among the three – it erupts for Boris when he finds out the two are together, it erupts for Julian when he finds out that Victoria went back to the ballet, and it erupts for Victoria when she cannot make a decision.

            Speaking of the end of the film, the conflict really occurs because once the two are let go of the ballet, they can no longer perform harmoniously. Julian’s walk down the road of opera has no room for Victoria’s dance moves, meanwhile they only ballet that can gain Victoria any sort of merit is Boris’s. Essentially, dance and music are at war. This very vital conflict at the end of the film is conveyed rather innocently at the beginning of the film: Julian and his friends are exploiting the wonderful work of Palmer towards two dance student sitting next to them, who are trying to validate dance over music. Not only via the dialogue is this idea expressed, but it’s beautifully done visually as well, leaving the defendants of each medium in two separate shots and cutting among them.

            A beautifully crafted scene in regards to time and emotion occurs just after Boris has learned that the couple has been married. The scene begins with a shot of some sort of public notice that Julian and Victoria have been married, the camera then moves over to an ash tray overflowing cigarette butts. This shot alone speaks volume on Boris’s attitude: stressed, angry, betrayed – and he’s been there awhile, clearly, feeling this way. The rest of the sequence carries on wonderfully and with no dialogue. By means of the image size, Boris’s gestures, and pacing of the cuts, the audience immediately empathizes with Boris. The images below are what storySHOWING is all about:

            The Red Shoes cannot ever be brought up without mentioning the ballet sequence. There’s very much going on within the scene that concerns Victoria as a character. For instance, the audience observes a shot of Victoria’s character in the play looking in horror towards another character within the play. However, a flash frame occurs of the antagonizing character being replaced with a shot of Boris, replicating the character’s pose. What can be connoted from this is the fact that what is on Victoria’s mind is to do well for Boris, thus substituting the antagonizing force of the play with Boris. This is a very Impressionistic element of the film, delving into such subjectivity.

However, the strong point of this sequence is unrelated to the story as a whole, I believe. I look at this sequence as a criticism, or maybe a comparison, of the mediums of theater and film. In Andre Bazin’s What Is Cinema?, he discusses the differences between film and theater and one line he states that is particularly evident in The Red Shoes is: “The cinema makes it possible to carry a simple situation to its ultimate conclusions which on stage would be restricted by time and space, that is, to what might be called a larval stage.” This statement is basically exemplified in the movie. The stage performance begins to be expressed as it would be to an audience member in a theater.

However, it ends up transcending into something far beyond any inherent bounds or realism. Victoria mentions earlier in the play that her performance will comparable to a “battle with the audience.” This is clearly just her nerves talking and her speaking figuratively, of course. Yet, it is actually expressed visually during the play. Again, characters within the diegesis of the ballet are metonymic devices for what Victoria imagines to be the audience members.

Essentially, all of the imagery within the play – once it moves past its early filmed theater style – is expressive of Victoria’s mental state, much like a German Expressionism film. By the end of the play, once she is satisfied with her performance and viewers are clapping for her, the audience is substituted with a serene ocean which suggests Victoria being at peace with them.

Again though, I see the real beauty of this scene to be more of a triumph for the cinema itself rather than an expressive vehicle for a character’s mental state.

            The Red Shoes... what a movie, man.

White Dog - Analytical Essay

Kevin Smock

25 March 2014

            Samuel Fuller’s 1982 release, White Dog, proved that he had lost zero of his spark since his hey-day of the 1960s. One might expect that through the years a filmmaker might lose touch with contemporary audiences, but this couldn’t really be the case with Fuller. If anything, he was far more ahead of modern standards. If anyone has seen the first scene of The Naked Kiss, they’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. Not to mention, Fuller seems to often incorporate relevant social issues into his films. For example, the three allegorical mental patients in Shock Corridor convey Fuller’s attitude towards three certain topics: racism, war, and nuclear weapons. It seems it would be hard for a man like Samuel Fuller to fall off into the wayside being that his movies are full of such controversy, full of such emotion. To quote him: “Film is like a battleground... Love, hate, action, violence, death. In one word, emotion!” (If anyone has seen Jean-Luc Godard’s  Pierrot Le Fou, this quote may sound familiar… along with Fuller, due to his cameo in the film). The wonderful thing about White Dog is the fact that it’s ideology moves right along with the plot, entertaining viewers while also educating them on a certain human tendency: racism. On a narrative, thematic, and visual level, White Dog is an all around strong film.

            The story concerns a young actress named Julie who accidentally runs over a big, white German Sheppard one night. After treating it at the vet and putting up posters in hopes of getting the dog back to its owners, Julie becomes emotionally attached to the dog as it saves her life from an intruder who is physically abusing her. Also in act one, the dog runs away - the audience witnesses it maul apart an African American public works employee. At this point we are convinced of the violent ways of the canine. Also, the ominous musical motif that kicks in whenever the dog is eyeing its next victim down helps illustrate the bestial nature of the pup. Days later, after the dogs returns, Julie brings it to one of her acting gigs where the dog attacks her fellow actress friend. Julie is now aware of the vicious behavior of the dog, however, the audience is still one step ahead of her because now a discernible pattern has developed – the dog only attacked two people thus far, both African Americans. Julie brings the dog to a training service where she learns a piece of information that overtly propels us into act two – The pup attacks one of the trainers, another African American. Being that it doesn’t threaten any of the Caucasians surrounding him, the group of trainers declares that the dog is a white dog, it was trained to attack African Americans. Keys, one of the African American trainers, insists on training the dog despite the advice given from his boss.  The opposing forces are exemplified concisely by the visuals:

     Later on in the movie Julie talks with Keys and Carruthers about how Keys got involved in his field of study. His parents are brought up and Keys elaborates on the fact that they’re both Anthropologists, something he could never do. However, what Keys does in this movie is not far from what his parents study: human behavior. Clearly, to Keys, as a diegetic attribute of the film, he doesn’t view what he’s doing more than just curing a dog of an unfortunate disorder. However, to an audience understanding the meaning of the film, he is essentially fulfilling an exercise in anthropology because we recognize the dog as a metaphor for society as a whole. Also, an interesting observation concerning the progression from act one to act two is the fact that Julie’s acting career is synonymous with the dog’s behavior. Before the dog attacks the street sweeper, Julie is confident in getting the role she auditioned for, similar to our feelings about the dog because he saved Julie. However, after the dog has attacked the street sweeper, she gets a call from her agent or someone of the sort (played by Sam Fuller himself) and he tells her that she didn’t get the role because one of the other actress’s had the role tied in because she knew somebody. It’s incredibly unfair that another actress got the role due to the corrupt nature of the business… it’s almost similar to how unfair racism is, no? But I digress, after a series of ups and downs with the dog, Keys and some of the other trainers are convinced that the dog is beginning to abandon its old ways. However, one night the dog escapes from its cage and is now able to roam around freely. The central crisis of the film occurs when the white dog encounters a black man walking down the street. The pup chases the man into a quiet little church where the man is then mauled to death. Upon the discovery of the body, Julie wants the dog killed while Keys still has confidence in the dog and wants to break it of its racist ways. After many more disciplined hours of training, Keys is convinced that the dog can live in harmony. The pup now gets along great with Keys and Keys even has another African American encounter the dog without even gaining a single scratch. However, as often times seen in the film, we see the dog behave in peculiar ways when no other characters are around which makes us have our doubts about it. This film does a wonderful job with unrestricted story knowledge and leaving the audience to anticipate action to come. For instance, the fact that he’s seen on more than one occasion trying to make a hole in his cage leads the audience to believe he’s not cured. When Julie, Keys, and Carruthers are enjoying a meal in celebration of the dog’s healing process, Carruthers states, “To the hamburger,” which refers to the dogs acceptance to eat from a black man’s hand. However, immediately after we see that, the film cuts to a shot of the dog growling at the burger and pawing it away.

While the main characters are convinced of the dog’s reversal, the audience still has their doubts – classic dramatic irony. At the climax of the narrative, Keys once again puts the dog to the test of whether or not he’ll attack an African American. The dog storms full-speed towards Keys, looking as if he’s going to kill him, but then stops and playfully pants at him. Then, the dog darts towards Julie, looking as if he’s going to kill her, but does the same thing and just pants. Then finally, the dog storms towards Carruthers and actually attacks him where Keys is then forced to shoot the dog dead.

            Unfortunately, the pessimistic ending of the film is completely necessary and honest because it states that there will always be hatred and racism on this earth no matter what. If it’s not aggression towards blacks, then it’s white, if it’s not whites, then it’s Asians, etc. The moral of the story is that people will never be absolutely tolerant. White Dog, on a connotative level, is simply a story about a dog that was trained by bigots to attack African Americans and then one day a young lady found the dog lost and hurt and tried to change its ways but could not. However, on a denotative level, the way in which films should be watched, it is about the human condition and the harsh truth that the world we live in will never be one hundred percent accepting of the race/religion/culture of other people. The dog is simply a metaphor for society throughout the film, an outlet for Fuller’s views.

            White Dog comprises some extremely clever moments of visual storytelling. My favorite composition in the film occurs shortly before the central crisis where the dog is loose and wandering around town, serving as a severe danger. This is exemplified in the following frame:

Within the mise-en-scene of this one simple shot the audience experiences so much: anticipation, raised stakes, dramatic irony, opposing forces, etc.

In act one, when the dog saves Julie from the intruder, Fuller employs editing, sound, and camera movement just wonderfully. Three units play upon one another during the scene: The television screen playing a war film, the dog sleeping, and Julie reading on her bed. The camera moves enigmatically from the television screen into the hallway leading into Julie’s room. The audience ends up observing Julie on her bed over the shoulder of a stranger. The intruder takes Julie to the ground but she puts up a good fight. As their fight fires on, so does the battle on the television screen. Images of the fight, the TV, and the dog sleeping are cut among one another creating a wild feeling of anticipation and anxiety.

Finally, when the battle on the TV screen comes to an end so does the battle between Julie and the intruder because the TV has hushed up enough for the dog to hear the ruckus and wake up and put a halt to it, which provides a feeling of relief for the audience.

Another wonderfully cut scene occurs at the central crisis of the film, when the dog kills the innocent black man. Fuller suggests the action to come by cutting between these two shots, which demonstrate the opposing forces:

Look familiar? Ever see Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train?

After a brief sequence of the dog chasing the man concludes with the gentleman running into a church to seek safety.

However, the dog tackles him through the doors and begins to maul him. Instead of overtly showing the man being bitten apart, Fuller wittily moves his camera upwards and shows statues of religious figures praying.

 Camera moves to this:

This expresses the victim’s relentless plea for mercy. What’s also interesting about the scene is the noble statues and the all around tranquil atmosphere of the church contrasted with the cries of pain from the man. Just when one thinks it can’t get more contrapuntal than that, the next scene, after the mauling scene in the church is:

Not only is it ironic but again, the contrast of the sound is subtly wonderful. Agonizing shouts of a man vs. the languid sounds of the suburbs.

White Dog is a sad movie with a sad ending, but it’s an absolute relief that there are (or were) filmmakers out there that are bold enough to speak out against such imperative manners, and in such a clever way… Upon its release racism was, according to the nation, said to be a thing of the past. However, many know that is not the case. Social injustices and prejudice behavior existed far after the disperse of the civil rights movement, it just wasn’t recognized nationally as an issue. For Fuller to bring up a topic so delicate and to handle it so boldly deserves an immense amount of respect. And like the film suggests, mankind will never see a day where bigotry does not exist. And like the characters in the film exemplified, people have to go one fighting the good fight against it.

Mr. Hulot's Holiday - Analytical Essay

Kevin Smock

2 February 2014

      The first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of French cinema is probably the New Wave of the 1960s and names like Godard and Truffaut. However, before we received a taste of those young, radical filmmakers we had directors such as Robert Bresson, Max Ophuls, and Jacques Tati. Just as daring and witty as some of the great American silent film geniuses was Jacques Tati. Although the core of his career was during a time where the talkies ruled, Tati depended on images and unique sound design to tell his stories. His pictures are reminiscent of a Chaplin film in the sense that they care little for dialogue and often satirize current society. Not to mention, Tati as Mr. Hulot might be just as comical as Chaplin as the tramp.

     In 1953, Tati released a comedy titled Mr. Hulot’s Holiday. An interesting aspect of this film, which is also noticeable in Tati’s, My Uncle, is the fact that the narrative structure is completely unlike that of a three-act structure or anything conventional. Not to say one sort of structure is better than another, it really all depends on many other components that make a film. In Mr. Hulot’s Holiday, events go by day by day in a rather repetitive and monotonous fashion (already satirizing the vacationing class of France during the time), but what makes the movie interesting is the way in which Mr. Hulot interrupts the day-to-day mundane activity by defying what the ordinary adult would do. It is a film that takes many of the same events and twists them into something new; it turns repetition into variation, developing a sense of narrative.

     To me, the most applicable theme in the film is the defiance of the trivial life-style of modern “adults.” It is a film of non-conformity and promotes a sense of outside of the box, loner thinking. This message is conveyed constantly throughout the film, but it is really boiled down in one of the last scenes. Throughout the film, Hulot is unable to identify and relate to his contemporaries. He is stuck between having the charisma and imagination of a child while also embodying an even more mature mindset than his peers by overlooking what they harp on. This leaves him to be the synthesis of the laid-back child while also being the knowledgeable, easy going, satisfied old man. What a beautiful blend.

This theme also visually rings true during the famous dance scene: In the foreground we see the romantic and atmospheric dance of Hulot and the young lady juxtaposed with the uptight politic-crazed uproar of the other adults in the background. At one point, Hulot cranks up the music to shut out the bland voice coming from the radio in the other room, which speaks volumes on Hulot’s character and the theme of the film.

Hulot identifying with the youth is seen throughout the film. During one highly comical scene, Hulot’s car (which has just as much character as him) breaks down at a funeral ceremony of all places! A kid on a bike witnesses this and gets a huge kick out of it. Although he’s laughing at Hulot’s expense, that’s much more comedy any other adult could ever dream of giving this young man.

Also, in the lobby of the hotel two young girls come walking in with heavy hiking bags. Hulot helps one of them carry her bags to her cabin. The rest of the young people present at the cabin convince Hulot to take a drink with them. It’s suggestive that Hulot ends up spending a decent chunk of time partying with them.

One of Hulot’s weaknesses is the ice cream cart, similar to what a child’s weakness might be. Whenever he spots it, he cannot take his eyes off of it. The big taffy-like substance that comes near to touching the ground at a few points is just mesmerizing to Hulot. This is visually suggestive to Hulot having a very strong youthful side to his character.

On the contrary to unification with the young, we also witness Hulot having a sense of unity with the elderly. Throughout the film, Hulot pulls these hilarious, eccentric stunts that he as a person just cannot avoid. While the other adults find his unfortunate, awkward behavior unacceptable, the young as well as the old also find it entirely amusing and even heart warming. The frames below show the old man admiring Hulot’s misadventures on the beach when he accidentally traps one gentleman in a car and also shows the old man smiling at Hulot as he dances with the young woman.

There is a moment in the film when Hulot plays a high energy game ping pong with an elderly woman in the back room of the hotel while, in the foreground, the other adults play a trivial, lifeless game of cards which Hulot accidentally destroys in a highly comedic scene that so wonderfully employs dramatic irony. We know Hulot’s movements through the room bumps one man and causes him to put down a card on a table he’s not really playing on without him even realizing he’s doing because he’s looking intently at his hand. This moment is a catalyst for the accusations that follow and end up causing chaos. The audience sits back and laughs at the fact that Hulot is the source of it all.

And finally, we witness the other adults in the vacation town shutting out Hulot’s eccentric, well-intended ways.

     What really makes this film so wonderful are all the motifs, the development of the motifs, and what the motifs say about the characters. Throughout the film we’re treated to a beautiful piece of music that generally kicks in every time Hulot or the young girl in the film are seen either together or alone. It’s audible in the beginning of the film (where it is then so wonderfully juxtaposed with the pain-staking sounds of the train station), when the woman arrives to the resort, when Hulot arrives to the resort, after Hulot and the girl meet, when the girl plays her turntable, when Hulot and the young girl dance, etc. Another motif, and I think the most important one, is that whenever Hulot is around his peers he just radiates a sort of misfortune for others. Also, this element of the film is particularly strong when it comes to the man who runs the restaurant. For instance, when Hulot first arrives at the resort he’s preparing to unload all of his belongings. He keeps the door open as he gathers his things, which results in a gust of wind blowing into the packed lobby where all the vacationers are. The strong gust sends papers soaring through the air, causes fake mustaches to be revealed, and even causes the pouring of tea to be spilled!

When Hulot makes it to his room he pours a bowl of water out of his sunroof, a very innocent act. Well, it just so happens two men are reuniting with one another as the water poured from the bowl down the roof spits out of the drain pipe causing them to get a little wet. This is just the beginning… On the beach, a local shore man is in the middle of painting his boat. Terribly timed, the chain crank that is holding the boat in place is interfered with and causes the boat to slip away, not only causing an undesired streak of paint across the boat but also causing the boat to launch into the sea. The shore man, with a contemptuous look, sets his sight on a bystander. He is innocent though and cues the shore man in on who really did it with a slight head nod towards the culprit. Wonderfully timed in the editing room, we’re revealed to Hulot who is guiltily leaning up against a volleyball post. Later in the film, Hulot is waiting in the living room of the young woman’s home before they go horseback riding. He struts around the room admiring all the great art and tinkering with it. He ends up offsetting all the paintings on the wall in one way or another, sometimes not even knowing it. Executed with such comical and visual wit, Tati makes something so mundane so enjoyable to watch.

Discussed earlier was Hulot’s encounter with the man in the dining hall. Two particular scenes really appealed to me. The first is a moment when Hulot walks into the hotel lobby and is simply adjusting himself and observing himself in the mirror. The hotel employee is just always so distracted by Hulot that when he goes to pour tea into a customer’s cup, he ends up spilling it all over him. Hulot had no part in this wrongdoing, it’s just his nature to send off that kind of energy.

Another instance, again of complete innocence on Hulot’s part, he’s just walking through the hotel lobby, maybe looking for something. The employee, having such a brutal (yet also impersonal) history with the man, cannot take his eyes off of him. Well, a few beats earlier the employee drops one of his possessions into the fishbowl (perhaps his pen, my memory is a bit fuzzy) and preparing to fetch the item out of the bowl, the employee rolls up one of his sleeves. At that moment though, Hulot catches hit attention and at this point in the narrative you almost expect it; The sleeve the employee rolled up intending for it not to get wet is not on the arm that he dips into the bowl. Hulot, per usual, distracts the employee so severely (by doing nothing extraordinary) that the he immerses his rolled down sleeve into the fishbowl accidentally. Hilarious.

Each time anyone enters the dining hall, which basically serves as the melting pot for monotony and triviality in the film, a loud “BONG” type noise is heard. Tati plays with the auditory element fidelity to further animate and bring the sound to life, almost forcing you to think about the significance of the door opening and closing like it does. This is a great motif that really exploits the boring and lifeless actions that the bulk of the adults take part in, such as discussing who usually sits where in the dining hall like it even makes a difference!

I want to say the Coen Brothers have seen this film and that’s where they got the idea for the sound of Barton’s hotel room door in Barton Fink. Anyone who has seen that film cannot forget what I’m addressing. In that film as well as Mr. Hulot’s Holiday, these noises are not arbitrary choices; they add a whole other dimension to the setting. In Barton Fink, a further sense of bewilderment and curiosity and in Mr. Hulot’s Holiday, a sensation that makes your want to rattle all of the adults in the film and tell them to live a little.

Hulot enters the desirable young woman’s house twice throughout the film. Each time he ends up taking a false step or something of the sort and stumbles all the way through the house out the back door. This is another wonderful sight gag that employs dramatic irony: As Hulot storms through the house, the young woman and the other inhabitants of the house go about their business in the foreground, completely oblivious to what Hulot is up to. No one is ever fully in touch with Hulot, no one can entirely relate to how things happen to him.

The indication of the night coming to an end at the beach town resort is by showing a wide shot of the hotel. This shot reoccurs many different times, but it ends in almost every room in the house flicking on their light due to some sort of interruption that Hulot has brought on. Like most of the motifs in the film, it speaks on a thematic level by comparing Hulot’s more liberal lifestyle to the more conservative lifestyle of the rest of the characters, and usually Hulot’s actions interfere with the lifestyle of the others. For instance, each time the house lights flick on it’s because Hulot and his young companions are producing drunken laughter out front or because his car is making its usual obnoxious noise, or better yet, because Hulot accidentally lights off a firework display. The firework sequence is quite wonderful in the sense that it is the only time the other adults in the film bust out of their dull, regimented shells.

       (Smoke visible from the fireworks)     

     Another reason why this film is so pleasing in terms of its unique structure is the way visual parallels are drawn. The most important one among a few, and again very demonstrative of the theme, is that only certain characters in the film listen to music: Hulot, the young woman, and the child who’s constantly on screen starving to have fun. This parallel suggests that the reason Hulot, although the complete underdog, is the only one who can really acquaint himself with the young woman. The younger men in the film certainly try but she is not interest in the political/ intellectual nonsense they try to lay on her. She would rather spend a simple afternoon partaking is leisurely activity, just like Hulot. The frame below shows the young girl admiring Hulot looking for his ping-pong ball while sending the room into a complete uproar due to his ruining of the card game. In the shot, the young lady is literally overlooking a young man with a book to focus on Hulot.

A similar instance occurs as Hulot is doing a good deed for one of the residents at the resort by giving him a ride. He jerks his car all over the road causing quite the scene. The young woman and a group of pseudo-intellectuals look on appearing somewhat annoyed by the occurrence as the young lady laughs in admiration.

Going back to Hulot’s connectivity with the kid, we see Hulot listening to music alone in a room of the hotel early on in the film. The ferocious volume of the turntable breaks the concentration of the other vacationers. They storm in the room and cut off the power to the turntable. God forbid these bores be graced with any sort of poetic lyricism.

Later in the film, after observing Hulot throughout the vacation and realizing he’s the only one of the adults who knows how to live, the kid pulls the same exact stunt… And so do the adults by cutting off his power.

Early in the film, we of course see the young woman enjoying music in private, which exemplifies the connection between Hulot and the young lady.

Another wonderful parallel in the film is established in the very beginning: Hulot’s commute to the beach town -vs- the young lady’s. Hulot’s malfunctioning car is often causing him to get beeped at and passed on the road. We then see a dog resting in the middle of the road, which gets right out of the way when a car beeps at it. However, when Hulot approaches the same obstacle he has to fight a little harder to move the dog, not to mention he’s great deal more kind about it. This is all in opposition with the young lady’s ease of getting on the train and being treated kindly. The early crosscutting suggests that these two will meet and something will become of it.

     Tati strongly depends on mise-en-scene to tell his stories and he certainly does an extraordinary job. With that being said, you would expect a man so gifted in one way of visual storytelling to lack in the contrasting method: editing; juxtaposing images to create new meanings; manipulating and creating space and time. The first scene puts juxtaposition and contrast to use terrifically. The film begins with images of a beautiful, tranquil beach town. The last shot of this very relaxingly paced scene is a boat. All of this is then collided with a scene of a train station (direct opposition of the boat) and numerous people scrambling to get on it (direct opposition of the peaceful vacancy of nature and slow pacing). It propels the narrative by telling the audience where all of these people are bound for.

Another well cut scene takes place on the beach where an exercise instructor is blowing a whistle at a group of fitness freaks to signal the next step of the routine. We see the instructor blow the whistle and then Tati cuts to the group holding the pose. It takes a few beats too many for the instructor to blow the whistle for the next step, forcing the group to hold a rather challenging pose. We ask ourselves, “Why isn’t this guy blowing the whistle?” Low and behold, we cut to Hulot interacting with the instructor causing him to prolong the next whistle. This sort of comedy cannot be achieved without knowing how to utilize space; concealing and revealing certain spaces is key when cutting comedy.

     Jacques Tati stands in the ranks with some of the most pertinent visual comics in film history such as Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Similar to Chaplin in films like The Great Dictator and Modern Times, Tati can make his audience laugh from beginning to end while also expressing significant, relevant themes and ideology.