My Uncle

Hour exam season, which reliable sources say is upon us, is not the time for somber flicks of the Ingmar Bergman, Pather Panchali vein. When the temporarily industrious student forsakes his books for two hours at the Brattle or the U.T., he doesn't want to be provoked, moved or disturbed. He wants and needs to be diverted and amused. With remarkable judgment, the Brattle has managed to select a film for this week which not only accomplishes these ends but also is an intelligent and witty commentary on our times.

Mon Oncle (which the distributor has rendered with accuracy and consummate disrespect for Americans' linguistic prowess, as My Uncle) is Jacques Tati's sequel to his immensely successful Mr. Hulot's Holiday. The newer movie retains as its hero, Hulot, the man of zany good sense and good will pitted against a world that takes itself awfully seriously but happens to be insane. Last time, Hulot attacked the concept of the holiday; now he is after modernism.

Hulot's method of attack is a subtle one: he doesn't really pursue his prey; it pursues him. In Mon Oncle, Modern Times closes in on the good-natured Hulot (played by M. Tati, who also wrote and directed the film) in the form of a paunchy brother-in-law. Brother-in-law is an officer of an ultra-modern company which manufactures plastic hoses and similar useful items, and he has constructed for himself, wife and son a house with every conceivable inconvenience.

Brother-in-law's house represents the ultimate in uncomfortable functionalism, with a push-button kitchen, chairs that Hulot can't sit in, and a garden featuring a metallic fish which spouts water (used for company only). Director Tati and his man Hulot take this cheery homestead and turn it into a mechanized madhouse. Hulot, after discovering a rubber-based pitcher that bounces, tried to bounce a glass, only to find that brother-in-law's technicians haven't modernized that item yet. When a modern sofa proves impossible for Hulot to sleep in, he discovers that turned on it side it fits the contours of his body perfectly.

Hulot never defeats the age--except perhaps at the party and at the factory when he starts producing rubber sausages instead of rubber hose. Essentially, however, Tati attacks the modern world by showing what it's like at its ludicrous best. Mon Oncle is, in fact, a magnificent series of satiric vignettes, and Tati's greatest achievement here is that of the director who catches in the subtlest and funniest touches the humor and charm of life.