"Je n'ai vu aucun d'un automobiliste sourire," remarks Tati of the two hours he sat on a highway overpass, preparing for this film by observing drivers as they left Paris.
Mais non M. Hulot, ce film n'est pas une comédie. C'est un ballet des os cassés--a ballet of broken bones.
The canvas of Pissarro trembling with the demolition of Hausmann travels to the colored purity of Mondrian's movement of balancing black lines.
Embrace the Rube Goldberg confused coordination Citroën DS on front axle counter rolling through painted arrow on asphalt.
Mais oui M. Hulot, ce film est une tragédie poétique, comme Les Parapluies de Cherbourg.
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