Playtime (1967): My Screen Time Savior

Stop playing on your phone and press play on Jacques Tati’s Playtime!

At the beginning of the year, actor Matt Damon claimed that Netflix requests its films reiterate the plot “three or four times in scenes to accommodate viewers on their phones,” (Dunn). This phenomenon feels reminiscent of the 1930s and 40s when talking pictures rose in popularity — this unspoken fear that dialogue will fully eliminate the unique visual qualities of film — adapting to new technologies and changing audiences.

This comes as absolutely no shock to me — I have noticed a shift in not only textual content, but visual storytelling on the platform. With the fifth season of Stranger Things, characters explain the “big plan” for the tenth time while standing in front of explosive and raging green screens, attempting to steal my attention from the phone in my hand or the laundry I’m folding. Everything must be played in the background and I’m pushed to multitask.

I have noticed this phenomenon affect audiences around me. Nothing irks me more than watching a movie with a friend or family member and they get on their phone. I remember going to see A Knock at the Cabin (2023) with a couple friends in theaters, and one of them spending the entire time on his phone. Not to say I enjoyed the film, but I also believe that if you paid $15 for a ticket, the texts can wait until the credits. It’s understandable that not all people are going to enjoy every film they see, but don’t expect a dignified response when you ask “wait, why are they doing that?” when the film had clearly explained its motivations visually minutes prior.

And, I can admit, there are times when I am on my phone during a movie or show. But, with this new wave of writing and filming with phone-obsessed audiences in mind, can you blame me? It’s as if the platform is pressuring me to scroll on social media and buy the latest Stranger Things branded t-shirt as Noah Schnapp and Millie Bobby Brown look into the camera and repeat the corny, undoubtably Duffer Brothers dialogue.

I was reminded of the power of visual storytelling when I first watched Jacques Tati’s Playtime (1967) about a year ago. I was required to pick a film off of the British Film Institute Sight and Sound poll for a class, and Playtime sat at spot 23. It had been sitting in my watchlist for a while, and I had finally found an excuse to watch. I rented it on Amazon Prime and sat back with my notebook and pen in hand. While academic pressure factored into my initial urge to stay off of my phone, within the first 15 minutes I knew it would be impossible to enjoy the irresistible charm seeping from the film if I even thought about checking my texts.

The film itself is quite simple — it follows a singular man (Jacques Tati) bumbling through the technologically advancing city of Paris, which leads to a series of humorous mishaps. Rather than focusing on witty jokes and dialogue, the film is almost entirely silent, aside from the soundscape of Paris and murmuring crowds. Tati fully utilizes the power of visual storytelling with slapstick comedy and dramatic irony through intricate blocking. The entire two hour runtime feels like a breath of fresh air compared to comedic films today.

One scene in particular that grabbed my attention is when the main character is wandering through an office building, trying to flag down a man he has a meeting with. The cubicles morph into a commercial maze, confusing both the audience and the main character. Natural yet cartoonish blocking fills the foreground, mid round, and background, but not in a way that feels overwhelming. Each plane works harmoniously together, creating a moving painting for any viewer to notice something new for every shot — which lasts longer to allow time for the meticulous movement.

Jacques Tati also uses reflection to add to the visual insanity. The main character weaves through the building but keeps losing sight of the man he’s set to meet. The pristine glass of the building’s exterior complicates the location of the man — is he actually outside, or right behind the main character? — making for comedic relief in wake of the main character’s struggle. It is in these small moments I appreciate a return to emphasizing the visual and not catering to distracted audiences. It’s clear through the concept of the film that Tati is passionate about the medium, creating something so uniquely filmic.

I had a similar experience when watching 2022’s Hundred’s of Beavers. While the film might not have seen success at the box office, it has gained a cult following (myself included) proving that there is an audience for a return to slapstick comedy during our current obsessive cell phone epidemic. With the film’s lack of dialogue, it had audiences on the edge of their seats during the final trial. When the Beaver Judge shouts “Guilty!” we finally recognize the lack of dialogue and are content with the scraps they feed us.

There is definitely a negative connotation that comes with the “silent film” branding. Current audiences shun and turn their nose up at older films without color or sound — because why would I watch a film from the 1920s when I could watch something new? With the risk of sounding like a pretentious film student, I would argue that everyone should watch at least one silent film in their life time. You will soon recognize that most visual and narrative troupes and conventions have survived the test of time.

This isn’t a plea for an exact return to silent comedies — Bottoms (2023) and Friendship (2024), both of which rely heavily on their witty scripts, are some of my favorite comedies of the decade. Rather, this is a rally for filmmakers to emphasize the visual and to not rely on the script. Stage plays thrive by depending on their scripts, films prosper when they harken back to the distinctly cinematic foundations of film — editing and the moving image. Make me excited to see the film in theaters, don’t force me to get on my phone during the third plot recap.