I can only imagine what it was like to see Playtime upon its original release. Having delighted the world with M. Hulot's Holiday and Mon Oncle, it must have been quite a switch for fans of Jacques Tati to watch him down his light-hearted hijinks in favor of a fairly strong dose of social commentary. The transition may be a little jarring for some, but Tati retains enough intelligence and charm not to alienate his audience as much as he does his characters.

Playtime picks up some time after the end of Tati's previous picture, Mon Oncle. Monsieur Hulot (Tati himself), the eternally befuddled klutz with the best of intentions, finds himself thrust into Paris for reasons that aren't entirely clear. This City of Lights is far from romantic; instead, it's a modernized mishmash of steel and glass, a maze of cubes within cubes that Hulot soon becomes lost in. As Hulot treks his way across the city, other souls drift in and out of focus, including a busload of American tourists being shepherded from stop to stop. While things appear almost unsettlingly calm and orderly, it's soon clear that chaos is brewing just beneath the surface, threatening to destroy the illusion of perfection that the denizens of Paris scramble to maintain -- especially when Hulot's in town.

It's only reasonable for a comedic mind as brilliant as Tati to try something a little different after doing two great yet similar films in a row. Remember how  Woody Allen's moving on to dialogue-driven pictures that blurred the line between comedy and drama became the greatest thing to happen to his career? With Playtime, Tati doesn't betray his Hulot universe, but there's a noticeable sense of maturity about the story.  Observations about modern life were parlayed into comedic set pieces in Hulot's prior two outings, little gags that made you smile and gave viewers a good laugh. For Playtime, though, Tati has put on his game face, keeping a jovial spirit intact but casting a critical eye on where society has taken itself. His recurring theme of technology having cut people off even more from human contact is as strong as ever, and needs nary a word to prove it. More often than not, Tati lets the sheer size and structure of his Paris speak for itself. His characters have relegated themselves to living in boxes, self-made prisons they justify by claiming it simplifies their lives.

Tati makes no secret of his distaste for those willing to part with their humanity for the sake of having a snazzy new gadget. As with his other pictures, Playtime's main villain is conformity, which he depicts as an epidemic sweeping across France and the rest of the world. One scene shows posters encouraging travelers to visit other destinations across the globe -- each one featuring the exact same skyscraper. There are moments when Playtime almost feels like a horror film, and I admit there were times when I had the sneaking suspicion Tati had lost all hope for humanity. But just when it seems as if he's about to tip into preachiness, Tati balances out the story with just the right dose of his trademark subtle comedy.

Don't expect Hulot to be the epicenter of the film's comedic chaos; he's more of an observer than a participant here. Tati even teases viewers with glimpses of other actors dressed as the character. Still, he ensures that a good amount of jesting takes place, especially during an extended scene in a nightclub, where Murphy's Law is in full effect -- to highly amusing results.

Of Tati's four Hulot pictures, Playtime is arguably the most admired by critics, frequently cited as a classic way ahead of its time. I enjoyed it quite a bit, though not as much as M. Hulot's Holiday or Mon Oncle, if only because Tati's cynicism occasionally gets in the way of his message about life and color still being found in this crazy, mechanized world of ours. But Playtime remains a very smart and well-executed film, one of those rare stories that makes you think and chuckle at the same time.

MY RATING: *** (out of ****)

(Released by Criterion; not rated by MPAA.)