By a chance turn of events in 1936, Jacques Tati’s film apprenticeship coincided with that of René Clément, with whom he would have a short-lived collaboration on some projects which were never completed (such as the medium- length film Rugby, written by both of them).

Up to this point Tatische (who had recently renamed himself Tati) had mainly performed on the stage, in particular as writer and actor of the play, Impressions sportives (1934). He had also acted in three not particularly successful short films (two of which he had also written the screenplay for). Clément, who had just turned twenty-six, had been the assistant for Charles Barrois in On demande une brute (1934) and for Jacques Berr in Gai dimanche (1935), both of which starred Tati. So Tati entrusted him with the direction and photography of Soigne ton gauche, which was the rst sketch of some of the interesting features that we see again in films by the director of Mon oncle. The environment is reminiscent of Jour de fête: the countryside as the home of childhood, where Roger, a farm boy, is fascinated by a boxer training so he begins ghting an invisible opponent, but is brutally brought back to reality. If Tati’s style is already recognisable in the elevation of competiveness into a surreal humour, the de nition of the characters (like the children) in the background and the authenticity of the environment can also be traced back to Clément’s contribution.

Roberto Chiesi

Soigne ton gauche is the third and best known of Tati’s earliest films. Tati’s genius is in total display here. Everything is finely crafted: the authenticity of the natural rural settings, that would be one of the audacious elements of Jour de Fête: the amateurish and improvised nature of things seem like a friendly, inside joke among friends; the solo pantomime of the factory boy, boxing an invisible adversary in the barn is an early expression of Tati’s spirit of repressed combativeness; the sweater with the same striped pattern as Mr. Hulot’s socks; the postman, a picturesque character drawn with an already sure hand; and finally the child-like spirit, seen in the kids who film with a coffee grinder – all embryos of the major themes that he would develop in the future, in this case without any quality of it being an illusory look back. What this film highlights, however, aside from similar details found in future works, is one of the fundamental components of Tati’s comedy, with which he radically distinguishes himself from those who have had the habit of identifying with him. Let’s say, for simplicity’s sake, that Langdon is the poet, Keaton the loner desperately trying to have a life, Chaplin the clown, a little Christ who carries the unhappiness of the world on his feeble shoulders. Tati is first and foremost a sportsman, champion in every category (boxing, fencing, velocipede, canoeing, competitive hunting, tennis, rod fishing, etc.), who dreams of conquering the world and more or less does, never discouraged by actual failure and eternally aspiring without let up to set new records: a record for speed in Jour de Fête; a record for slowness in Les Vacances de Monsieur Hulot – basically the same research in the end, maybe of the absolute.
Claude Beylie, Jacques Tati inconnu, “Cinéma 57”, n. 23, December 1957