It feels about twenty minutes too long at first, but then Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot is one who takes his time in busy modern French society. He rides a bicycle in a world of cars. He keeps a modest flat in contrast to status symbol homes that look more like art projects—uncomfortable furniture, antiseptic surfaces, ubiquitous technology—than places to relax. In the big picture, the leisurely pace is essential. The film moves to Hulot’s own rhythm, which is polite and unhurried. Even the 51-year-old Tati’s slapstick doesn’t muss his hair much. His Hulot is a fish out of water when he visits his brother-in-law’s state-of-the-art home (the house’s centerpiece—and source of the movie’s funniest running gag—is, appropriately, a fountain in the form of a leaping fish sculpture), as well as a bad fit in his new job at a mega-factory. The themes about modern standards of living and how one can spend more time working to afford it rather than enjoying it (and how it might not all be worth it) are loud and clear. Still, if you ask me, like 95% of all good comedies, Tati’s real goal here is simply to be funny—and technology is only funny when it’s falling apart or working against you. Also, if part of M. Hulot’s charm here is that he has zero ambition, Tati the auteur is anything but that. Every frame of Mon Oncle is a painting, composed with meticulous care and in blazing color that does a can-can dance across your retinas. Comedy is a genre where visual beauty often doesn’t matter, can be an unnecessary distraction even, but Tati flies against that with real grace. I’m not calling it perfect, but sometimes the good stuff is imperfect. This is a must-see.