Bruno Dumont pushed himself as a filmmaker with his comic detective miniseries "P'tit Quinquin", and now he seems to have confirmed this new direction for the cinema with "Slack Bay", a pratfall-filled coastal tale of crime and love set in the 1910s.
Slack Bay is a very weird concoction that won't be to everyone's taste. Yet this superbly photographed fabrication is, ultimately, strangely compelling.
This is a spirited and often gorgeous film (Guillaume Deffontaines, the cinematographer, makes the eyes of even the most ostensibly unattractive characters supernaturally beautiful), but it's not an easy one.
With a touch of Tintin and a pinch of Pynchon, it winds back and forth across the Channel coast so that the beautifully crisp natural tones and light bathe the degradation and deformity that perpetually lurks in this raspberry to French history.
Though the combination of social critique and unhinged laughs doesn't always jell, the movie is quite gloriously a thing unto itself, even as it draws upon obvious inspirations.
... the provocative Ma Loute is in parts subversive, perverse, and politically incorrect, while it fashions a bifurcated study of good and evil, love and hate, and, ultimately, social injustice and the sheer vulgarity of vanity itself.