One day, Dolph Springer wakes up and realizes he has lost his beloved dog, Paul. He becomes crazy to find and changes the life of many people who he encounter on his journey. He do no that he is losing the vital thing - his mind.
Dupieux has to be applauded for creating a unique universe, but sometimes he seems stuck in it - to the point where we feel we're not always in on the joke.
Quentin Dupieux's brand of absurdism lands somewhere between the plays of Eugène Ionesco, the looniest sketches of Monty Python, and the most adventurous efforts of the Adult Swim brigade.
The whole film feels a bit like a dream after a late-night burrito, leaving you wondering if moments in the film actually happened, particularly when mulling over it the next day.
A work of much playfulness and imagination, Wrong hints at a broader promise of budding, starburst auteurism upon which the film as a whole -- a nice, silly riff that could work better in truncated form -- doesn't fully deliver.
In Wrong, reality and the world of the film will regularly upend themselves; it's never quite reliably clear, though, that these inexplicable events are happening for a purpose.
Dupieux doesn't make films for everyone, but he does craft creative and abstract trips that are more than worth going on, even if they're fantastically difficult to explain to anyone who has yet to join the club.
This isn't a long film, but it lacks propulsion at times. Luckily, it maintains its wry outlook and never quite erases the good will that its best moments inspire.
Apart from arousing fitful curiosity, this stretch of surrealism yawns into an arid expanse of flat quirkiness. Meanders between torquing noir clichés and drifting through a funhouse-mirror-maze of SoCal conventions. Little strange poetry emerges.
There's a winning confidence to the filmmaking, which is deceptively stylish - Dupieux favours nervy close-ups and blurred foregrounds - and some real soul in Plotnick's performance.
