In a small town in the middle of pastoral France, a mysterious stranger suddenly appears – his name is Georges (Jean Dujardin), and from his appearance, you’d be lead to believe he’s just an ordinary, middle-aged man on a trip through the country. However, he’s recently gone through quite a challenging divorce, and as a result has undergone something of a mental breakdown, which has set him off on this voyage of self-discovery (when in actuality its something of an exile from his ordinary life). Along the way, he comes into owning an old deerskin jacket, which he pays an exorbitant amount of money for, which he sees as entirely worth it since it makes him feel powerful, almost to the point where he wishes he were the only person on Earth that would wear a jacket just so the world could marvel at this beauty of his extraordinary garment. Situating himself in this town, and with his bank account blocked by his soon-to-be ex-wife, Georges is hard-pressed to find a way to survive. Concurrently, he catches the attention of Denise (Adèle Haenel), a waitress who is oddly captivated by this enigmatic stranger, who represents a departure from the working-class folk she is used to waiting on, and has quite frankly grown bored of interacting with. Georges is exciting and bold, and under his assumed identity of an independent filmmaker, he also represents an opportunity for Denise to break out of the village mentality and realize her own ambitions of becoming an editor. Georges grows increasingly more obsessed with power, to the point where his activities becoming even more deranged, which Denise watches with intense curiosity, seeing this as all some elaborate performance art that she never realizes is not nearly as constructed as her over-active imagination would have her believe.

At this point in his filmmaking career, Quentin Dupieux (alternatively known as Mr. Oizo) doesn’t need to justify his choices, but rather just exist. Undoubtedly, his films are deranged, absurd and often quite brilliant, even if they are often nothing more than elaborate gags, essentially just cinematic pranks that saw him attempt to make films that don’t fit into any particular known boundaries – its resulted in the canonization of Rubber as a piece of counterculture absurdism, which is perfectly appropriate in theory, but can be a challenge to look at critically and in terms of an actual film. Deerskin (French: Le daim) is something of an anomaly, even for Dupieux, who substantially improves on his previous films, insofar as he actually makes something that has a structure and purpose, going beyond the sometimes inelegant confines of absurdity to be quite compelling in some moments. This is the kind of film that inspires a lack of understanding in the viewer – as of now, I still don’t know quite what to think of Deerskin. On one hand, it’s an embodiment of purely intrepid artistry, an attempt to venture beyond what we normally see reflected with this kind of film. On the other, it is profoundly anarchic in both form and content, provoking the audience in a way many filmmakers tend to avoid since those who are acclimated to this brand of offbeat dark comedy will certainly appreciate it, but be a much smaller group than those expecting something a bit more orderly, which runs the risk of alienating the viewer, since Dupieux goes against nearly every tradition imaginable in his effort to subvert expectations and deliver something that is borne from nothing short of complete artistic nihilism. However, despite these warnings, Deerskin is still quite an experience, and while it may be occasionally impenetrable, its undoubtedly a film that carries an enormous amount of merit, even if it takes some courage to notice it.

The best way to describe what Dupieux does with Deerskin is as if David Lynch directed a feature-length version of Curb Your Enthusiasm – and this could either be an alluring concept, or one that will immediately cause potential viewers to swerve out of the way when considering this film. However, as someone who appreciates this brand of off-the-wall humour, as well as admiring a director who is able to do something profoundly different, Deerskin was right up my alley, and I was not left disappointed at all. Something quite significant about Dupieux’s films is that they deliver on exactly what they promise – the premises are not misleading, even though they may seem like they’re detached from reality. These films may be absurd, but they’re nearly always coherent and most importantly, incredibly well-made. Deerskin is not an exception, and if anything, it sees the director demonstrating more maturity than his previous films implied he was capable of. Deerskin is actually a film, rather than a feature-length joke, and while the same bewildering folly is very much still present, its countered by an insightful exploration of the mind of a man who is gradually growing more unstable. We recently saw a similarly darkly comical horror film about a haunted garment in the brilliant In Fabric, and Dupieux continues on in this tradition, making something that seems utterly ludicrous at first, but gradually grows on the viewer, immersing us in the demented world of a filmmaker whose intentions, while somewhat puzzling, are nothing short of enticing and unique. There’s a charm to this film that supersedes the occasionally bewildering story, a kind of renegade lovability that allows it to flourish into something quite entertaining, and where the audience can actually find some value in working through this film, rather than just being bombarded with metaphysical musings punctuated by extreme violence and darkly comical small-town satire.

Perhaps one of the factors that go into making Deerskin so effective is that its recognizable – Dupieux casts two wonderful actors in the main roles, two performers who have been known for a strong body of work, and thus lending their talents to this very small and absurd story lends it a lot of credence. Jean Dujardin, who has achieved acclaim on both sides of the pond, turns in one of his most interesting performances, playing on both his natural comedic timing and movie star charisma to deliver a compelling portrayal of a man who isn’t teetering dangerously close on a mental breakdown – he’s already there, and watching Dujardin explore the psychology of such a deranged character is nothing short of a joy. It’s a performance that can only be given by a movie star who has the implicit sensibilities of a character actor – watching him navigate this strange story is wonderful, since he commits so entirely to the role, abandoning a lot of the smooth charm and trading it in for something very different. He’s an actor who can take a risk, and his performance as Georges is a fantastic testament to this quality. Contrasting him is the radiant Adèle Haenel, who is reason alone for seeking this film out – there’s not enough that can be said for how dedicated Haenel is to every one of her roles, and even when occupying a relatively unassuming character such as Denise, she is brimming with warmth and underhanded humour that proves her to be one of her generation’s most fascinating performers. Her chemistry with Dujardin is terrific – they’re portraying such radically different characters, but are able to play off each other with such commitment, you occasionally forget that you’re watching actors play characters, rather than seeing ordinary individuals in their daily lives (and considering how bizarre Georges and Denise are, I think we can be very grateful for that). They work together spectacularly well and give Deerskin the necessary boost above mere novelty that it would’ve been had lesser actors play the parts.

Deerskin is an odd duck of a film – arguably, any potential viewer should know what to expect from this film, since we’ve come to learn that Quentin Dupieux is an artist who delivers exactly what he promises, even if we naturally are inclined to think that the premise hides something more traditional. In fact, Deerskin is the kind of film that dismisses the entire idea of traditions as a whole, disregarding them in the same way the main character disposes of anyone who goes against his ridiculous manifesto. Brevity is truly the soul of wit in this film (which is really the only time Deerskin shows any sign of soulfulness, relying instead on the darkly comical evil that propels it forward), and at a swift 77-minutes, Dupieux puts together something quite brilliant, even if it may not be to the taste of those searching for something defined by conventions. Ultimately, this film operates on a very strange level, working from a set of ideas that don’t really have their place in mainstream filmmaking – but to his credit, Dupieux seems genuinely insistent on bringing this kind of story to a wider audience, mainly through casting two of contemporary French cinema’s most notable stars, and giving them characters to play that are departures from their more acclaimed work, and setting them loose in an arena of complete absurdity. Deerskin is not going to be a universally-loved film – it’s uncomfortable, overly violent and sometimes extremely dark,    to the point where it can rival some of the most demented horror films produced in the past decade. However, beneath this abstract veneer is a tremendously worthwhile film that challenges the viewer, and rewards them greatly. Deerskin isn’t a film for everyone, but if you can momentarily get on its wavelength and hold onto the saddle for longer than a few seconds, you’ll find how immensely effective this can tends to be if you’re willing to give it a chance.