As a theme, desire has been explored in a multitude of ways throughout the history of art – it is perhaps even more distinct than representations of romance, with many artists across every conceivable medium viewing the concept of love as entailing a combination of emotional connection and carnal cravings. It has become an incredibly distinct and varied theme, there are entire films based solely on exploring the idea of lust as a motivation for one’s pursuit of a romantic relationship – and while a number of these are certainly very sordid and depend on the viewer’s interest in more scintillating subject matter, there are a few that take a more elegant approach. This is perfectly embodied in the form of Max, My Love (French: Max, mon amour), an irreverent and outrageous tale of a family of British expatriates living in Paris, where one works as a diplomat, and the other is a bored housewife who starts a passionate love affair with the most unexpected partner imaginable: a chimpanzee named Max. Naturally, it takes a truly demented artist to concoct such an idea, but an even more gifted one to bring it to life in a way that is sophisticated and meaningful – and few filmmakers embodied this with more fervent consistency than Nagisa Ōshima, whose career is a veritable rogues gallery of perversion and depravity, punctuated with the occasional work of dignity. Working alongside the equally brilliant and provocative Jean-Claude Carrière, with whom he wrote the screenplay, the director constructs a bitingly funny satire that looks at some disconcerting themes in a way that is often quite entertaining, keeping the repulsion to a remarkably subdued level, and instead focusing more on the deeper socio-cultural themes that underpin this film and make it such a brilliantly subversive piece of cinema, one that is very unlikely to be forgotten by audiences.

It goes without saying that Max, My Love is just as deranged as its premise would suggest – and anyone who expected Ōshima to direct something that was not pushing the boundaries of what can be shown on screen (or rather, what can be heavily implied), then they are surely not aware of how far he has previously stretched the limits of decency in prior films, some of which remain the subject of outright notoriety, even half a century since their release. They are often considered artistically-resonant ordeals more than they are works that offer the viewer some degree of entertainment, so it’s natural that there would be hesitation within any viewer who knows what the director was capable of doing when working on the subject of sexual desire, coupled with a cursory glance at the premise of this film, which makes it very clear that this is not going to be a conventional story in any conceivable way – and it’s what makes Max, My Love so fascinating, because rather than conceal its true intentions behind a veneer of vague implication, it openly, and without any reluctance, announces itself as being a film quite literally about a woman having an affair with a primate. Yet, it doesn’t feel at all inappropriate or exploitative – obviously it evokes questions on the nature of bestiality (which, contrary to what one may think based on the story, the film never condones in any way), and it actually manages to be an unexpectedly dignified affair, a wonderfully exuberant and darkly comical combination of slapstick humour and sophisticated French comedy-of-manners, which seem to have motivated Ōshima and Carrière to put this film together, expanding it far beyond just a bewildering dark comedy that doesn’t have any depth outside of its continuous pursuit of ways in which it can shock viewers. By the time the film has ended, it is not unlikely that we will feel some emotional connection to this film, which is a truly bizarre turn of events, considering the subject matter.

When it comes to satirizing the machinations of the upper-class and their varying levels of pretension, one can rarely do better than a combination of Ōshima and Carrière, who are the quintessential example of a pairing that seems unconventional at first, but turns out to be incredibly effective in practice. They’re both iconic figures in the New Wave movements of their respective countries, with Ōshima being one of the most provocative voices working in Japanese cinema based on his penchant for capturing the darker side of human desire and suffering in his films, while Carrière made a significant impact as one of the formative voices during the Nouvelle Vague, which benefitted from his critical gaze and ability to create memorable scenarios. Their collaboration here brings forth both of their distinct artistic talents, allowing them to play off each other and create something truly compelling, even if it is designed to be intentionally repulsive to those who may not be as well-versed in their previous work. Max, My Love plays like a romantic comedy as made by two New Wave icons that are very different in the subjects they normally explored, but united in their shared admiration for the more unorthodox details of everyday life, which are seamlessly assimilated into this film, which becomes as much about seeing how far they can take this baffling premise and turn it into an unquestionably transfixing and gripping social satire that focuses on certain ideas that are not necessarily new to cinema, but rather delivered in a form that is entirely unusual, and exceptionally captivating. We are eased into this world, and the motif of looking through keyholes mentioned throughout the film indicates that we are situating ourselves in the position of voyeurs, peering into the depraved lives of these high society individuals, who use their status as a facade, masking their perversions and proving that sometimes those who seem to live excessively elegant lives have the most worrying desires.

Two actors that have always been the epitome of elegance and decorum are Charlotte Rampling and Anthony Higgins, who have been working for decades, often playing characters plucked from the elite annals of high society, and placed in a variety of situations that often draw on their sometimes debilitating sophistication. Rampling in particular has weaponized her extraordinary gracefulness to take on extremely challenging roles, many of them placing her in the position of characters that exist on the other side of morality – whether conflicted heroines or outright villains, few performers have been able to regularly add as much nuance to their characters as she has, which has made her one of the finest performers of her generation. Higgins is similarly someone whose work is similarly based around his tendency towards playing characters who are defined by their upmarket personas and almost condescending disregard for those of lower social standing – naturally, they’re both actors, so assuming this is in any way an extension of their real personalities is inappropriate. However, in the context of Max, My Love, they’re delivering extremely solid and nuanced performances that playfully address these archetypes, which are brilliantly brought to life by the two leads, neither actor overplaying any of the scenes, but rather finding a balance between the absurdity and stone-faced melodrama that makes this film such a deadpan masterpiece. Credit must also be given to a terrific supporting cast, which is composed of some tremendous international talents that perfectly embody the absurd sense of deranged humour on which the film is dependent. Victoria Abril, Sabine Haudepin and Pierre Étaix (whose long career as one of the most prominent French comedians was a well-known influence on this film, especially in how it depends on physical humour to tell much of its story) all blend into the vibrant and darkly comical character-based tapestry, working exceptionally well with Rampling and Higgins to create a motley crew of eccentrics that define this film and single-handedly make it worth watching.

Occurring at the perfect intersection of criminality and immorality, the story at the heart of Max, My Love is extraordinarily provocative, but in a way that is oddly endearing once the viewer is able to move past the initial shock of the premise and understand that there is much more to the ideas embedded in the film than initially meets the eye. When given the opportunity to go for the low-hanging fruit, Ōshima and Carrière choose to aim for something that appears out of reach, but which they do manage to grasp purely on the basis of their undying commitment to a story that they realize could easily be misconstrued as being a promotion of sordid values, rather than one of the darkest satirizations of upper-class malaise and the inevitable tendency for those who have everything to seek out excitement and fulfilment through increasingly worrying (and even illegal) means. This film is a terrific litmus test to determine whether one can feasibly handle the limits of subversive cinema, since it is a scandalous and scintillating film where the controversy is conveyed mainly through words – while we know exactly what the context of the narrative is, the film never directly depicts the actions on screen, instead depending on implication and dialogue to convey the general sense of unease. It doesn’t necessarily make Max, My Love any less uncomfortable, and there are moments where any logical viewer will feel as if we are watching something that should not have been made. However, once we get over this initial shock, and start to see how this film is not a celebration of bestial relations, but rather an actively daring satire that uses such a taboo subject as a means to eviscerate the upper-class and their penchant for desires that are far from moral, we can start to see precisely what a masterful provocative of both form and content Ōshima and Carrière constructed, making Max, My Love one of the most riveting films of its kind, and one that is as much a romantic comedy as it is a deeply disquieting psychological thriller, all compressed into a bitingly funny and perpetually scathing attempt at showing a different side of human desire.