While his work is divisive to the point where calling them an acquired taste would be enormously generous, it’s impossible to deny that Quentin Dupieux (otherwise known as Mr Oizo in some circles) is a filmmaker who has grown into one of the unique artistic visionaries of his generation and has continuously worked to redefine the borders of cinema and the ideas that can be contained within, which he has done through a remarkably prolific run of films over the past decade, in which he transitioned from making mildly amusing novelties to revolutionary artworks that defy all categorisation and logical comprehension. His most recent offering is The Second Act (French: Le Deuxième Acte), in which he tells a relatively conventional story – a newly-minted romantic couple are meeting for dinner, but they are accompanied by someone who wasn’t initially invited: David has brought Willy, his foul-mouthed best friend, while Florence is chaperoned by Guillaume, her loose-cannon father who yearns for a bygone era. The meeting is off to a bad start before either of the parties even encounter one another, and the tensions certainly do not abate once they’re seated, with the conversation veering into various taboo topics that test all the participants’ resolve and sanity after a while. However, we soon learn that these are all actors engaging in a film shoot, which has veered wildly off-course, leading to their existential crises interweaving with those of their characters, which begins to reflect their insecurities and most concealed flaws. Audacious in the same way as nearly every one of his existing films but also wildly unique, The Second Act is a terrific addition to the director’s ongoing endeavour to question the nature of cinema and artistic expression, being one of his most blatantly obvious satires insofar as the methods it takes to explore the underlying concepts, while still retaining the delightful spirit of chaos that usually dictates his work, all of which combines to create this wonderfully perverse, boundary-pushing dark comedy that is simultaneously endearing and bleak in equal measure, a combination that Dupieux relishes in establishing throughout this bizarre but thought-provoking film.

One of the reasons Dupieux has remained such a vital voice in the artistic world is because of his keen awareness of social and cultural patterns that define contemporary existence, having a firm grasp on the collective pulse of not only his native France but in terms of the culture as a whole. Some of his films may be delightfully deranged flights of fancy, but they’re all anchored within some recognisable themes that immediately make them quite profound, even at their most wacky and deranged. The Second Act features the director making a brutal indictment on modern trends in filmmaking and using a relatively conventional structure that has been the foundation of countless comedies (the “date gone wrong” trope that has become so common it is almost lazy by this point) to craft a demented character study on the fragile egos of industry professionals, as well as a scathing deconstruction on how the artistry in filmmaking is gradually being phased out as technology makes it easier than ever to cut corners. We are currently living in an era where studio executives are actively encouraging the use of artificial intelligence in the creation of art, and the fact that this technology is more available than ever before to the public means that essentially anyone can now utilise them for their gain, removing the need to be skilful, and instead just capable of following some well-placed prompts. This film turns this concept around – instead of a director utilising artificial intelligence to replace actors and locations, these elements are all authentic (or so it would seem), and it’s the director who is derived from artificial intelligence, delivering their direction from a device that simply states how close they are to adhering to the studio requirements. Direction by committee has become a talking point in a lot of contemporary media, and The Second Act provokes these ideas by making it seem like we are not approaching the point of no return when it comes to this subject – it boldly states that we have gone past that point, and are currently living in an era where art has lost the one trait that made it meaningful, which is the human element, something that has become just as expendable as far as executives are concerned. The moment art becomes just another business transaction is when it finally loses all value.

As part of his immensely prolific body of work, Dupieux has managed to recruit some tremendous actors over the years, and while his films rarely carry the layers of prestige that come with some of his contemporaries (or at least are viewed as being more amusing endeavours more than major works), he’s somehow managed to attract several of the finest actors currently working, for reasons that are not too difficult to discern – these films are quickly-crafted and don’t require much from the actors, who in turn can deliver performances that are going to be starkly different to anything they have done before and be unique entries into their respective careers. The quartet at the heart of The Second Act are drawn from the most acclaimed sub-set of the French film industry – Vincent Lindon has continued to be viewed as something of the elder statesman of French cinema (especially since those who held that position in recent decades have now either retired or slowed down considerably), while still being fervent in his desire to do original work when it crosses his path. Léa Seydoux has continued to be one of the most prominent actors of her generation, with a continuous stream of work in both Europe and the United States, with Louis Garrel not being too far behind in terms of crossover appeal and reliability of his work. Raphaël Quenard has skyrocketed to fame, appearing in several films in the past few years that have made him quite a unique presence, and someone every French director seems interested in working with due to his clear talents. Surprisingly, it is only Quenard who has previously worked with the director, with the other three collaborating with Dupieux for the first time but still so clearly fitting into his world based on their strong commitment to matching his deranged style rather than risking being left behind in terms of how he approaches these characters. There isn’t a single standout in the quartet, with each one of them having immense strengths all of their own – this is a film in which the brilliance doesn’t come in standalone performances, but rather how the actors play off one another, and Dupieux constantly fosters an environment where they are encouraged to go for the jugular as far as possible, each one of them delivering hilarious and irreverent performances that perfectly match the general tempo of the film and its offbeat, ambitious ideas.

While the thematic thread that ties this film together is incredibly engaging and elevated considerably by the terrific actors who share the director’s vision, The Second Act could only be effective with the right approach to some of these challenging ideas. Dupieux does not seem like someone particularly interested in spending 80 minutes yelling into the void about the loss of credibility in contemporary cinema without actually having some substance beyond its ambitious plot structure. It took some time for audiences to warm up to his divisive approach to telling stories, but as he has matured as a filmmaker and become more self-assured in his vision, we’ve started to realise that he has a fascinating command of his craft, and both his visual prowess and ability to weave memorable narratives are extremely intriguing in what they represent on a fundamental level. Ultimately, this can be condensed into a very simple principle: Dupieux understands that a film does not need to make sense to be entirely effective, and instead, it can be wildly deranged and off-the-wall as long as it has something to say. Much like the guiding principles behind the work of one of his artistic idols, Luis Buñuel (whose The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and The Exterminating Agnel is a clear influence on this film, both visually and thematically), the director sets out to craft something that dismantles our understanding of art and how it manifests, and the unfurnished, bare-boned visual motif (in which the majority of the story takes place in and around a remote pastoral restaurant that seems almost repulsively ordinary) only heightens the lingering absurdity that acts as the connective tissue between the more outrageous moments, and where the surrealist touches are as integral as the underlying commentary. Quite frankly, the director makes it clear that he does not believe that he needs to explain anything, and he wastes very little time on providing context – this is not the first work to be a metafictional deconstruction of the artistic process, but unlike other works, there isn’t any definitive border between fact and reality, to the point where one of the characters boldly states that he will “exit the film”, and we expect him to quite literally walk off the screen, the four borders not being nearly strong enough to contain Dupieux wildly audacious vision.

In comparison to many of the films he has made over the past few years, The Second Act is decidedly more accessible than most of his other work, taking a more mainstream approach to the central ideas and focusing on themes that are likely more familiar to casual viewers, making this a fantastic entry-point for those who have either not yet been able to witness Dupieux’s deranged delights or have found some of his more experimental works to be lacking in substance or depth, which is a legitimate criticism that we can understand, even if we may not necessarily agree with all of his decisions. The film is overall quite an ambitious achievement, even if it seems relatively minor on the surface – a chamber drama about a couple trying to go on a date that eventually goes off the rails as a result of various rising tensions before swiftly revealing itself to be a scathing indictment on the film industry masquerading as a comedy-of-manners, seems very much within the director’s wheelhouse, almost to the point where it feels predictable. Yet, his tendency towards narrative innovation is one of the many reasons the film constantly feels fresh and unique – we’ve seen countless works that set out to explore the fickle boundary between art and business, but here, the conversation is both delightfully strange and deeply unsettling, showing a very different side to how we produce and consume art, stirring enough thought to actively be viewed as something much deeper and more provocative than we’d anticipate based on a cursory glance. We find that Dupieux infuses the film with anger we haven’t witnessed from him often, where the humour is nonetheless still present (and arguably the driving force behind the entire film) but filtered through some challenging conversations that highlight the director’s frustrations with an industry that has grown increasingly more clinical, and where pure artistic expression is optional, with other factors – ones that are rooted in a sector about as far from artistic as we can get – being the primary source of the film’s ambitious ideas, and one of the many reasons this is such an absolute triumph in terms of both style and narrative structure.