We all deal with frustrating people in our own way – some have a higher tolerance for irritation than others, while some may choose to simply cut someone entirely out of their lives. Neither of these are particularly fascinating when it comes to art, since we’re conditioned as a species to be naturally curious about the extreme, which we often only find acceptably rendered in fictional scenarios. There is an entire canon of films about people who reach their breaking point when it comes to those who bring them nothing but misery and frustration, especially those that exist within our closest circle – our friends, colleagues and (in many instances), our romantic partner, which usually takes the form of stories where someone stuck in a long-term marriage grows so annoyed at certain aspects of their spouse’s personality, the only way out is simply to eliminate them entirely. The “how to kill your wife and get away with it” sub-genre has existed for a while, and has often been at the forefront of challenging not only the borders of good taste, but various social and cultural boundaries that we acknowledge as being sacred, but still relish in seeing represented on screen, as if it is reflecting our innermost curiosity. In the case of The Probability Factor (French: L’ordinateur des pompes funèbres), we have Gérard Pirès crafting a delightfully strange story, which follows Fred Malone, a mild-mannered, white collar worker who leads a seemingly ordinary life – but when he returns home every evening, he’s bombarded by demands from his overbearing wife, their relationship being beyond fraught by this point. Instead of leaving her (which seems to not even cross his mind), he plots to get rid of her through staging a fatal accident – and while he does succeed, and luxuriates in the knowledge that he has both gained a significant amount of money from her life insurance and is free from her presence, he discovers that once you have a taste for the act of murder, it seemingly doesn’t disappear quite so easily.

The elements that drive us towards a film like The Probability Factor are not difficult to understand – we tend to be quite attracted to stories that represent the darker side of humanity, where seemingly ordinary people find themselves driven to the brink of madness by factors that they claim are out of their control – and the story of a husband being forced to eliminate his wife through the most hilariously offbeat means possible certainly does pander to those internal curiosities we have, but would obviously never act on. This film emerged at a time in which the industry was pushing against changing political and cultural landscapes – the world was plunged into a state of perpetual panic as a Cold War raged across many regions, and the human population was becoming increasingly incredulous to the sanctity of certain seemingly sacred concepts – and a story of a seemingly ordinary man being driven to the point of murdering his wife solely to get some peace in his otherwise dull life is a perfect example of creative exaggeration, where something so outrageous and bizarre acts as a facade for a deeper and more provocative piece of social commentary. Undeniably a comedy, albeit one that is about as dark as it could possibly be, The Probability Factor is one of the sharpest and most precise satires produced during this era, and puts in the effort to take quite an inane concept – that of a man murdering his wife – and crafts it in a whip-smart, daring piece of comedy that is as entertaining as it is deeply unsettling. Its fundamental merits are directly related to the fact that it never aims for the obvious points of discussion, and instead uses every available opportunity to reflect on the sense of paranoia, anxiety and despair that simmers beneath every sector of society. Choosing to focus on someone whose calm, straight-laced exterior betrays his internal psychopathy is brilliant, and allows the film to take on an even more complex meaning than we would expect based on a cursory glance.

It seems almost impossible to watch a French film produced towards the middle of the 20th century (or essentially any film made in continental Europe) without the likelihood of seeing an appearance Jean-Louis Trintignant, whose immense talents were only matched by his tendency to be profoundly prolific, working in dozens of films a year, and dedicating the entirety of his talents to every one of them, never once coming across as inauthentic or anything less than wholeheartedly dedicated. The Probability Factor rarely (if ever) comes up in discussions of his best work, but there is an argument to be made that it is one of his more unconventional peaks as an actor – considering he mostly worked in dramatic roles, and where his forays into comedy usually drew on his natural tendency to play more moral, straight-laced characters who were often the patsies to mor eccentric scene partners, its nothing short of refreshing to see Trintingnant not only being effortlessly funny, but in a more complex, daring role, playing a malicious, evil character who hides his violent, sociopathic tendencies under thick layers of bourgeois blandness. He’s the perfect candidate to anchor The Probability Factor, using his natural gifts to bring this fascinating character to life, drawing us in with his charisma and keeping us engaged as he grows increasingly more complex as a character, developing into quite a callous and provocative protagonist who we should technically despise in principle, but who we simply can’t bring ourselves to dislike, based purely on the extent to which Trintignant works with the director to create an unforgettable central character. The sprawling supporting casting is also quite good, but certainly aren’t given as many opportunities as Trintignant to express themselves. Nonetheless, Bernadette Lafont and Mireille Darc prove to be fantastic adversaries, terrorising the protagonist through their carefully-calculated methods of manipulation that occupy the third act of the film, and the one where The Probability Factor truly becomes an unforgettable experience.

One of the reasons The Probability Factor is so radical and unique is not only the story being told (which is by comparison quite commonplace and not nearly as revolutionary as we may think), but rather in the execution. The director understands that the audience is as much a part of the story as the characters, and he intends to use us as a tool, playing off our inherent curiosity and placing us in the precarious position of finding sympathy with someone who is essentially nothing more than a vicious, psychopathic murderer whose actions are truly irredeemable, but yet is nonetheless positioned as a fascinating character. It is a credit to Trintignant’s wonderful performance, but it does prove to be just as indicative of Pirès’ delightfully deranged worldview and his willingness to push boundaries in creative and offbeat ways. We don’t necessarily take his side, or feel like what he is doing is necessarily moral (and the film itself is intentionally very cruel to Tom Malone, the only character who exits the film more disadvantaged than he was at the start – and keep in mind, this is a film in which multiple innocent people are victims of orchestrated deaths), but it still offers intriguing insights into the mind of someone who decides to make quite a rash decision to resolve a small problem, but rapidly falls into a state of madness, not realising that something like murder tends to linger in the mind of the perpetrator, and going on with his life is a far less likely possibility. It’s wonderfully offbeat storytelling, and the structure of the film – particularly in the blend of bleak dark humour with soft, dreamlike visuals – only emphasise the peculiar roots of this story, and how it frequently pushes against the well-defined borders of good taste, proving that the most deranged stories are often the most interesting, especially when the audience is placed in a position where we peer voyeuristically into his increasingly desperate attempts to avoid paying the consequences for his actions. It’s superbly well-crafted, and The Probability Factor proves to have a very unique approach to its underlying ideas.

A deranged, hilarious dark comedy that is as provocative as it is compelling, The Probability Factor is quite an achievement, both formally and conceptually – and while he is not as well-known a filmmaker as some of his peers, Pirès is nonetheless quite a brilliant storyteller, and someone who warrants a reassessment, as his sturdy body of work is ripe for rediscovery, especially by the current generation, who tends to be more receptive to these bleak, off-the-wall satires that struggled to find an audience at the time. The style of the film is incredibly effective all on its own – soft colours capture the bland lives of these characters as they do their best to move past the existential ennui that cripples them, to the point where murder seems to be less of an extreme solution to a major problem, and more of a way to simply pass the time. It’s gloriously deranged, and there isn’t a moment where the film isn’t making it quite clear that it intends to challenge the artistic status quo in increasingly odd, offbeat ways. Anchored by one of Trintignant’s most compelling and original performances, and guided by a directorial vision that gives equal emphasis to both the style and substance of this narrative, Pirès creates an undeniably daring work of fiction. It tackles fascinating themes relating to human behaviour, social conventions and the slow descent into madness caused by societal boredom and a culture that doesn’t facilitate outlets for those who need a way to overcome their internal frustrations. It is a heightened, eccentric dark comedy, and offers viewers interested in something slightly more provocative the chance to peer beneath the surface and observe the trials and tribulations of your ordinary, garden variety psychopath, being as cutting and daring today as it was nearly half a century ago.