Peindre ou faire l'amour

There are films one loves to hate. This one is so awful, so contrived, so inane, so pretentious, so ludicrous at times ( particularly the dialogue ) that I wonder how well-known actors like Azema and Auteuil condescended to be part of such an abysmal opus. That it was well-received in France and Belgium is a sad reflection on some people's critical faculties, and also on the topics that we deem worthy of attention ( or rather on our treatment of them ). I understand that the directors, the Larrieu brothers, until their disastrous foray into serious film-making, had made documentaries about insects, quite a worthy enterprise ( one has only to think of the superb BBC productions ). Perhaps their intimacy with these tiny creatures have deprived them of any savoir-faire when dealing with human beings and their problems, since their stilted direction and clumsy camera work make the spectator wonder:" am I missing something? Is there some hidden intention in such lack of talent ?" I am relieved to note that there is a reviewer in Germany who shares my opinion that this film is unadulterated faeces.