Max Mon Amour Review

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The wife (Rampling) of a British diplomat (Higgins) upsets him by betraying him for another man. Well, primate...


Held up for UK release for over four years, this heavily-touted tale of Charlotte Rampling humping a chimpanzee turns out to be no more than a feature-length tease. And not a very good one at that. Oshima fumbles around with the basic plot involving British diplomat Higgins' bizarre reaction to the news that his wife (Rampling) is getting it on with a primate — being a true patriot he prefers that idea to her going horizontal with Johnny Frenchman — and the whole thing lumbers along like a dead-weight farce as poor Higgins tries des­perately to find out what exactly goes on in bed between Rampling and the man-in-a-monkey-suit. It all tries for a satirical tone somewhere between Bunuel and Noel Coward and it all falls tragically flat on its face.

Impossible to take seriously or as satire, this film is an embarrassment to humanity and our cousins in the jungle.