Nachdem eine Leiche in einer Kuh entdeckt wird, entfaltet sich eine bizarre Prozedur der Polizei. Das kleine französische Dorf fällt langsam aber sicher dem Bösen zum Opfer. Und von der Seite beobachtet eine Bande junger Schurken aufmerksam das Geschehen.
Weird. Hilarious. Haunting. Bruno Dumont’s miniseries (a Gallic Twin Peaks?) made history as the first TV program to top the Cahiers du Cinéma’s list of best films of the year, and its release in the US was one of the highlights of 2015. Let the binge-viewing begin…
It’s a singular treat: a Twin Peaks-twisted mystery, set in starkest rural France yet executed with the knockabout flair of a Keystone Cops jape… as the bumbling investigation snakes circuitously around a community riddled with eccentrics and malcontents, a peculiarly warm feeling for human failing settles in; antic farce turns out to be as suitable a vessel for Dumont’s spiritual preoccupations as dour allegory, and a good deal more fun.
The fact remains: P’tit Quinquin really is funny, in a sometimes surprisingly broad, knockabout way, while being utterly recognisable as the work of one of Europe’s most intransigently distinctive auteurs.
July 10, 2015
The New York Times
Mr. Dumont has denied ever seeing “Twin Peaks,” but the giggly priest and the hauntingly avant-garde ballad of teenage angst yodeled in phonetic English by the town’s would-be superstar (Lisa Hartmann, who wrote the song herself) are as suggestive of David Lynch’s series as the episode in which two British tourists fail to contain the restaurant antics of their grown, mentally disturbed son is of Lars von Trier’s "The Idiots.