La Chèvre (1981)

La Chèvre is special because it turns “bad luck” into a comic superpower, building an entire crime-adventure around the idea that the most competent way to find a missing woman might be to follow someone who can’t walk across a room without disaster. Francis Veber sets Pierre Richard’s sweetly hapless François Perrin beside Gérard Depardieu’s hardened, increasingly exasperated detective, and their chemistry becomes the engine: every pratfall and misunderstanding feels less like random slapstick and more like fate nudging the story forward. The vibe is breezy and sun-baked, a playful Mexico-set caper where clues arrive wrapped in chaos, and the laughs come from watching professionalism lose a long, losing battle against improbability. It’s not for viewers allergic to broad farce or a few dated, mildly raunchy moments, but if you want a clever, crowd-pleasing comedy that earns its silliness with real timing and charm, this one’s a delight.

La Chèvre is trying to be a breezy, high-concept buddy adventure where sheer bad luck becomes an investigative tool, and it absolutely commits to that premise. The problem is it’s basically one gag—Perrin’s catastrophes—repeated in slightly different locations, so if slapstick misfortune doesn’t make you laugh early, the film can feel thin, predictable, and a bit exhausting. Depardieu’s straight-man frustration and Pierre Richard’s physical comedy do give it charm, and the Mexico setting adds some color, but the “crime” element is mostly just a clothesline for farce. If you want a clever mystery or varied comedy, skip it; if you’re happy with old-school, accident-prone silliness and can tolerate mild sleaze and language, it may still hit the spot.