Ménage (1986)

Ménage is special because it takes a seemingly ordinary barroom encounter and, with Bertrand Blier’s wicked confidence, turns it into a slippery, funny, and strangely tender dance of desire and delinquency. Gérard Depardieu barrels through the film with magnetic ease, but it’s Michel Blanc and Miou-Miou who make the shifting power dynamics feel both sharp and human, as the trio’s attraction, jealousy, and opportunism keep re-drawing the rules in real time. The vibe is pragmatic at first—money, boredom, small-time crime—then it glides into something bolder and more surreal, orchestrating its seductions and burglaries with the timing of a darkly comic set piece. It’s not for viewers who want comfort or moral handrails, but if you’re game for a surprising, grown-up comedy-drama that keeps getting stranger in the best way, it’s a bracing watch.

Bertrand Blier is clearly aiming for a provocative, boundary-pushing cocktail of comedy, crime, and sexual politics, using a petty criminal’s charm to upend a bickering couple’s entire identity and routine. When it’s clicking, the film has a mischievous energy and a strong trio of performances—Depardieu’s swagger and Michel Blanc’s anxious vulnerability give the dynamic real bite. The problem is that it can start to feel like it’s making things up as it goes along, veering into tonal wobble and narrative indecision just when you want it to commit to a point. If you like Blier’s taste for discomfort and ambiguity, you may enjoy the ride; if you want a focused crime caper or a clear-eyed relationship drama, this one may feel unstable rather than daring.