There are a handful of recurring themes in the cinema of Bruno Dumont: the marginalized and disenfranchised, living in the countryside of France. The sheer ridiculousness of human experience. Its wretchedness. Martyrdom. The failure of (organized, Christian) religion. The essence, the root causes of evil. The possibility of salvation – if any. Or rather, the struggle for salvation. Yet, his impossibly nihilistic and bleak cinema is the funniest, most hilarious one in contemporary European cinema – with such a razor-sharp and unpredictable sense of absurdist humor that even his closest followers can never really anticipate what his next gag or joke might be. (For example: an enormous ass dancing to a soft jazz version of Bach’s Komm, süßer Tod, komm selge Ruh (Come, sweet death, come, blessed rest), in the hall of an evil overlord?) All of the above – and more – applies to the third installment of his “Quinquin” cycle: L’Empire (The Empire), one of the most highly anticipated films at this year’s edition of the Berlinale.

Flavia Dima

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Film critic & journalist. Collaborates with local and international outlets, programs a short film festival - BIEFF, does occasional moderating gigs and is working on a PhD thesis about home movies. At Films in Frame, she writes the monthly editorial - The State of Cinema and is the magazine's main festival reporter.

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