A wretched first feature from the 72-year-old Piccoli, which aims for the space between Raoul Ruiz and Mike Leigh, but winds up stewing in its own misanthropy, misogyny and latent sadism. A grizzled patriarch with gangster connections (Garrel) presides over his three sons and their families, who live in identical apartments in the same block. One son is suicidal, and spends more time in hospital than out; another runs a trucking company but goes into sudden psychotic rages. Presumably intended as grunge surrealism, the view of dysfunctional working class families is actually redolent of the most patronising middle class attitudes. Less a French answer to Nil by Mouth than an hysterically brutalised soap, as tedious in its way as Neighbours.