A film of three faces. All of the same woman.
Like a brief window into the worlds of Fou Tchou-Li's expression.
Grandrieux owes much to Lynch, but this film specifically. It is the closest Lynch ever got to embodying his idol, Francis Bacon. It is a nightmare. A spider's egg. It hatches under closed eyelids, spun (projected) on to the walls. Even though I only saw Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me recently, I also feel my cinema is in a debt to the images and sounds in this stabbing, this murder of a film.
The film's very nature - a shivered mirror - confirms its own dissolution, its severed body collapses in on itself. "Corps de blah", indeed!