A peculiar love triangle. English ambassador Peter Jones (Anthony Higgins) sends a detective to find where his wife Margaret (Charlotte Rampling) goes nearly every day. She has taken a small flat, and he goes there, only to discover that her lover is Max—a chimpanzee. Max comes to live with them, and jealousy complicates matters. It's hard for Peter to accept that Margaret loves both of them. The story is resolved with understanding. As a fable about sex, it remains puzzling, though probably the moral of the story is that people like different things, and if nobody gets hurt, what's the big deal? The plot itself, of course, is absurd, and some of the fringe characters play it for comedy, especially the experts the Jones' friends try to introduce, and the maid Maria (Victoria Abril), who seems to be allergic to Max. But the center of the film is tense, even severe at times. Still, Peter is mostly elegant and bothered in much the same way he'd be bothered by jealousy accompanying the usual sort of affair, and Margaret is smiling and self-possessed and calm. Rampling and Higgins play perfectly in the mode of comedy that has its characters act around a crazy premise as if it were ordinary, and so the film is improbably charming.

MAX, MON AMOUR received a tepid reaction when it debuted in Cannes in 1986, a French- American co-production under the rein of the late Japanese provocateur Nagisa Ôshima (1932- 2013), which would become his penultimate feature film.

Since then, it has become a succès de scandale which is less being watched than hyped due to its subversive content, but in fact, most of the time, it suffices as a tongue-in-cheek comedy, a marital satire borne out of Jean-Claude Carrière's urtext, Peter Jones (Higgins) is a liberal-minded British diplomat working and living in Paris, one day, to his utter dismay, he finds out the paramour of his wife Margaret (Rampling), is a male chimpanzee named Max, beggar belief, the couple decides to try out a kind of ménage-à-trois by bringing Max into their official residence, where also lives their towhead school-age son Nelson (Hovik), and believe it or not, in the end of the story, their co-habitation actually works.

Cagey about the salacious details of the relationship between Margaret and her "supposed" primate lover, Ôshima sides with the husband's point-of-view to parse the couple's tug-of-war, firstly, Peter takes up the gauntlet to show his magnanimity by accepting the situation without letting it get under his skin, then, driven by curiosity and jealousy, his attitude towards Max seesaws between hostility and respectable concern, an experiment of corroborating the inter- species sexual act is a bust, whereas an episode of shotgun scare is just a cheeky practice of cheap tension.

It is an immoral cock-and-bull story, menace is palpable, but vice has never descended into the picture and what sagaciously affirming is the film's brazen stance on the dynamism between the couple, it is always Margaret who has the say-so in their states of affairs, however preposterous and quixotic, there is a deep respect unites them as an entity, Peter stoutly fights her corner in the face of extrinsic parties, whether it is a zoologist or a neuropsychologist, accordingly, she also quite frank about her feelings, even stays on friendly terms with Peter's secretary-cum-lover Camille (a gratingly loud Diana Quick).

It is a surprise that Ôshima chooses not to go out on a limb in salting the plot by bestowing Max with a feral complexion, alternatively played by real chimps and stunts in verisimilar costumes (solely by this reviewer's reckoning), Max is presented as a meek pet, not dangerous, sulky at most, albeit his human-like size, even becomes mawkishly lovelorn and loses his appetite when Margaret is absent. Granted, there is a touching and tender naiveness seething beneath its surrealistic premise, which also is not exactly congruent with Ôshima's make-up if one might venture to surmise.

Both Rampling and Higgins tackle the thorny subject with bravura, what percolates from their collective effort is a beguilingly unfeigned sophistication stemming from a bourgeois background, and Ôshima conspiratorially sends up their caprices with deadpan seriousness, not to mention a non sequitur triumph appended to the part where Max momentarily goes missing in the woods.

Ultimately, MAX, MON AMOUR doesn't come to provoke moralists, but offers a keyhole for the audience to observe a behavioral pattern says as much of living beings' universality as their idiosyncrasy, the point is made, but reverberations are somewhat deadened when Ôshima settles for a middle road between "funny and die" in his overall approach.

The always lovely and captivating Charlotte Rampling gives one of her warmest and most appealing performances to date as the elegant, bored stiff wife of bland stuffed shirt diplomat Anthony Higgins. Rampling has an extramarital affair with Max (Ailsa Berk in an amazingly convincing Rick Baker simian outfit), a moody, ill-tempered, but very adorable, affectionate and even amorous chimpanzee. Higgins discovers Rampling's infidelity and decides to allow Max to move into his posh Paris apartment with the frail hope that his wife will quickly become tired of the cuddly little bugger. Japanese director Nagisa Oshima, who co-wrote the wickedly clever and incisive script with frequent Luis Bunuel collaborator Jean-Claude Carriere, shows an engagingly light touch with this droll, frothy and mildly mocking comedy about staid'n'starchy steadfast bourgeois mores and attitudes which trenchantly satirizes the drabness, emptiness and superficiality of upper-class life, the absurdity of the rich's insistence on maintaining a respectable, well-mannered veneer in the most ridiculous of situations, male fear of impotence, and the hilariously desperate measures people will resort to in order to alleviate tedium and obtain some kind of emotional fulfillment with genuinely funny (the radiant Victoria Abril is a stitch as the timid maid whose face breaks out due to a severe monkey fur allergy), charming, and ultimately quite touching results. The fact that this film doesn't coyly gloss over the touchy subject of bestiality clinches its status as a deliciously eccentric and subversive treat.