This piece of avant-garde fluff may have something to say, but I couldn't say what; the protagonist hangs around his house, finds a gun (which may have some connection to John Dillinger), cleans it, watches some home movies...and eventually, something more or less happens. The score is actually quite good, and much of the film passes by without complaint. But when it tries to do SOMETHING at the end, it's far too little and too late. Best scene: the protagonist eating honey off his maid's back.

Ferreri's deliriously inscrutable treatise on modern ennui, alienation, pop culture and misogyny, it absolutely delighted and intrigued me. Piccoli turns in a fascinating performance. His strange, anarchic actions are amusing and confusing and vaguely threatening, and it's often impossible to tell what is going on in his head or what is driving him. Ferreri uses diegetic music to tremendous effect. The film completely creeps under your skin. Wonderfully enigmatic surrealist social critique.