An AI director, its avatar peering from a laptop screen, allegedly orchestrated the majority of “Second Act.” Although, due to the algorithmic imperfections, the car carrying Guillaume (Vincent Lindon) and his daughter Florence (Léa Seydoux) stops a kilometer short of their destination, a roadside café surrounded by an empty parking lot. Well, an unplanned stroll through damp fields presents the first pair of characters a prime opportunity to dissect the pettiness of actual French cinema, lament the monotony of roles and the dearth of directors’vision, drift in and out of character, and receive a lifetime offer from Paul Thomas Anderson. Paul Thomas Anderson—ah, now there’s someone who comprehends the art of filmmaking! No PTA-4 chatbot fed on cinematic clichés.

Meanwhile, Willy (Raphaël Quenard) and David (Louis Garrel) approach, with the latter urgingthe former to hit on Florence, citing his own lack of attraction. ‘I don’t understand. Is she some kind of ugly?’ comes Willy’s perfectly reasonable reaction. ‘Or even worse—trans? Can’t stomach that crowd.’ A perplexed David pauses to remind his partner: such un-PC banter is taboo in contemporary cinema, especially with cameras rolling.

Typical Dupieux, isn’t it?

 A duck in an egg, the end at the beginning, yet we press on. David, Willy, Florence, and Guillaume, unite, settling at a table in a café “Second Act.” They argue, throw tantrums, struggle to find common ground, bungling take after take. And, Paul Thomas Anderson—he won’t wait forever! The fifth character—a neurotic extra playing a bartender (Manuel Guillot)—fails to expedite the grueling shoot. He can’t compose himself, can’t grasp the bottle, can’t keep it steady, spraying drops of Burgundy across the table (alcohol, by the way, doesn’t mesh well with Dupieux’s work).

The spatial-temporal matryoshka method shone in Dupieux’s previous film—a free interpretation of Salvador Dali’s life and work. There, the methodserved its purpose: it was perhaps the only way to vividly illustrate the nature of surrealism. That matryoshka was expensive, complete. For “Second Act,” however, they’ve salvaged only two mismatched sets, each comprising two parts of different sizes: a film within a film, and reality within fantasy (or vice versa).

Does anyone today still need cinema as a portal to parallel realities?Venturing beyond reveals one consistent truth: there’s nothing to hold onto in this world. The mocking tones in plot recursions are, of course, very amusing, but unnerving at the same time. This passion for entanglement is perhaps the main untimeliness, unseasonableness, and main imperfection of the new Dupieux. And yes, entangling is much easier than disentangling.

 The dolly tracks at the film’s conclusion, laid across the French field where the characters recently strolled, again discussing the blurred lines between R-reality and F-fiction—one hopesthese will lead to a genuine second act in Dupieux’s career. The first act offered much of interest, but we’ve grown somewhat weary.

And for “Second Act” itself, a second act is definitely not foreseen.