Two years ago the witty French director Francois Ozon gave us a morose realistic film called UNDER THE SAND in which an exceptionally intelligent woman (played by Charlotte Rampling) reacts to the apparent death of her husband by going into a state of complete and pathological denial, and this year, to prove his versatility, Ozon has made a comical nonrealistic film called 8 WOMEN in which eight exceptionally intelligent women (played by Fanny Ardant, Emmanuelle Beart, Danielle Darrieux, Catherine Deneuve, Isabelle Huppert, Virginie Ledoyen, Firmine Richard, and Ludivine Sagnier) react to the apparent death of their husband/father/brother/son-in-law/brother-in-law/employer by going into a state of complete and pathological song and dance.

The French are famous for their confections, fancy sweets concocted from a disparate variety of ingredients, but the ingredients from which 8 WOMEN has been concocted are so varied, so weirdly disparate, that the result is not just fancy but surrealistic. The plot is a murder mystery done in the classic Agatha Christie style, with each of the eight women becoming the prime suspect in turn as the story progresses, and all eight isolated from the rest of the world (they are trapped by a snowstorm in a country mansion) so as not to spoil the purity of the puzzle. But Ozon is obviously less interested in puzzling us with the twists and turns of the murder mystery than he is in paying tribute to the eight actresses and showcasing their talents: there are numerous scenes in which all or nearly all of them demonstrate their finesse at ensemble acting, but each is also given a number of scenes in which she is allowed to upstage the others around her or to stand completely alone in the spotlight. The acting is uniformly brilliant; which of these luminous ladies shines more brightly than all the others is impossible to say, though personal taste may tempt the moviegoer to express a preference; I will confess that I was especially taken by the glowingly voluptuous and supremely confident Ardant, the hysterically neurotic Huppert, and the pertly vivacious pajama-clad Sagnier.

But wait, gentle reader, there is more. 8 WOMEN is also a musical! Each of the actresses sings one song, and a number of the songs involve dance routines. This is a daring move by Ozon, and while the effect is sometimes delightful, at other times it seems strained and/or jarring. Several of the actresses have no musical ability whatsoever, so what they do with their lyrics is not so much singing as rhythmic recitation.

Pinning down the tone and intent of 8 WOMEN is next to impossible. Earlier in this review I called it "comical," but that's a gross oversimplification. A few of the scenes are ridiculously silly, and many are arch, but others are clearly meant to be genuinely sad and/or profound. Does Ozon want us to view his creation as a campy spoof or a philosophical meditation on the nature of love or both? The movie's conclusion is so stately and serious I was almost moved to tears, yet much of what comes earlier can only be described as slapstick. Perhaps what Ozon really wants is to leave us feeling emotionally perplexed and intellectually nonplussed.

When Frosty and I walked out of the Cheese Artist, I was bubbling over with enthusiasm for 8 WOMEN, and I told her I intended to give it a rating of 5.5 on the Watson Scale. In retrospect, I think I was very proud of myself for being able to analyze the movie's complexities, and I quickly decided to exalt the film as a way of showing the world that I'm much too smart to be left feeling perplexed and nonplussed.

That's oftentimes the way it is with French confections. When we're eating them, we like to over-praise their fanciness and pretend they're the ambrosia of the gods, but a few hours later, when our stomachs feel leaden or queasy, we realize it's not wise to overdose on sugary treats. Especially if some of the ingredients aren't fresh.

My rating on the Watson scale: 4