If David Lynch and Tobe Hooper had a child, and that child grew up in Belgium and decided to make a tribute film to their two dads, Calvaire (“The Ordeal”) would be that film.

Made in 2004, Calvaire feels very much like a 2004 film. It is also co-writer/director Fabrice du Welz’s debut film, and feels very much like a debut film.  Flashes of brilliance and disturbing scenes followed by moments in which du Welz is unsure what to do next, so he just has the cast do things.  Marc Stevens (Laurent Lucas), a travelling entertainer performs cabaret for audiences of mostly older women.  He sings, he tells stories, he dresses like a community theatre Dracula. He leaves to head to his next gig and drives into a fog, literally.  Lost on the road, his van breaks down in the rain in a small town where he is brought to the inn of Monsieur Bartel (Jackie Berroyer). Bartel invites Stevens to spend the night, promising to repair his van in the morning.  Bartel tells Stevens about his adulterous wife who left him.  We know he is super creepy because Bartel goes through Stevens’ van and possessions while the latter is out on a walk, and faster than you can say “Annie Wilkes,” Bartel contrives and conspires to keep Stevens at his inn.

Bartel is convinced Stevens is his missing wife.  He damages his van, knocks him out, ties him up, shaves his head and puts him in his wife’s clothing. This summary makes the film seem like a normal thriller, but it is not.  The village has no women.  Boris, the neighbor, constantly looks for his beloved dog in the forest, but when he finds it, it is a cow. Bartel tells everyone in the village Stevens is his wife.  They know he is not, but don’t seem to care. The film is a surreal black comedy. It follows the tropes of the held-prisoner-by-madmen subgenre (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre through Misery and Hostel to Barbarian): the false escape, the rescuer revealed to be in league with the madman, the rescuer fooled by the madman, the hostage covered in their own blood, yet more can always be found, scenes of inhuman torture drawn out, followed by moments of dull domestic bliss, all the more horrifying for the contrast.

Yet despite that, the film feels oddly original as well (the Lynchian moments – the scene in the village tavern alone – allow Calvaire to transcend). At its best, the cinematography and performances make this a strange and surreal experience, a slow burn in the beginning that grows more and more bizarre until we hit Deliverance, if Lynch had written and directed it. The camera captures the strangeness and uncanny feeling of the woods and countryside while keeping interior scenes claustrophobic. Calvaire is educational: I had no idea Belgium had backwoods hillbillies, too. So if you are in the mood for Wrong Turn: European Vacation or Terry Gilliam’s Southern Comfort, sit back and enjoy.

8 out of 10