The latest cinematic conundrum from director Bertrand Blier will do little to confound a maverick reputation almost on a par with that of that fully-fledged cinematic loony-toon Godard. Not that Blier's films are total art-wank, mind. No, his pictures are never dry, don't lack for character, and their 'Scope photography is often ravishing. It's the other stuff -- provocatively clad actresses, nervy sexual politics and bizarre satirical plotting -- that make him such a headache.

In Mon Homme, Anouk Grinberg is the coquettish, golden-hearted hooker Marie who dedicates her life to pleasing her men. Like Jeannot (Gerard Lanvin), a tramp camped out in her doorway who is offered food, sexual favours and the invitation to become her pimp. Thereafter she keeps him in the philandering Italian-suited circumstances to which he swiftly becomes accustomed, until the police finally step in.

Is Marie a celebration of female sexuality - as when she enthusiastically inducts a passing middle-aged woman into the life -- or just pathetic male wish fulfilment? There is a sophistication to Blier's argument, but answers are not exactly forthcoming from the copious scenes of explicit sex and intellectual farce.

Whatever, Grinberg is excellent, and writer-director Blier keeps you aboard, even through mood shifts every bit as abrupt as his soundtrack's hops between Gorecki holy minimalism and Barry White's corpulent soul. It's either some kind of a masterpiece or has all the erotic discrimination of Joe Esterhaus. A sensitive Hollywood remake is not anticipated.