Flux Gourmet review: An aggressively seasoned art-world comedy for acquired tastes (ours)

An incredulous smile fixes on your face while watching the wonderfully weird Flux Gourmet, a reaction that may lead to any mixed-up feelings becoming pleasurable ones. Am I really seeing a movie about a "culinary sound collective," a trio that boils, fries, blends, and chops not for the purpose of eating, but to make aggro noise collage? Is their story actually being narrated (in Greek, no less) by a dyspeptic writer who grapples with crippling flatulence? Which he discusses a lot?

You're not having a midnight dream after an especially spicy dinner. British director Peter Strickland has, over a handful of bespoke features, claimed a lane for himself as a filmmaker who distills hypnotic moods that can be found nowhere else. He often starts with the retro surfaces of giallo horror films (2012's Berberian Sound Studio) or sexploitation psychodramas (2014's The Duke of Burgundy) but ultimately burrows down to something emotionally deeper. It's what makes him more than just an overgeeked video-store clerk (if you remember what those were).

In the case of Flux Gourmet (out Friday), Strickland is after the joys and difficulties of making art. That's not so difficult to grasp. And even though he never lets us know when this is — no cellphones or flatscreens, it takes place in some mid-'70s solid-state Bowie zone — there are enough details to make the experience more cozy than distancing. Suffice it to say we're in a secluded manor house where, apparently for years, "sonic caterers" have won coveted three-week residencies to hone their craft. As harpsichords ripple (the lovely main theme is by Jeremy Barnes and Heather Trost, of the duo A Hawk and a Hacksaw) and fashionable invitees get to work, a hint of nostalgia takes root: This privileged moment won't last forever, but it's here right now.

Who are these bandmates? Although "dietary differences" have culled their numbers, three core members remain: intense frontwoman Elle di Elle (Strickland regular Fatma Mohamed), lank-haired knob twiddler Billy (Asa Butterfield, a long way from Hugo), and competitive side attraction Lamina Propria (Ariane Labed). They bicker persuasively about hookups, strategies, and bruised egos. (Strickland himself played in a group like this; some of the music on the soundtrack is his.) All this gets jotted down by Stones (Makis Papadimitriou), the farting journalist. Meanwhile, the institute's severe-looking director, Jan Stevens (Game of Thrones' Gwendoline Christie), her name becoming a catchphrase for compromise, purrs encouragement.

Give yourself over to the movie's absorbing sense of process and rehearsal, complete with notes of humor that never quite puncture into mockery, and you'll have a better time with it. Elle di Elle has a shocking flair for the scatological that's too good to ruin here. After every gig, there seems to be a well-attended backstage orgy shot in soft focus; in Strickland's universe, these bands go on tour and are lavishly funded.

And that might be the most endearing thing abut Flux Gourmet: its sincere commitment to world-building, one that even extends to a jealous rival band outside the walls who didn't get the gig. (They're called the Mangrove Snacks.) In this moment of rebound at the multiplex, let's cheer, too, for the continued survival of a delicate ecosystem that gives Strickland's vegetable virtuosos an opportunity to make some noise — or a stink. Grade: A-

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