A forest green corduroy number. Three buttons by the cuff, tailored lapels. Jean Dujardin as renegade divorcé Georges is wearing a pretty handsome blazer as Quentin Dupieux’s Deerskin begins. It’s nice, but it’s not good enough – the prize in his eyes is a fringed, fitted, 100 per cent deerskin jacket. She’s an absolute beauty, and she matters more than anything.
“As you can see, it’s not an ordinary jacket,” the seller tells Georges. The meeting between the jacket and its new wearer sets the wheels in motion for a story of a fetish, of a codependent relationship between an inanimate object and a swell-headed man that, like many of the most passionate love affairs, can only end in tragedy.
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