Plastered with some of the longest faces known to man, it wouldn’t hurt for the characters in Whisky to smile once in a while, let alone laugh a little, but clearly something’s up, like the wind changed direction for real. Despondent workmates Jacabo and Marta – the former a sock factory owner, the latter a loyal clockwork employee – sift through a daily grind of awkward silences and mundane small talk, until Jacabo’s brother Herman comes to town (also a sock manufacturer).

An undercurrent of sibling rivalry ensues, with Herman quick to point out he’s doing well for himself, and that he resides in sunny Brazil where the ass is ripe. Jacabo pulls the whole wife-for-hire stunt in anticipation of being outshone (or simply embarrassed as a 60-year-old bachelor), enlisting Marta to pose as his bride of, well, a year or so. Complete with matching rings, sham memories and a whole lot of marital bliss, the odd couple fumble their way around vacation getaways and gaudy night spots with third wheel Herman in tow, basically trying to keep it all bottled in, until an inevitable catharsis of change sets them all, in one way or another, free.

Derived not from an alcoholic beverage, but from the term used to coax photogenic grins (a South American alternative to “Cheese”, apparently), it’s a title that really burrows to the root of all unhappiness. But it’s also gleefully misleading in that as one of the festival's funniest thus far, smiling needn’t be faked. Rebella and Stoll’s design of the film is airtight, to say the least – so much so that it seems nothing is ever meant to break out – but it’s all deliberately self-contained and lodged into carefully economised set pieces that when shit happens, it's like releasing a vacuum of humour. Jim Jarmusch may have Broken Flowers in close pursuit, but as far as the art of deadpan goes, this is one tough act to follow.—TW