British filmmaker Peter Strickland is back and attempting to out-weird himself in this kooky little number starring Gwendoline Christie in the kind of arthouse role you might usually expect to see Tilda Swinton vamp up the screen in.

Strickland's last feature was In Fabric, in which an alien shopping centre ate its patrons, or at least I think that's what it was about. He's one of those directors who likes you to walk away and have a bit of a think.

His latest is, as with his previous works, a bit of a nod to the Italian Giallo genre of campy horror, though with Flux Gourmet he uses the Giallo aesthetic, if not actually the horror.

Christie plays Jan Stevens, administrator of an arts residency program that couples the culinary and the alimentary.

What does that mean? It's employing cooking techniques to produce audio effects or soundscapes, and at the Sonic Catering Institute, Jan's residency program has taken in a new team of very serious arts professionals.

Elle di Elle (Fatma Mohamed), Lamina Propria (Ariane Labed) and Billy Rubin (Asa Butterfield) might not be able to agree on a name for their performance trio, but they've written a killer residency proposal to explore their performance approach, which begins in the kitchen making acoustic installations and concludes with the trio participating in orgies with their audiences.

As the days of the residency progress, Jan puts the trio through a series of exercises intended to refine their artistic approach, while the evenings are spent around the Sonic Catering Institute dinner table, trading caustic barbs and witty ripostes.

While Jan's hands-on approach causes frustrations with the women in the program, she crosses the line with Billy, taking him into her bed every night.

Meanwhile, recording interviews with the artists is documentarian Stones (Makes Papadimitriou), a man with severe gastrointestinal distress, a condition that becomes intriguing to the artists, as flatulence is of course that perfect auditory outcome of culinary input.

While Strickland impregnates his screenplay with scatological humour, this is high-arthouse poop and fart humour.

It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, but for those who work in the arts or might be themselves arts practitioners, it is cutting and very well observed. A lot of people are going to feel quite seen by Strickland's characterisations.

Chief among these is Christie's benefactress providing the largesse supporting these arts residencies, a giant ego and an open psychological schism.

Christie is so much fun on the small screen in The Sandman, playing Lucifer, but she really gets to chew the scenery here, and wear a catwalk of outrageous and inventive couture and costuming by Saffron Cullane. The hats alone are worth the price of admission.

Strickland doesn't take us too far outside of this faux institute, though there is a threat of danger throughout from another performance group who had their residency application rejected.

His focus is on artist and patron, a push and pull that doesn't serve either party perfectly, or present either party in their best light.

Asa Butterfield of Sex Education fame throws himself into his role, and into the performance art, with as much vigour as his two bandmates, both noted Euro arthouse actresses.

As you might imagine in a film about sound artists, the film enjoys an immersive and fun soundscape. Its credits have almost as many names in the sound department as in the other crew roles collectively.

The "music" performances are really fun too, the artists "playing" boiling pots and blenders and a gastrointestinal probe.

Those whose taste in the arts doesn't venture into the spaces this film lambasts would actually really enjoy the true silliness of some of these scenes.

This is a lavishly realised piece of artistic intentional nonsense, in on its own joke and giving you plenty to chew on afterwards.

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