In 1992’s Damage, when Jeremy Irons started having an affair with his son’s fiancee (Juliette Binoche), director Louis Malle graphically depicted the ferocity of their illicit encounters, making us understand why Irons was unable to resist his disastrous desires.
(It's similarly funny when Sandrine schemes to ingratiate herself to him by capitalizing on his status as a Mama's boy.) Brisseau never goes into tragic-romantic mode, a la Louis Malle's Damage, nor does he tip his hand by playing it as outright comedy.
You'd have to go back to the late Louis Malle's Damage -- like Crash, all too appropriately titled -- for a more embarrassing or wrong-headed film by a major filmmaker.