Paris is a city of high culture—avant garde theatre, intellectual independent films, art galleries, the Louvre, haute couture, the ballet. During my time in this treasure trove of artistic genius, I’ve been trying to broaden my horizons by seeing as many masterpieces of cinema as I can. “Les Infidèles” is not one of those movies.

I knew two things about the film before I found myself, popcorn in hand, in a packed theater as the opening credits rolled: one, it starred Jean Dujardin, recent Best Actor winner at the Oscars and French gentleman à la mode in America; and two, there was a big scandal about the advertisements for the movie, which featured Dujardin and co-star Gilles Lelouche grinning and holding a female leg in each hand. These posters were deemed too scandalous for the public eye. In France. If you’ll recall from my last column, the French are not shy about their—ahem—intimate moments, and enjoy shocking us prudish Americans with their overt sexuality. So I figured that if a movie was causing a public outrage in France, of all places, it had to be good.

My French comprehension has gotten pretty darn good over the past few months here in Paris; I can now tell if people are insulting me on the metro or just trying to make idle conversation. But within a few minutes of watching “Les Infidèles,” I realized that I was in way over my head. I’ve seen movies without subtitles here in France that have been pretty comprehensible, but I’ve never heard anyone talk as fast as Dujardin and Lelouche. My friends and I all shared a look of confusion and dismay as the French people in the audience laughed uproariously at what I’m sure was a hilariously witty conversation, but we had no idea what they found so funny.

Luckily for us, most of the comedy of “Les Infidèles” was of a, erm, visual nature. Graphically visible, to be exact. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a raunchier movie in my life. Here’s the premise: Jean Dujardin and Gilles Lelouche star in a series of vignettes depicting various scenes of infidelity ranging from the comical, Hangover-esque variety, to more serious discussions of the consequences of adultery in a previously stable marriage. I, however, being the stupid American that I am, didn’t recognize the vignette format of the film until at least halfway through, and therefore spent most of my time trying to understand why Dujardin was suddenly sporting a Mohawk or going by a completely different name.

Certain moments had me doubled over in laughter along with the rest of my fellow French film-goers. For example, a scene in which a married man hastily attempts to clean up after his illicit one-night stand nearly made me cry with laughter when he chucked the family dog out the window after discovering a used condom in its mouth. I’m pretty sure I’m a terrible person for laughing so hard at that, but again, this was not a film of high-brow humor. I also particularly enjoyed a vignette depicting an Alcoholics Anonymous-style meeting for “les infidèles,” starring some of our favorite characters from previous vignettes (including the dog-thrower). Others were kind of depressing, like one in which Dujardin and his wife discover that they’ve both cheated and then have to move on with a marriage that will never be the same; or, they were very weird, like one featuring bondage gone wrong. I’ll let you YouTube that one.

“Les Infidèles” will never get an American release (so don’t hold your breath, although if you want to know what Jean Dujardin looks like naked, this would be the film for you). We Americans like our French charming, sophisticated, and snobby. We do not want to see them pounding back shots or hiring strippers. After all, we tend to think of excessive partying as a strictly American phenomenon. I admit, as I watched Dujardin attempt conquest after conquest, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “This is the guy we just gave an Oscar to?” To be fair, Dujardin started his career as a comedian, not as the critically acclaimed serious actor we think of him as now. But I just don’t think America is ready to see our image of France as a country that knows better than we do shattered just yet. Though I found the movie pretty amusing, I did feel pretty bad about liking it afterwards.

And because “Les Infidèles” will never be shown in America, ever, I’m going to spoil the ending for you: Dujardin and Lelouche take their philandering to Las Vegas, where they suddenly discover that they’re actually in love with each other. This realization, like everything else, is shown in graphic detail. So if the only thing missing from your life is a Jean Dujardin gay sex scene, well, you’ll just have to come to France.