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André Morney (Thibault Vinçon), darling of the lit department at his French University, holds friends and professors in thrall. With a shock of woolly hair and beady eyes, the pompous twat rules over a small, elite group. He controls not only the tempo of discussion in meals and the classroom, but he also makes crucial academic decisions that affect the future career paths of his good buddies. Morley's advice, it should be noted, is often sound.

That's not the point; it's the power he yields.

What Morney loathes most are writers. Creative writers. And all of his friends, despite their constant protestations of innocence, are toiling away--creating brilliant short stories, plays, and novels. Not only, that they are getting their work published and winning prizes. (As a writer who worked long and hard to get published, I'd like to add that the instant success of Morney's friends bears no resemblance to reality.) All this writing, unfortunately, gets Morley agitated. For no discernable reason, the star academic self destructs. He slaps his thesis adviser in the face. He tells outrageous lies to his still adoring friends. He deletes essential files from his girlfriend's computer. The swine! Before long, Morley is loathed by the circle who once adored him--and deservedly so.

The screenplay and direction of Emmanuel Bourdieu's Poison Friends is as pompous and blind to reality as Morley himself. Not only that, the female characters are relegated strictly to the sideline--objects of male lust and necessary space fillers at the dinner table.