Some two dozen dancers gather at a remote schoolhouse in France. Outside, snowfall casts an apocalyptic chill; inside, sweat is dripping and bodies are convulsing to a throbbing disco surge. God is with us, the troupes choreographer howls as they engage in an orgy of the senses. Its their last rehearsal before touring the United States and beyond if, that is, they survive the night. The sangria they down after finishing the run-through is spiked with LSD, much to everyones shock, and what began as a free-spirited celebration ends with blood, blame, battery, incest and other hallucinatory hazards.

So it goes in Climax , the 95-minute horror bacchanalia that exists in the hallowed space between must-see and cant-watch. Thats familiar territory for director Gaspar No (Irrversible, Enter the Void), an extremist whose work flirts with nihilism. Here, he serves up maybe 40 minutes of ecstasy, duping us into thinking hes made something joyful before swerving to a fevered agony thats as exhilarating as it is disturbing. This is not a film for everyone, and thats precisely why its incredible. When I saw it for a third time in Brooklyn last week, the woman sitting next to me was holding her head and moaning during the final half hour.

Its like you start with a roller coaster going up, up, up, and suddenly the roller coaster starts going down, No said by phone. Any spectator that sees the movie knows its just an imitation of life.

However bleak, hes not wrong. As the opening credits imply, No based Climax on a news story from the 90s in which French dancers found their drinks laced with acid. He wouldnt tell me whether things ended as brutally for them as they do for his characters, but theres a certain catharsis in seeing such highs pun intended butt up against such diabolical lows.