Americans perpetuate legions of stereotypes concerning that arrogant, rude, smelly and loose people: the French. As far as I know, most of them may be true: I went to Paris once, and no one was nice to me. But I recently debunked one French myth, namely that their cinema consists of long, depressing, overly “artistic” films in which nothing ever happens.

I had never watched a foreign language film before I set out to investigate French movies. Perhaps, like the rest of America, I was afraid of subtitles. The majority of foreign language films consistently fail to attract large American audiences, making only short appearances in “artsy” movie theaters. Three French films currently in theaters, “Roman de Gare,” “Tell No One” and “The Last Mistress,” have all received good reviews but low attendance. Rather than seeking out a theater playing one of the above, I found three French movies, most of which are available to rent or at the Lawrence Public Library, to test out French cinema.

My favorite was “Delicatessen,” directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet and set in post-apocalyptic France during a 20th century that never was. The film’s grimy golden appearance makes the picture itself as arresting as the story. The plot centers on a lonely apartment building whose tenants deal with food shortage by allowing the first-floor deli owner to lure loners into his clutches.

It may sound like “Sweeney Todd,” but this is cannibalism the French way: funny and fatalistic. The hilarious characters include the butcher’s daughter, who loves an honest and idealistic clown intended for dinner, a depressed housewife who constructs Rube Goldberg-esque suicide machines and a band of sewer-dwelling frog people.

My second foray into French film yielded “He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not.” Directed by Laetitia Colombani, it stars Audrey Tautou, of the popular Jeunet picture “Amélie.” In the movie, Angélique, Tautou’s character, is glowing with love for a married cardiologist. The first half of the movie seems a repetition of the old story of a younger woman’s affair with a married man, then we begin to see that Angélique is more dedicated, and creative, than most lovers.

Just as Angélique’s efforts grow sinister, the movie abruptly rewinds, replaying the story from an opposite point of view. The second half upends the viewer’s previous understanding of the plot and characters, even switching the movie’s apparent genre from romance to suspense. If this sounds strange, it gets even stranger. Let’s just say that only the French would make a dark comedy about erotomania.

By far the weirdest French film I tried, and probably the weirdest movie I’ve ever seen, was “8 Women,” which refuses to take itself seriously. The movie, set in the 1950s, has an all-female cast, with the exception of one man whose face is never seen, and includes Gallic greats Catherine Deneuve and Fanny Ardant. Deneuve and Ardant play, respectively, the wife and the sister of a rich businessman whose estrogen-ridden household includes his mother-in-law, sister-in-law, two daughters, a cook and a maid.

When Papa is found with a knife in his back, the eight women attempt to discover his murderer. Their investigations reveal a ludicrous web of secrets including illegitimacy, multiple affairs, incest and faked paralysis. To top it all off, “8 Women” is a musical, or sort of one. The actresses deliver saccharine French pop numbers while looking directly into the camera. The film is an exercise in embarrassment that leaves the audience both fascinated and pleading, please, no, don’t let them sing again.

All stereotypes have exceptions, and maybe I simply happened on those. Still, I could never consider any of the above films depressed works of realism in which “nothing happens.” Everything happens, even the crazily unconventional. So for a taste of less mainstream fare, sample some French cinema. Sometimes even snobs have a sense of humor.

Blankenau is a Lincoln, Neb., sophomore in journalism.