The worst of all possible scenarioes is when a director sets out to intentionally and patronizingly bore the audience and succeeds. There is no story here, the plot incomplete. It takes a stab at trying to implicate 'bourgeoise' life ... in what, I'm not sure. That's why it fails.
This film is not strong enough in character(s) to be a personal story—man against himself. Troubled pasts are not a class exclusive. There was no one and nothing to care about, fear, or empathize with in this film. None of which is absolutely necessary but it might have been sufficient.
In Paris, Georges Laurent is a famous host of a literary talk show on TV, who lives in a comfortable house with his wife Anne and their teenager son Pierrot. When Georges and Anne receives videotapes of surveillance of their private life and weird and gore childlike drawings, they go to the police, but they do not get any protection since there is not a clear menace to the Laurent family. When Georges follows a clue in one of the tapes that shows his childhood home, he meets his former adopted brother, the Algerian Majid and accuses him of sending the tapes. Meanwhile, through glimpses of Georges' nightmares, his lies due to his jealous relationship with his foster brother are disclosed.