In a sparkling and decadent universe, Marie-Caroline Hominal invites Heleen Treichler to join her on stage. There they meet and move like circus animals: dressed up poodles or felines that have become too docile, they perform in an explosive show before finding themselves as if in a cage, and the varnish flakes off.

Two women – two stars, from stage to backstage, including a press conference. Everything has to sparkle. After all, showbiz – a barely distorting mirror of a world in full degeneration – is a great celebration, and they are its goddesses.

We question them and they answer. Arrogant and detached at the same time. Everything is addressed: garlic spaghetti, Deleuze, death, high heels, world hunger, sex, drugs, art, God. After all, what are words for, apart from revealing a monstrous emptiness? Everything is for sale, everything can be bought, everything can be consumed, everything’s a spectacle.

The two stars are nothing but mechanical dolls, automatons that act repeatedly to fill an unbearable void. Imprisoned in boredom that nothing will change, not even getting high. They sniff meringue powder as we witness the violence of this sweet decomposition.