Returning to the scenic but rural Côte d’Opale (Opal Coast) in Northern France, which has been the setting for several of his films, director Bruno Dumont continues in the vein of his off-kilter, deadpan farces like Slack Bay and L’il Quinquin in his latest work: a half-baked and only fitfully amusing parody of Star Wars and Dune, of all things.

Its story, such as it is, follows competing alien races vying for supremacy of the Earth: the evil Zeroes and the good Ones, all of whom can take human form. That both groups have elaborate motherships gliding through space is Dumont’s best visual joke, which he returns to periodically, showing off the spectacular interiors and exteriors. The Ones’ ship looks like a gargantuan Notre Dame, complete with flying buttresses and beautiful stained glass. The Zeroes’ outer space base resembles Versailles, complete with manicured gardens, gilded staircases, and mirrors.

Yet the main joke—that aliens have infiltrated rural France without being noticed—doesn’t sustain itself because Dumont doesn’t appear fully invested in the payoff. There are scattered amusing moments, like the comic juxtaposition of Zeroes riding on gleaming white horses through the countryside, or a couple of Ones—Jane (Anamaria Vartolomei, who gives the best performance by simply playing it straight) and Rudy (Julien Manier, a stiff and amateurish presence)—wandering around, drawing light sabers, and visiting a farmer’s market.

When Jane the One and Jony the Zero (Brandon Vlieghe) fall for each other—he seduces her with the casual observation that, as aliens, they should see what their human bodies can do together sexually—Dumont doesn’t do much with their Romeo and Juliet bond. Here we meet the Ones’ leader, simply called the Queen (Camille Cottin, who doesn’t get to do much), and the head Zero, Belzebuth (who starts out as a pile of black goo on board the Versailles ship but soon morphs into a mugging Fabrice Luchini). The storyline eventually leads to an epic battle sequence that Dumont plays for laughs and thrills, although it’s less than funny and exciting.

It isn’t too surprising that Dumont brings back the inept police duo from his “Quinquin” films, Commander Van der Weyden (Bernard Pruvost) and Lieutenant Carpentier (Philippe Jore). What is disappointing is that the pair has relatively little to do: The men are part of a drawn-out gag when the final battle royale causes a merciless windstorm that sends their vehicle into the air a la The Wizard of Oz before dropping back down, pretty much destroyed—they try to drive it anyway.

Aside from the intricately detailed spaceships, Dumont’s most original contribution might be the inclusion of Bach on the soundtrack—the chasm between the ridiculously absurd characters and events onscreen and the stately music provides its own amusement. But The Empire is both too much and not enough, as Dumont repeats himself without providing enough fresh and original material to compensate.