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Looking at the alluring and mysterious poster for “The Isle,” it’s hard not to think David Lynch. A nude young woman stands gazing straight ahead with an intensity that falls somewhere between seduction and menace. Her ghostly and transparently pale body is superimposed onto a Lynchian landscape of dark blues and purples, the still waters of an eerie lake a thinly veiled metaphor for the abyss of sexual obsession.

Still, even Lynch — with his love of femmes fatales and unspeakably dark desires — would have a hard time making it through the last reel of Kim Ki Deok’s film. “The Isle,” with its squirm-inducing mix of sex and violence, had audiences running to the toilets in droves when it screened at major film festivals like Venice. It also picked up several awards — at Brussels, Moscow and Portugal — which is indicative of the split reaction accorded the current wave of cinema de scandale.

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