I haven't taken a celebrity census — at least, not oneas reliable as our majestic municipality's annual count-the-homelesscompetition, with its bizarre rules for who can claim this dubious distinction— but I'd say there are enough celebs to constitute their own country, abit of a rogue nation which doesn't respect the boundaries of others.

French director Emmanuelle Bercot, with screenwriter JeromeTonnerre, has imagined a universe where pop stars get to stage home-invasionvisits to their fans. As Backstageopens, Lauren, an androgynous singer played by Roman Polanski's wife EmmanuelleSeigner (think Celine Dion crossed with David Bowie), plants herself in thebackyard of a provincial tract-house. She and her managers are working with aTV show — a Twilight Zone-styleAmerican Idol, with police powers— that gives teenage girls a date-rape ambush close encounter with theirfavorite entertainer.

The plan backfires when the designated teen, Lucie (Isild LeBesco), totally freaks at the sight of Lauren in her mom's kitchen, hugging herwith cameras rolling. Locking herself into a bedroom decorated with Laureneffluvia, Lucie passes a note under the door to the star, who mumbles an apologyfor having met this way. The seed has been planted.

"Poor Dylan [Lucie's brother]. He was so happy to be onTV. And poor Lauren, all that trouble for nothing. You're always mouthing off,but here you chickened out. You ruined the show."

Backstage tries tocross All About Eve with Noteson a Scandal, but it lacks the wise, wittyverbal catfights of the former, and the dark humor and bumpy landings of thelatter. Lacking a real-world model or intellectual underpinnings, Backstage devolves into an unintentional parody of the kind ofsoftcore reality show where fans and stars exchange identities, borrowboyfriends, have surrogate offspring — essentially run amok, but ever sochicly.

Backstage takes aback seat to Jean-Jacques Beineix's 1981 noir-besotted pop dream Diva, whose postal worker/fan has better taste in idolsand music. But it does have one gravity-defying star turn. Isild Le Besco, whoresembles the 70s teen idol Leif Garrett, has enough gender-crossing moxie tobitch-slap the entire Kinsey scale. With a grace beyond the means of her peers,she pulls some of the film's psycho pratfalls: pseudo-lesbian nude swimming,crying jags, sex with Lauren's estranged, darkly handsome boyfriend, andserious cutting.

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