There was a time, in the ​’90s and early ​’00s, when watching a film by French filmmaker Bruno Dumont involved getting to know a character, or group of characters, safe in the knowledge that some kind of brutal, often sexualised violence will be meted out on them sooner or later. Primal, idiosyncratic works such as 1997’s La Vie de Jesus and 1999’s L’Humanite were exhilarating/​execrable – delete as applicable. Then suddenly, as the 2010s rolled in, Dumont got silly and pivoted to comedy with the delectably silly slapstick series, Lil’ Quinquin (and the less surefooted Slack Bay, among others), and suddenly those severe early films seemed to, if not make a lot more sense, then take on a new, dryly-ironic dimension.

With his latest, Red Rocks, word around the campfire was that Dumont was embarking on a new-new era: the romantic comedy, the twist being that all the protagonists are knee-high to a grasshopper. And it’s half true, as the sunny, sweetly-comic tone of this new one certainly suggests a fresh focus. Yet in fact, it plays more like a return to his rotten salad days, in which the innocent monkeyshines of its untethered youths pass through the realms of deadening boredom and err towards violence and self-destruction.

Dumont decamps from his usual comfort spot, ditching the pastely, verdant vistas of Northern France’s Opel Coast in favour of the deep reds and tranquil blues of the southern Mediterranean coast, where a raised train line offers regular opportunities to up sticks and leave for Italy. We’re introduced to seven-year-old Géo (Kaylon Lancel), a veritable little rascal with bleach-blond locks, beady eyes and a set of nervous tics that any seasoned comic actor would kill for. He dresses in a raggedy black vest and itsy-bitsy red Speedos, and spends his time blasting around on a min quad bike with his pals Manon (Louise Podolsky) and Rouben (Mohamed Coly).

Aside from terrorising tourists and just ​“hanging out”, the kids main activity involves negotiating the ragged rocks of the shoreline and high-jumping into the sea from ever-elevated points – until they’re occasionally shoo’d away by the coast guard. Eventually, the kids connect with a gang of out-of-towners, and Géo starts to get all huggy and kissy with Eve (Kelsie Verdeilles), much to the chagrin of Manon and the scowling B (Allesandro Piquera). It’s a love triangle instigated by a group of pre-teens who don’t have any real concept of what love is.

And here’s the rub… it’s all a bit of a big doodle‑y nothing, as Dumont’s trick here is to impose adult concerns onto his young cast, though it transpires that his original insights into the realities of childhood are meagre at best. The film is padded out with Dumontian longeurs, which feel more like padding than profundity, and the story itself is as thin and delicate as a cigarette paper, perhaps better suited to a short than feature film.

There’s also a surprising amateurishness to the way it’s filmed and edited, with anamorphic master shots combining with ugly POV and jerky hand-held, while every other drawn-out scene begs the question, why is this in the film? Its intended authenticity is diluted with use of some naggingly conspicuous computer generated sequences of the kids engaging in dangerous behaviour. It feels more like the work of a Sundance newcomer than veteran known for his rigour and creativity.

Red Rocks is certainly not an all-out failure, and the filmmaker still has that unique and confident touch when it comes to cultivating a counter-intuitive performance style that is somehow naturally compelling. Yet this ambling whatsit isn’t quite the return to the ​“early funny ones” that many might have been expecting.