“No water, no sex.” If the storyline of “Absurdistan”—the fantastical new film from German director Veit Helmer—could be summarized in one simple phrase, that would be it. In a small and mysterious village, comprised of just 14 families, the only water pipeline breaks down. The men—relied upon by their wives to repair the damage but plagued by their obtuse laziness—fail to act, resulting in a chaotic and (in both senses) dirty struggle for power. Desperate for a solution, Aya (Czech actress Kristýna Malérová), the town’s youngest, and most insightful, woman suggests a sex strike, which would force the men to fix the pipe and allow their wives to finally experience the sway and bargaining potential they’ve gained.

As far-fetched—as the title suggests—as this premise may seem, it was actually inspired by a true story. In 2001, Helmer was flipping through his daily newspaper, “Der Tagesspiegel,” when he came across an article relating the story of a small village in Turkey, where women had begun a sex strike to compel their husbands to repair their local water pipeline. In response to this, Helmer decided to make a movie—one that would use this premise to raise questions of absolute love, power, need, and want.

“Absurdistan”—filmed in the desert villages of Azerbaijan—is more than just the story of a town-wide sex strike; it’s an enchanting tale of romantic and poetic love. There is very little dialogue—all of which is delivered in German, adding to the otherness of the film’s overall impression—and most information is relayed through the voiced-over narrative confessions of Aya and her soulmate Temelko (Maximilian Mauff), the two romantic protagonists. At the start of the film, they are born on the same day, in adjoining beds, and from that moment on, they know they belong together. When they reach 14, Temelko attempts to sleep with Aya. After asking her mysterious, intimidating grandmother—who can read the stars—the best course of action, Aya refuses, deciding she must wait four more years before offering herself to him. When the time comes, the village is completely out of water, and so Temelko must find a successful remedy before he can spend the night with her—leading to the movie’s lyrical journey.

“Absurdistan” is over-the-top in execution, and this is part of its extravagant charm. Its storyline is intricate but well executed; its acting and imagery are exaggerated, but work to the film’s benefit. Helmer offers us a total production, a full fairy tale where every last detail is carefully thought out—from the evocative music to the otherworldly set. The actors took years to cast and come from all around the world—an advantage to creating a film with close to no dialogue. The dynamic between Aya and Temelko is genuine and convincing. Their sincerity and playfulness carry the movie.

The interweaving of the two storylines—that of the pipeline and that of young love—is also seamless. The village must have water for the lovers to unite, but they must love each other for the quest for water to be worthwhile. The absolute purity of their love provides a compelling parallel to the sex-driven dynamics between the village’s other couples. The screenplay, though it pushes the boundaries of fantasy, is rational in its own way; it avoids craziness for its own sake and provides the viewer with a plausible storyline that’s easy and enjoyable to follow.

Apart from the traditional battle of the sexes setup—which hearkens back to Aristophanes—Helmer provides the opportunity for a wide interpretative understanding of the film. The men of the village—whose fathers were brave warriors and died to construct the water pipeline—embody the decline of their civilization; they are too useless to carry out even simple jobs. On a less serious level, Helmer playfully captures the pitfalls of adolescence and sexual awakening. In the end, he creates a fairy tale for adults—full of sexual innuendo, aesthetic innovation, and a landscape removed from time and reality.