Egoyan's movies (excepting perhaps "The Sweet Hereafter") are coolly detached, intellectual essays that relentlessly investigate the same theme: how do postmodernists deal with loss? In "Exotica," Egoyan finally goes past the techno-theoretical trickery that informs "Family Viewing," "Calendar" and "The Adjustor," past all the Baudrillardian commentary to tell a real story of a man's heartbreaking attempts to re-assemble his world after its savage, random devastation. (OK, Egoyan doesn't abandon his lit-crit background completely; the elaborate shots of everyone-watching-everyone and/or voyeuristically getting the goods on everyone or/and generally cruising the mise-en-scene will inspire heated recognitions in graduate schools everywhere; but the actual _story_ pulses on bleakly, brilliantly.) Don't be fooled by its video-marketing as some kind of softcore/action Zalmankingthing: the movie is a profound mystery; it will leave you absolutely demolished.
Review of Exotica
