Exotica seemed fully to live up to its name on the big screen 20 years ago, and seeing it now takes you back to that initial hypnotic experience. It is a brilliant collage, like a jigsaw whose pieces don't seem to be from the same picture at all, then they fit together, and miraculously a single image coalesces, against impossible odds. The characterisation is very good, the script always hovering between strangeness and humour, the soundtrack seductive with quite a rhythmic thwack that seems to find new energy in the dying embers of funk. It is also visually superb; not just in terms of the nubile beauty of Mia Kirshner and the scantily-clad girls in the strip club, but more subtly in the use of green (emerald toilet cubicles!), parrots and striking faces which form a very effective combination. (Elias Koteas is particularly memorable for his singular features, both tender and rock star-like, and the suave delivery of his borderline-acceptable MC's patter.) It's probably partly the way Egoyan films them, and there's something intensely cinematic about the whole thing. Its conclusion pulls off a remarkable coup, not just in terms of cohesion but also in finding a surprisingly humanist note in the midst of such outre style that often led to thinness of substance in lesser hands in that decade.