The Thousands

Hands up if you like your movies wildly exotic, genuinely intriguing and sweetened with just a spoonful of sex? Well, my arty-farty friends, you’re in luck because the Sydney Film Festival offers more cutting-edge cinema than you can poke a snooty stick at.**Brain-blowingly spectacular Russian fantasy set to a soundtrack of late-nineties death metal? Check. Mammoth plastic dolls maniacally fingering pedestrians on the streets of Tokyo? Uh-huh. Semi-naked Christina Ricci chained to Samuel L Jackson’s couch? Of course.**Amongst such a fine array of films many critics say that it’s impossible to pick a must-see, but that’s because they’re pansies. If you’re going to see one, make it INLAND EMPIRE, the creepier than creepy foray into David Lynch’s soiled brainpan that’s sure to screw you up for the rest of 2007.**Aside from the joys of opening your mind to a wealth of new ideologies (and some damn fine cheekbones), the real fun of the festival is much more unassuming. The ticket price may be $16.50, but the warm glow that results from beating all those bespectacled arts mothers wearing clogs and some billowing hand-woven shawl to the best seat in the house is absolutely priceless.