A fortune teller lays out the cards and AP’s fate is sealed: a curse that is here to stay. What do you do in circumstances like these? You run. You search further ahead. You ride a motorcycle. One thousand dollars and the body of a little lamb — no more, no less — that’s all AP needs to break free. Along the way, the misadventures pile up, becoming ever stranger, more excessive, provocative and, above all, trashy. After all, the city where it all leads is called Trashtown
A sex worker, a curse, tarot cards, a psychic, and a motorbike – that’s all it takes for a transformative journey through Trashtown. Along an erratic, almost episodic path, Fucktoys builds a universe where absurdity and desire coexist freely, without hierarchies.
A trashy, queer world without moralism, one that John Waters has already introduced us to in other works, but here filtered through a female perspective that shifts the gaze: the body ceases to be merely an object of shock or provocation and instead becomes a territory of agency, vulnerability, and reinvention.
Somewhere between the grotesque and the intimate, the film rejects any easy redemptive reading, opting instead for a chaotic, sensory approach that mirrors the protagonist’s own emotional instability. The result is a punk road movie that presents the decadent and inevitable side of capitalism, while also functioning as an essay on language, identity, and resistance. Art, sex work, and spiritual practice converge, allowing vulnerability, improvisation, and surrender to become vehicles for transcendence, empathy, and transformation. Fucktoys offers no easy answers; instead, it invites us to inhabit discomfort, recognize complicities, and rethink hierarchies between body, desire, economy, and spirit. (Jéssica Pestana)
