Both feted and feared, the creepy "Donnie Darko" arrives in the UK carried on a frothing wave of effusive praise. About eight people saw it in America, but US critics loved it, and their British counterparts have been slobbering out superlatives to hail this genre-blending head-scratcher an instant cult classic.
Certainly, it's a curio that will provoke powerful audience reactions. But you're just as likely to be ranting "What the hell was that all about?" as musing "That's a work of genius".
The title character (Jake Gyllenhaal) is a truculent highschooler with mental problems, whose
somnambulism saves his life. Lured from his bed by a mysterious voice, he sleepwalks outside to confront a vision of a grotesque giant rabbit.
Returning home the following morning, Donnie discovers his bedroom has been obliterated by a plane engine that's mysteriously fallen from the sky.
Convinced the world will end in 28 days, Donnie becomes more unstable - his visions intensify, he floods the school and verbally batters Patrick Swayze's self-help guru. Is Donnie completely loco, or is there some method to his madness?
The same could be asked of writer-director Richard Kelly. His movie is certainly unique - replete with unsettling atmosphere, dark laughs and intriguing, likeable characters. It's cine-literate - pilfering settings and ideas from "Harvey", "ET" and "Magnolia" to forge memorable, fresh sequences.
But what's initially involving becomes self-involved. Interest languishes and meaning disappears as the plot disappears up its own tortuous tubes.
"Donnie Darko" has been described as a high school movie directed by David Lynch, and the comparison bears scrutiny. But Lynch's similarly baffling "Mulholland Drive" lingers for months after viewing - and meanings do emerge. Kelly's picture is enjoyable but senseless - a medley of Dawson's Creek and The Twilight Zone that promises much, but delivers little.
Donnie Darko (2002)
