| After a scarcely promoted release in just a handful of major cities in North America, Richard Kelly’s directorial debut, Donnie Darko, crept quietly into video stores last summer with little to grab the average shopper besides a creepy cover and the combined star power of Drew Barrymore, Noah Wyle and Patrick Swayze (which, in all consideration, isn’t really that much of a pull at all – side-by-side in print, it sounds downright awful).
Since its cinematic release in Europe, however, Donnie’s confounding tale of time travel and schizophrenia has taken in sell-out audiences and become the cultural phenomenon it so rightfully warrants. Taking its cues from 1980s teen films (imagine the classics of John Hughes if they were directed by David Lynch), painful memories of ’80s rock and an apocalyptic mutation of James Stewart’s Harvey, Donnie Darko is a surprisingly expert slice of high school psychology and tense science fiction.
Mid-way between a sharp teenage comedy and a spooked harbinger of the world’s end, Donnie Darko toys with space and time like a child’s plaything. While the daily onslaught of high school alone is usually more than enough for one to deal with, Donnie (Jake Gyllenhaal, tortured teen incorporated) has the added pressure of a first-ever girlfriend (Jena Malone), the destruction of his suburban house by an errant jet engine falling from the sky (for which aerospace authorities have no answer) and the nightly visits of Frank, a seven-foot rabbit bearing literally apocalyptic news.
Donnie Darko’s best trick is its stubborn refusal to give easy explanations for Donnie’s nocturnal journeys from his suburban family home, after which he awakens curled up on the back nine of the neighbourhood golf course. Enrolled in therapy for possible schizophrenic hallucinations, on heavy prescription drugs and waist-deep in teenage angst, Donnie’s visions of the world are unusual to say the least.
For a young first-timer, writer-director Kelly displays a skilled eye for the downright creepy, and a coy ear for dialogue. At one point, Donnie asks Frank, "Why do you always wear that stupid rabbit suit?" Frank responds, "Why do you always wear that stupid human suit?" At another, Donnie asks his Mother (a stately Mary McDonnell), "How does it feel to have a freak for a son?" She replies, simply, "Wonderful."
The construction of this memorable psychological twister is as good as its witty, nuanced script. An opening sequence through the hallways of Donnie’s high school (set to the nightmarish Tears For Fears) mixes spinning angles and frame rates in a single take that, within a mere few minutes of screen time, manages to sum up the entire three-year high school experience.
In terms of subtle dashes of personality, Kelly proves himself a filmmaker to keep a close watch on – one particularly eye-catching jibe reveals that the Halloween double feature Donnie and Gretchen (Malone) attend includes Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead and Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ. Additional viewings reveal many other hidden touches just like this one.
Surprisingly, given the track records of the majority of the cast, the only major misstep is the placement of Barrymore as a frustrated English teacher who introduces Donnie’s class to Graham Greene. Swayze, on the other hand, makes an intense impression as self-help guru Jim Cunningham, whose presentations on the nature of fear and love not only serve as one of Donnie Darko’s several metaphorical spines, but on the scale of hilarity sit alongside the misogynist rants of Tom Cruise’s T.J. Mackey in Magnolia.
What is most confounding about Donnie Darko’s European success is the film’s quintessential American-ness – perhaps its clever comedic nods towards Dukakis and the election of Bush Sr. coupled with Frank’s doomsday messages hit a little too close for comfort in the U.S. Given a second life on the opposite side of the pond, one can only hope those leagues of Blockbuster wanderers will stoop down to the bottom shelf and give Donnie Darko the chance it deserves.
Donnie Darko was recently reissued in North America in a special edition widescreen DVD. |
Copyright ©2003 FFWD. All rights reserved.