Motoko

OK. Deep breath. Reputation about to be destroyed. Career as reviewer gone.

I liked Van Helsing.

No, no, no! Let me explain. I think it's awful. The script is terrible. The plot non-existent. It's all just an excuse for some action sequences to be tied together. Now, here's my point: what's wrong with that? I am beginning to rail against the pre-defined notion that all films have to be a Citizen Kane type experience. They must aspire to be the ultimate cinematic achievement they can be. The storyline must be Shakespearean in scope. The dialogue must be a gift from Mamet. The performances must give De Niro sleepless nights for months.

Not always.

Sometimes they can just be fun. And that's what Van Helsing is, it's fun. It's ridiculous, it's hokey, it's silly. But by God, sat in that darkened theatre watching Frankenstein's Monster swing on a rope, Dracula do bloody battle with a Werewolf and the Brides camp it up like harpies possessed, you've just got to roll with it and laugh.

You want to be po-faced? Hell you could rip this to pieces. Nothing makes any sense. The story is riddled with contrivances and conveniences too numerous to mention. Vampire and werewolf lore is shown the nearest exit and told to be cool or else. The dialogue is so cheesy, even Karloff would die of shame saying it. But here's the point. The film doesn't care.

Not in a self-aware kind of way you understand. This isn't some post modern exercise in hip irony. Hugh Jackman doesn't wink at the camera. Roxborough doesn't let the mask slip and reveal that he knows it's all bunkham. You know why? Because they're having fun too! And director Stephen Sommers? He's bouncing up and down in his little directors chair smacked out on sugar having the time of his life playing with the biggest toy set money can buy.

This is clearly a labour of love for Sommers. At the end of the credits is the note 'For My Father.' You just know that when he was 9 Sommers watched every universal Horror movie at least 25 times and lapped it up. He watched them with his father and talked about how cool it would be if the Monsters all met up for a big fight and what would happen. This is that film. This is the film a fan makes. This is the film an obsessive makes to honour the memory of watching monster movies with his father.

Now, I can hear people whispering "if he wanted to honour Dracula and Frankenstein he should have made a serious adaptation of the books rather than urinating all over Shelley and Stoker's prose and turning them into a funfair ride." Point taken and accepted. But Sommers doesn't care about the books. He cares about the films. He cares about Karloff and Legosi and Lon Chaney Jr. He cares about damsels being captured and villagers carrying blazing torches and pitchforks and silver and transformations. He cares about the joy of watching a monster create carnage. You want to delve into the sexual awakening of young women in a suffocating society? Or explore the male masturbation fantasy of creating life without the help of woman kind? Move along please, nothing to see here. You want to watch vampires attack a coach travelling at breakneck speed though the Transylvanian forest carrying Frankenstein's Monster with a Werewolf in hot pursuit? Step right this way.

Van Helsing is not a great film. It's debatable whether or not it's even a good film. But it most definitely is a fun film. And sometimes, that's all you need.

Some films fade away from the subconscious as soon as you finish watching them. Others linger for a few days, possibly weeks before dismissed as films that we were really rather good. And then there are those few, either through their extreme brilliance or sheer weirdness that just refuse to dislodge themselves from your cerebellum. Donnie Darko is one of those few films that manages to achieve it by being both.

Donnie is a troubled teenager. Undergoing therapy for a series of strange hallucinations, he is lured out of his bedroom one night to his front yard by a 6ft bunny rabbit called Frank who calmly informs that the world will end in less than a month. After this bit of information is passed on, the engine of a passing passenger plane crashes through the roof, landing on the bed Donnie would have been sleeping in, if he weren't sleeping on the golf course. Are you following this? Good, because after that things get really weird as self-help gurus, restrictive teachers, senile hermits and a growing obsession with time travel all seek to gnaw at Donnie's sanity.

After a set-up like that you have to wonder what screenwriter-director Richard Kelly is nibbling on for a bedtime snack. And then wonder if there's any chance of getting some yourself since the film is a near flawless dive into the surreal. From the opening scene of Donnie asleep on a cliff side road, things are very definitely not right. Unlike a David Lynch movie, nothing truly bizarre actually happens (even Frank is kind of explainable), but what does happen occurs in a very bizarre way. Time and space seem to twist and distend. Even the blue skies and white clouds above seem moulded to confound. Michael Andrews music (a mixture of piano, choir and theramin) only adds to the proceedings.

Against this perfectly formed mood is a perfectly formed script. By turns funny, scary and sad but always moving forward in small, building pieces to the final day. It would be easy for the complicated, tendril like plot to overwhelm the film; but it's always told through the characters, and not just Donnie. Everyone gets their own little subplot, quirks and their opportunity to be developed. They also get great lines, be it Donnie's attempts to compare emotional problems or Patrick Swayze's squirmingly smarmy self help seminars (it even gets in a monologue about Smurfs for crying out loud).

Those lines are delivered by a cast very obviously aware that they may never get a chance to be in anything like this again. They're led by Jake Gyllenhaal, who is perfect as the titular teen. Scared and confused about what's happening around him, but seduced and finding some comfort in it as well, he nails every single scene as the brilliant but angsty Donnie. Katherine Ross also makes a welcome return to acting as Donnie's well-meaning but slightly ineffectual therapist. The rest of the cast are all sublime. Only Drew Barrymore disappoints, mostly because she doesn't get an awful lot to do. But then her presence has probably more to do with being a producer getting the film made than the number of lines.

Of course the final question about Donnie Darko is: what the hell does it all mean? There's some evidence to suggest that maybe, maybe the film is about the commercialised 80's not being accepted by the more apathetic, wary and cynical next generation. The film is set during the Dukakis/Bush election and Donnie is, rather like Benjamin Braddock, at odds with the proposed society and ideals he is supposed to take up. Perhaps the explanation is on the DVD, perhaps Kelly never had one or perhaps its better not to worry about it too much. Because whatever the rhyme or reason behind Donnie Darko it is, without doubt, one of the most original, compelling and hypnotically beautiful films made in several years and easily the best film of 2001.