A perfect Californian suburb, nestled in a lush valley. Neat houses with tended lawns, successful dads, moms with pearls, and kids who do what they’re told. Except that everyone seems addicted on some substance or other in order to conform to their unnatural environment. Dean is one of the misfits who won’t take his meds to keep happy — until he finds his best friend hanging from a noose. The little delinquent behaviors such as sneaking beers and suicide go unnoticed by the self-involved adults in this Stepford town. When the death is discovered, it sends a ripple through the overly cheerful mecca that risks breaking the fabricated world apart. Pleasantries continue to be exchanged among neighbors through gritted teeth and furrowed brows. It’s time to wake up from the dream and face a harsh reality.

The Chumscrubber reminded me quite a bit of Donnie Darko, another atypical teen angst dramedy that defies categorization. There’s the misunderstood pill-popping hero, haunted by menacing visions in mirrors. There are the out-of-touch parents who slowly begin to see what’s really wrong underneath everything. There’s the underlying mystical theme that maybe all those random events aren’t so random after all. Heck, we even see a bully get some well-deserved eye damage. But where critics loved Donnie, this film got trampled. I found it well-written and nicely acted. Glenn Close, William Fichtner and Allison Janney perform robotically, but completely appropriately for their outwardly-beautiful, inwardly-miserable characters. Carrie-Anne Moss and Ralph Fiennes get to have a little more fun in their roles as people not afraid to express their true desires, whether driven by vanity or spiritual awe. It’s a welcome break from syrupy cinematic dreck, and like Darko again, closer to how I remember high school.

There are no comments yet. You could be the first!