April brings a new theatrical re-release of the 2001 cult classic Donnie Darko, but it’s hardly a film out of circulation. Despite having been a theatrical disaster following its rapturous debut at the Sundance Film Festival, Richard Kelly’s coming-of-age supernatural mystery failed to generate enthusiasm; this was in part due to a reduced marketing campaign, as trailers centered on the crashed airplane within the film’s major set piece were dropped in aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. Nonetheless, Donnie Darko became a point of fixation for early internet communities, many of which latched on to the philosophical and metaphysical undertones that were only hinted at in the theatrical cut.
Donnie Darko had already become a surprisingly popular title on home media by the time that Kelly released his official director’s cut in 2004, which included more direct explanations for the time travel mechanics that had left general audiences baffled upon initial viewings. Although it satisfied those who’d convinced themselves that Kelly’s foresight was blown out of proportion by enthusiastic video essayists, the director’s cut of Donnie Darko is still an unusual convergence of influences. Even if it was the epitome of teenage anxieties emerging with 1980s nostalgia, Kelly tapped into something primal with Donnie Darko that hasn’t been matched by any science fiction film since.
The film’s ostensibly centered on the titular protagonist, a troubled teenage outcast played by Jake Gyllenhaal, in one of his first major roles after October Sky. Donnie’s visions of a mysterious man in a bunny costume, who’s offered cryptic warnings about the future, are initially explained to be a side effect of his mental health issues. However, a look into the philosophy of time travel on Donnie’s part has suggested a different cause; he’s part of a tangent universe that emerged following the end of the world.
“The end of the world,” however, is an exaggeration of what’s exclusive to Donnie’s experience; the genius of the film is that the most complex questions are asked only in relation to the ways in which a mopey, depressed teenager would contemplate his life’s purpose. Donnie Darko is both critical and sympathetic to the angsty way in which its protagonist has viewed the world. Did Donnie develop a negative outlook because of the dark future he became aware of, or was he saddled with these responsibilities because of his cynicism? Does free will exist if his actions mirror those done by an alternate version of himself, or does this suggest that circumstantial alterations don’t change someone’s behavior?
It’s somewhat ironic that Donnie Darko is associated with a new generation of internet fandom, because its aesthetics are shared with many 1980s films, including John Hughes’ high school dramedies and the paranoid psychological thrillers of David Cronenberg. While there was a strain of 1980s nostalgia that was reawakened by Stranger Things, Donnie Darko was never indulgent in an idealized version of the past that could only be identified by popular culture. Donnie’s confusions are a causality of a consumerist, conformist section of America’s endless suburban nightmare, in which the diegetic sounds of Tears For Fears’ “Head Over Heels” and Joy Division's “Love Will Tear Us Apart” are the only escape.