It’s one thing to make a movie that relies on secrets and mysteries, never explaining everything – but then you lose the viewer. Something has to make sense. We get tired of being jerked around. Your movie can’t be the equivalent of a child saying “I know something you don’t know!” for 2 hours. The audience won’t hang around for forever.

But the other extreme is equally bad, where a movie anxiously contorts itself into a pretzel trying to “make sense”, killing all imagination and wonder in the process. As the line goes, explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog. You understand it better…but the frog dies.

Donnie Darko somehow combines the bad aspects of both, creating a specious dream narrative burdened that somehow possesses the need to literalize itself with scientific explanation.

The premise is tantalising. A troubled young man is called from his room by a figure in a rabbit suit – this apparent saves his life, for a jet engine crashes into his room as soon as he leaves.

The story soon becomes muddled, and the director’s cut merely shines an extra 10 watt bulb into the murk. Donnie has obviously been saved for a reason…but what? It seems time travel is involved. Something about multiple universes. Donnie travels from place to place at the behest of Mr Rabbit Suit, doing various things, but there’s a layer of confusion preventing them us from seeing the higher purpose. It’s like playing an adventure game when you can’t work out what you’re supposed to do, so you just blindly click on everything in sight.

Donnie Darko has style – all kinds of style. But what, ultimately, is it doing? It’s not a departure into the Land of Lynch – the movie obviously has rules, it’s obviously humming along to some hidden tune we can’t hear. It invites logical analysis…but sadly, logical analysis gets turned away at the door. Sorry sir, you aren’t on the guest list.

It does give an unsatisfying, fairly thin scientific non-explanation for the events in the book. The wonderfully creepy atmosphere is immediately dispersed like fart gas when Donnie starts reading about what’s happening in a helpful textbook called The Philosophy of Time Travel. Stupid. Who thought this was a good idea?

Ultimately, we never know the full story of Donnie’s strange experiences. There are fansites dedicated to explaining this movie, especially its profoundly confusing final scenes. Explanations coil around and around on themselves until you’re left with no choice but to think “why even analyse this? It’s a nonsense. There’s no way, given these facts, to arrive at a consistent conclusion.” Normally you can make any bizzaro version of a theory work by adding enough epicycles and equants, but not here. Where, ultimately, does the aircraft engine come from? The real world, or Donnie’s “tangental” one? Neither makes sense. This movie is impervious to reason.

This movie annoyed me to a degree that probably isn’t healthy. I wonder if the director can furnish answers about this movie. Someone should beat it out of him – my suggestion is with a jet engine.

In the Iliad and the Odyssey, the Aegean is described dozens of times as “wine-dark”. Honey is “green”. Iron is “violet”. This has led to fringe theories that the classical Greeks saw the world in very different colours than us.

The content of Agatha Christie’s writing has been analysed, uncovering some interesting patterns. Her vocabulary became much smaller as she grew older, and she started using far more indefinite words (“something, thing, anything”) Some now suspect that she was writing her final novels through the early stages of Alzheimers. Of course, could also have been suffering from a similar but unrelated disease called “who gives a shit, I live in a house of solid gold.”

Aquinas once said “beware the man of one book.” Most think that means “don’t trust people who rely on one point of truth and don’t consider outside perspective”, but actually Aquinas meant the opposite, that someone who has learned and mastered just one book can be formidable.

The entire Twilight series has about 43 million copies in print. By comparison, the Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung has only 820 million copies.

One of the earliest ebook readers, if you take a cosmopolitan view of the word, was the Nintendo Gameboy. In the mid-90s someone found a way to fit the entire KJV Bible on a GB cartridge (you can download a ROM here), allowing for reading and even advanced capabilities such as indexing/referencing. On eBay the original cartridges are selling for more than $500, making it one of the more expensive editions of the Bible.

Someone once described fiction writers as “professional liars”. If you accept this, science fiction might actually be the least lie-filled genre, since it has potential to become the truth.

After Marquis de Sade died, his skull was phrenologically examined. It was exactly the right shape for a priest. 

Dean Koontz sold the first story he ever wrote, and then collected 75 rejections before making another sale. Some wish this ratio still held true in 2015.

The most prolific author might well be this programmer, who algorithmically generated 800,000 books and started selling them on Amazon.

Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 has been packaged a lot of interesting ways. First Ballantine released a limited run that was bound in asbestos. A more recent one comes with a match and an igniter strip. And, of course, you can read it on the Kindle, after wiping away a thick layer of irony.

To paraphrase something recently pointed out to me, “buy my book” is the white person’s version of “buy my mixtape”.

On the topic of The Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung, I find it likely that somewhere, sometime, a person in the midst of starvation actually tried to eat theirs.

This album has one bad song. All the others are so good that I keep giving “A Tale that Wasn’t Right” chance after chance, convinced that I must be missing out on its genius somehow. But it remains a bad song.

The rest of the tracks are classic German speed/power metal, with lots of riffs, huge choruses, and a pleasant sense of camp. Helloween is the band that can take you on a 14 minute progressive metal journey, and midway through, you get a lyrical reference to Charles Schultz’s Peanuts. The band’s childlike naivete and sense of humor is genuinely refreshing, and set them apart from a metal scene that was already becoming laughably self-serious.

Kai Hansen is a dominating songwriting force here. His high speed-cookers “I’m Alive” and “Twilight of the Gods” are very fast, the former more agitated, the latter more ambitious and story-driven. “A Little Time” and “Future World” are catchy midpaced rockers, the latter having its childlike melodies cut with creepy brainwashed lyrics – this isn’t power metal as much as Jim Jones metal.

“A Tale that Wasn’t Right” dull and sloppy, but Michael Kiske’s piercing voice is somewhat a point of interest. “Initiation” and “Follow the Sign” are little filler instrumentals that help add a little atmosphere between tracks. The Keeper albums aren’t concept albums as such, unless it’s possible to be a concept album without a concept. The only thing uniting them is the uniting them is the vaguely Nostradamus-like character of the Keeper, who has all of time and space floating within his cowl.

The final song is “Halloween” (A plus two E’s), an incredible recap of Helloween’s (three E’s) career to date: heavy Anthrax-esque thrash riffs, speedy tremolo picking, what seems to be several dozen harmonised guitar solos smashing together in a musical clown car collision, and Kiske nailing ungodly high notes. An astonishing blizzard of speed and technicality that pretty much set the bar on what’s possible with power metal – and yet the songwriting is clever enough that it can be condensed into a 5 minute single while still making sense.

The songs are great, and the lasting impression is one of grandeur, fun, and nostalgia. Sad, too. The Keeper of the Seven Keys diptych came too late to launch them to stardom. Come another couple of years and they’d be a band in ruins – destroyed from the inside by a depressed drummer and egomaniac singer, destroyed from the outside by the advent of grunge rock. By the time they recovered, the window of opportunity was gone. They’re still battling on, without Kai, Kiske, or Schwichtenberg, but they never regained what they’d had before.

With this album nearly twenty years old, its touching to remember the band that was king, if only for A Little Time.