"Darren" (alternatively known as "Country Kids") from 1991 is the short where you can see the infamous TAC formula really starting to come together. A dramatic shift from the likes of "Girlfriend", "Beach Road" and "Tracy", which gave us the sensation of having stumbled upon the scene of a gruesome accident in its immediate aftermath, "Darren" takes us significantly closer to the lurid action, by recreating the experience of actually being inside the vehicle at the moment the crash occurs. In negotiating the balance between the two different spectacles on display - the physical carnage of the accident itself and the emotional wreckage that inevitably follows - "Darren" ends up being a film of two distinct halves. Each is a minute in length, boasting its own grisly payoff and working as a self-contained set-piece, to the extent that it's not hard to envision the two segments airing as stand-alone ads. In that regard, it is comparable to "Glasses", another TAC creation that plays like a conspicuous Frankenstein mishmash between independent premises, but the disconnect works a lot more favourably in this case. The sequences contrast with each other, both tonally and stylistically, in a way that builds on and complements one another. The cohesive detail cementing them as a singular narrative is the repeated utterance of the title character's name, to signal the advent of all-out devastation.
"Darren" is a cautionary piece on the dangers of distracted driving - the closing title card advising us to "Concentrate or Kill" makes that clear - although, much like in "Tracy", a myriad of ill-judged decisions on the part of its callow cast have combined to create a perfect storm of a collision. As the ad opens, Darren is admonished by one of his passengers for driving too fast, a criticism he does not take particularly seriously. None of the car's occupants are wearing seatbelts. (Meanwhile, the alternate title evokes another topic that would come up in other TAC campaigns, regarding the risks to rural drivers.) We sense that there was perhaps a broader intention to remind younger drivers, still caught up in the excitement of being behind the wheel, of their vulnerability. Darren is not the only dysfunctional element within the vehicle, but as driver he is the party on whom the bulk of responsibility ultimately falls. Despite his lax attitude toward speeding, he seems to realise that his unbelted friends' attempts to engage in a physical scuffle over his shoulder are not a good idea, and is momentarily forced into the position of the level-headed adult in a car full of screaming infants. After one of his friends comes dangerously close to knocking him and causing him to lose control of the wheel he insists that they all settle down. But of course, he too is just an immature pup, and the lure of that backseat squabble proves irresistible even to him. Darren takes his eyes off the road for just a second, to participate in a round of catcalling, blundering into an intersection and straight into the path of an incoming car. The passenger who'd earlier advised Darren to slow down tries to alert him, but too late, and we see the moment of impact as it occurs from Darren's perspective.
While "Darren" definitely upped the level of spectacle in comparison to earlier TAC installments, it doesn't lean quite so heavily into overstatement as some of the campaigns to follow. The horror happens in stark but essentially short flashes, with most of the really gut-churning material being left to our imaginations. The shot showing the immediate aftermath of the accident does not foreground the wreckage, instead focusing on Darren's bloodied, inert body as he lies sprawled across the tarmac, having been thrown from the car. In the background, we can make out the crumbled second vehicle, but Darren's own car is barely visible behind a smoking inferno (the fate of the other driver is left up in the air, but we are given little doubt that Darren's passengers have not survived). The only sound audible besides the burning of wreckage is the cawing of a crow, evoking both the mortality of the characters and an eerie feeling of stillness that has much the same effect as the incongruously peaceful ambience that accompanies the crash at the end of "Nightshift".
The ad already feels complete, but we fade out and emerge in a very different world, an ominously ill-lit hospital corridor where the silhouettes of two medics are seen approaching from afar, in an uncomfortably protracted shot. Dark, clinical and enclosed, it is a marked contrast to the colour and freedom of that open road we had the buzz of traversing earlier. It feels immediately surreal and nightmarish - with their features indiscernible, the silhouettes become threatening shapes on the horizon, recalling the intermittently inhuman appearances of the medics in the Drinking & Driving Wrecks Lives PIF "Mates". For the purposes of this film, they are messengers of death; as we drift further down the corridor, we see that they have come to meet Darren's family, who are anxiously awaiting an update on his condition. His parents are led away by the medics into a nearby room, while his sister lingers outside. The full horror of the situation is once again kept out of view - we share the sister's perspective, in not witnessing exactly what is shared with the parents - but the raw, uninhibited grief of the mother, heard screaming out her son's name, leaves us as to no doubt over the final outcome. Juxtaposed with her harrowing cries is a haunting display of humanity, as the nurse seated to the right of the sister rises to her feet and embraces her. Although she offers comfort in the darkest of hours, her fidgety movements in the build-up to the mother's scream betray that she'd known what was coming and was biding her time before her cue; the grim implication is that she (much like Ken Stott's first responder in "Fireman's Story") is no stranger to this particular routine, which has played out on countless prior instances with other families. Meanwhile, the hospital is now deserted, with no further extras seen wandering in backdrop, accentuating the lonely despair of these characters. This entire sequence is expertly staged and directed, one of the most indelible in TAC's library.
Perhaps the most disquieting quality in this latter set-piece is how, having experienced the intimacy of being inside the doomed vehicle and up close with its rowdy occupants, we find that we are not participants in this ensuing scenario, but passive observers. This is conveyed through the continuing movement of the camera, as it drifts ever further away from the grieving family, enforcing a sense of detachment. Though we might sympathise with their plight, we are denied that feeling of closeness to them, unable to embrace the sister as the nurse does. It is almost as if the camera has assumed the perspective of Darren's ghost - if not literally, then figuratively - bearing witness to the ongoing impact of his lapse of judgement, as he becomes increasingly removed from the realm of the living. Following on directly from our shot of the unconscious Darren, one possible interpretation is that it represents a vision playing out within the mind the our dying protagonist as he lets go of life, and of his family. The youthful freedom of the road has led us abruptly into the dark passage of death, with "Darren" capturing not only the moment in which the ordinary becomes the catastrophic, but in which energy and optimism become the materials of despair. No longer moving vigorously forward, we now gaze only numbly on what we leave behind.
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