So, here we are again: an apparently idyllic American suburb which turns out to have a dark and surreal undertow. The adults are too wrapped up in themselves to take any interest in their kids; the kids are alienated; everyone's on some kind of drugs.

For the record, in this variation on the theme the outsider-but-smarter-than-the-rest teen finds his drug-dealing mate hanging from a ceiling and gets bullied into nicking what's left of his stash, while the adults, oblivious, get on with organising dinner parties.

The Chumscrubber works fine within the limits it sets itself, but how can a film which is so caustic about bland conformity not try to do something a little different itself?