Ever weary of litigation-happy consumers, Hollywood currently balks at any screenplay that contains the words ‘high-school’ and ‘gun’ on the same page, and needless to say, topics such as the Columbine massacre are strictly verboten. More counter-cultural media however, have embraced the tragedy and sought to unravel its dreadful implications, and the last year in particular has seen a flourishing of Columbine related projects including Michael Moore’s documentary Bowling For Columbine, Douglas Coupland’s recent novel Hey Nostradamus!, and three separate feature films – Zero Day, Home Room and Elephant.

The latter, a response from indie-elder statesman Gus Van Sant, took the Palme D’Or at the Cannes film festival and unquestionably it’s the director’s most distinguished work in an age, though considering his recent run of form (Finding Forrester, anyone?) that may not be the benchmark it once was. Elephant is though, quite an accomplishment in filmmaking terms – it’s brilliantly atmospheric, with the music of Elgar wailing over images of footballing youths. The camera floats along like the grim reaper behind various characters, while they gossip, breakdance, take photos, play guitar and strut around in belly tops. There’s no narrative framework, yet Van Sant’s clever use of long, dreamy East European-style takes builds both an idyllic picture and a strong sense of eerie calm.

However, the film has been heavily criticised for exploiting the massacre while offering little analysis, and while certain possible explanations for the killing spree are woven into Elephant’s fabric, they are often problematic. The easy availability of guns through the net is rightly cited, but fingers are also predictably pointed at video games, which isn’t much better than blaming Marilyn Manson for the whole thing. Equally, if Elephant is as troubled by issues relating to image and self-esteem as it suggests, then why does it perpetuate the body-fascism problem by making use of the prettiest troupe of man-boy actors this side of Death In Venice?

A terrific portrait of a gathering storm then, but not the forensic examination of events we hoped for and still need.