Flung down through the atmosphere of a new planet, the passenger-freighter Hunter-Gratzner crash lands upon a barren land.

But David Twohy's would-be horror film Pitch Black runs more like an extended, twisted episode of Gilligan's Island than a testament to the genre of the bloodthirsty alien chiller.

He's a transfigured, vaguely gnostic Gilligan, who leads the gang into their initial trouble but has the potential to be so darn-awful wise.

Riddick even manages to develop some sexual tension -- as smooth as a drive-in movie first date -- with newly-appointed ship's captain, the sexy Fry (Radha Mitchell). She's a mix of huggable Skipper and tantalizing Ginger, but far more effective than either.

Finishing the menage a trois is dislikable Johns (Cole Hauser), the lawman escorting Riddick. He's a twisted Professor, empowered not by science but by law.

In this episode, the trio leads the rest of the pack -- including a devout Muslim family led by father Imam, an effete, luxury-loving Brit named Paris (dead-on for Mr. Howell), a foxy geologist and a runaway boy (who make a Maryann melange) -- wander along looking for safety from the deadly bat-like monsters that take over the planet at night.

And unfortunately for the crew, even this three-sun planet will give them plenty of darkness.

"I had always been excited by the idea behind Pitch Black ... When I read this script for the first time, I thought that it was all about that childhoodfear of the dark that most of us never really grow out of."
     

This wandering takes up much of the plot -- even becomes a metaphor for the plot -- with a few killings by the wicked, hungry monsters interspersed.

Still, the audience never really feels frightened. The movie, at its best, gives off a kind of grossed-out, haunted-house scary, never the bone-quaking fear the director apparently intended.

What salvages the movie is the camerawork: jarring, sudden, with the unearthly bleach-blue tone and texture of a pair of stone-washed jeans. With much of the movie shot in darkness, the camera, like human eyes, never really adjusts to the light. It's an awesome effect.

If you can latch onto the technical elements of the film -- the interesting space shots and the odd coloration -- and imagine this as an extended sitcom, Pitch Black can be enjoyable, even comical.

Note, for instance, that Paris, lover of fine cigarettes and alcohol, stored away bottle after bottle of Southern Comfort. Since when does American booze live up to the standards of European snobbery?

And how Riddick, who admits to despising God, seems as fast, powerful and all-knowing as the Almighty. How does he find such good hiding spots?

Watch for the slivers of what might be a fractured theme -- homoeroticism, gender-bending, and a debate about the goodness of God. You won't get anything close to a healthy debate about these from the film, but the more philosophical in the audience might pick up the conversation afterwards.

Perceptive viewers might also appreciate the few effective plot strokes, like Riddick's metallic eyes that can see in the dark.

Nothing, however, truly coalesces in Pitch Black. The hungry bat-monsters fail to frighten. The crew fails to earn our interest. The cleavage shots barely tease us.

Pitch Black trudges along, piecemeal. Even its potential value as a campy classic may have been better served as a television movie, perhaps Rescue from Gilligan's Island.