Adam Matthew starts at The End.
“In my beginning is my end.” – T.S. Eliot, East Coker
Joshua Oppenheimer’s The End opens with a stark, haunting invocation of Eliot’s cyclical meditation on time and fate. It is a film about endings that are not truly endings, about pasts that refuse to stay buried, and about the outsider’s power – not to destroy, but to heal. The film sets the stage for a meditation on the destructive power of isolation and the gradual shift from coldness to warmth – a transition that feels both hopeful and tinged with melancholy.
Set in a decaying, post-apocalyptic world, The End follows a wealthy, isolated family fighting to preserve their way of life underground while the world above crumbles. The father (Michael Shannon) obsesses over his legacy, the mother (Tilda Swinton) clings to a fragile sense of home, and their son (George MacKay) grows up in a suffocating routine of unspoken tensions. Their existence is disrupted by the arrival of an enigmatic outsider (Moses Ingram), whose presence slowly unravels their carefully maintained illusions. Through surreal musical interludes, shifting emotional landscapes, and moments of both warmth and suffocation, the film explores guilt, class struggle, and the possibility of redemption amidst despair.
At first, the performances feel stilted and almost mechanical. Tilda Swinton’s restrained portrayal of the matriarch brings a brooding intensity, while Michael Shannon’s father character evokes quiet desperation and suppressed passions. Moses Ingram imbues the outsider with an enigmatic presence that gradually dissolves the family’s fragile reality. George MacKay’s portrayal of the son captures an eerie innocence, his gradual transformation mirroring the emotional shifts in the film. Bronagh Gallagher also delivers a strong performance in a supporting role, offering a subdued yet significant presence amidst the family’s unravelling. The dialogue, distant at first, mirrors the characters’ entrapment in a grand simulation of life. Yet as the film progresses, their rigid veneer cracks, revealing the raw emotion that dwells beneath. The outsider’s presence is not marked by violence but by existential questioning – forcing the family to confront their own facades.
The father clings to legacy and the mother strives to preserve the sanctity of their crumbling home, though her dreams are “a head full of trash” – all while their son, caught between them, grows up becoming moulded by their insecurities and neurosis. In this world, retreating from the external is retreating from oneself, and the underground, once a safe refuge, becomes stifling. The film drags its feet in these moments, mirroring the weight of memory and guilt that threatens to hold its characters in place. Yet even in this claustrophobic environment, love can bloom deep underground within this mine – a fragile beauty surviving in the darkest corners.
Oscillating between coldness and warmth, Cinematographer Mikhail Krichman crafts a visual language that shifts from oppressive, stark interiors to dreamlike flashes of blue summer skies. The opening scenes are dominated by a sense of loss, but gradually the warmth of love is rediscovered. Though in this optimism, there is sadness: moving forward requires confronting what has been left behind.
Surreal touches emerge in disorienting and unsettling ways: fantastical sing-song conversations and monologues that veer into the absurd, and a chilling fire drill simulation punctuated by the haunting refrain, “Your mum is dead… your dad is dead… lights out.” One of the most pivotal moments comes when the son challenges the myth of Rembrandt having brushes strapped to his hands, revealing the fragility of the illusions he’s been veiled by. This moment serves as a subtle awakening for the son, where the outsider’s presence broadens his narrow worldview, shattering the controlled reality his parents have constructed.
Songs play a central role in The End’s surreal atmosphere. The soundtrack’s shift from ambient dissonance to unexpectedly operatic moments amplifies the emotional intensity, with the actors pushing their vocal ranges during surreal musical interludes. Though varying in quality, the flow of some songs feel stilted and don’t gel from line to line, the musical numbers underscore the film’s exploration of collective delusion – the ways in which people construct narratives to shield themselves from guilt and regret. The songs, in particular those sung by the child, feel like an invention of a sheltered mind struggling to maintain control over an unravelling world. Ingram’s outsider character acts as a counterpoint to this constructed harmony, revealing the divide between the haves and have-nots in the family’s insulated existence.
Oppenheimer described The End as an exploration of whether human beings can reach a place where guilt becomes insurmountable. In this post-apocalyptic world, love blooms deep underground, even amidst the salt and sorrow. It is not the end, but an end – of coldness, of denial, and of the illusory safety of walls built against time. And yet, the tide continues to rise.
In cinemas from 28th March 2025.
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