MIFF 2025 Film Review - The End
Images courtesy of Common State.
Musicals and apocalyptic fiction don’t make for particularly common genre pairings, but in his debut fiction work, aptly titled The End (2024), Joshua Oppenheimer fuses the two to Frankensteinian effect.
Some 20 years after an unspecified climate catastrophe, a young man, simply known as “The Son” (George MacKay), is thriving. During the day, he hangs Renoirs in the family room with Mum (Tilda Swinton), and in the evenings transcribes the heroic humanitarian work of Dad (Michael Shannon). They have a Butler (Tim McInerny), a Doctor (Lennie James), and Mum’s kind, but tortured, Friend (Bronagh Gallagher). What more could you want? Sure, The Son has never been outside, never felt the warmth of the sun, or the breeze on his cheek, but you can’t miss what you have never had, so really, all in all, life is good… perhaps too good.
There is a hollowness to the family’s daily routine, from the ornate interior of their home to their excessive three-course meals that read as rather uncanny. Oppenheimer intensifies this through stage-like set pieces and aggressive lighting, making one feel as though the characters were displayed in a museum. It soon becomes apparent that all, bar the young man, are playing characters of themselves; constructing stories in an effort to claw back some semblance of normality. This façade, attractive as it may be, is delicate; It relies on a collective acceptance and the willingness to buy into lies. When one evening a stranger (Moses Ingram) breaches the family's stronghold, she not only dissolves the fortress walls, but the falsehoods lying within.
The End finds its whole through an unlikely assemblage of parts; blatant disjunctions in dialogue, performance styles, setting, and narrative chafe uncomfortably, inducing a kind of colourphobic viewing experience. Its musical numbers, while well delivered, are oddly sparse and feel almost tacked on for the sake of it. As the narrative progresses, we discover that this seemingly perfect family is anything but, a revelation that crystallises Oppenheimer’s central argument: rich and greedy equals bad! Unfortunately, this isn’t exactly a novel idea, and by the 200th minute, one begins to wonder how many more times he can reiterate this.
Nonetheless, beneath the film’s indulgent messaging lies the crumbs of a more interesting narrative. Through The Son’s struggle between the juxtaposing stories told by his parents, and those relayed by the stranger, Oppenheimer captures the uncomfortable realisation we have all come to at some point: parents aren’t perfect. Ours may not have actively contributed to the mass destruction of humanity, but the disorientation upon realising they aren’t the saints we supposed is the same. It could be argued that The End is, in fact, a coming-of-age tale; interpreting it as such certainly seems to result in the best story. It is a shame, then, that the particulars of this tale are lost to the heavy-handedness of the competing narrative. Despite commendable performances – Gallagher’s in particular – from a reputable cast, investing in any one character proved rather difficult.
Ultimately, The End is a critique of the stories we tell. The stories that allow us to feel better about ourselves, about the ones we love, or about the planet that’s dying under our noses. It is unfortunate, then, that behind its showy sets and musical numbers, The End rings rather hollow. One can’t help but wonder if, in an ironic turn of events, Oppenheimer has ended up creating the very thing he set out to condemn.
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The End is screening as part of the 2025 Melbourne International Film Festival. For tickets and more info, click here.