The End Review: Joshua Oppenheimer’s Immense Musical is Slightly Overbaked

   December 2, 2024

Review: I’m drawn to many of the technical achievements in The End—its set design, cinematography, and sheer audacity are undeniably impressive. However, Joshua Oppenheimer has previously delivered films that feel more cohesive and incisive, works that seamlessly blend their tone and style with their themes. Tilda Swinton and Michael Shannon lead a movie that feels overbaked and often heavy-handed.

The End
Michael Shannon in The End, directed by Joshua Oppenheimer

Joshua Oppenheimer has established himself as a filmmaker unafraid of bold choices, pushing the boundaries of genre and narrative in ways that create deeply impactful and original works. His previous films, The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence, transcend traditional documentary storytelling by combining their harrowing subject matter with surreal and boundary-pushing cinematic techniques. These aren’t just films with powerful themes; they’re transformative experiences shaped by Oppenheimer’s ability to challenge convention and innovate.

With The End, Oppenheimer appears to take his distinctive approach even further, crafting what is arguably his most unconventional film yet. As much as it builds on the philosophical and visual ambition of his earlier work, this new project also signals a filmmaker willing to stretch his artistic vision into uncharted territory. From its concept to its execution, The End promises to deliver an idiosyncratic and outlandish cinematic experience that refuses to be easily categorized.

Much like his previous works, The End doesn’t shy away from blending genres and narrative forms. If The Act of Killing was a fusion of surreal reenactment and documentary, and The Look of Silence a piercing meditation on grief and accountability, The End seems poised to upend expectations once again. Oppenheimer’s ability to meld disparate elements into a cohesive whole has always been one of his greatest strengths, and here he appears to lean even more heavily into his knack for combining big, bold ideas with an evocative visual language.

The End sets its stage with an intriguing premise and a remarkable ensemble cast, underscoring its ambition to deliver a narrative that’s as intimate as it is expansive. Tilda Swinton (Moonrise Kingdom, The Eternal Daughter) and Michael Shannon (Bullet Train, Amsterdam, The Bikeriders), two performers known for their ability to dive into complex, layered characters, lead the story as a mother and father who have adapted to life in an underground salt mine—a hauntingly desolate setting that acts as both a home and a symbol of isolation in a post-collapse world.

The End presents an ambitious, character-driven narrative steeped in post-apocalyptic surrealism, centered on a family navigating their isolated existence. Tilda Swinton and Michael Shannon bring life to the mother and father at the story’s core. As survivors of a societal collapse who have carved out a life in the desolate expanse of a salt mine, their characters seem poised to explore the themes of adaptation, resilience, and the psychological toll of isolation. Swinton’s chameleonic abilities and Shannon’s intensity creates a nuanced and magnetic portrayal of a couple hardened by their circumstances yet deeply invested in preserving their humanity and sense of normalcy.

Tilda Swinton in The End
Tilda Swinton in The End, directed by Joshua Oppenheimer

The confined world of the salt mine, transformed into a home, serves as a microcosm of the family’s resilience and the fragility of their existence. The presence of a doctor (Lennie James), a butler (Tim McInnerny), and a family friend (Bronagh Gallagher) introduces additional layers to the story. These supporting characters may symbolize various facets of the old world and humanity’s attempts to maintain civility and care amidst devastation.

The arrival of an outsider in The End introduces a critical inciting incident that fractures the delicate equilibrium of the family’s sealed world. George MacKay (1917, The Beast), with his proven ability to portray intensity and vulnerability, plays the son whose life has been entirely shaped by the confines of the salt mine. His encounter with Moses Ingram’s unconscious stranger disrupts the fragile status quo and challenges the family’s established rules. Having never seen the outside world, the son’s fascination with this newcomer feels both poignant and unsettling, underlining his deep yearning for something beyond the boundaries of his controlled existence. MacKay’s performance captures the emotional turbulence of a young man wrestling with the allure of freedom and the weight of family loyalty.

Moses Ingram, whose rising career showcases her ability to balance strength and sensitivity, is an inspired choice for the outsider. Her character’s mysterious origins and motivations bring a necessary unpredictability to the story. Whether she represents a threat, a savior, or something in between, her presence forces the family to confront their fears and assumptions about the world beyond their underground sanctuary.

The decision to initially cast her back into the wasteland highlights the family’s rigid adherence to survivalist logic, but the son’s defiance creates cracks in their collective resolve. This tension not only drives the narrative but also provides opportunities for the eccentricity and complexity of each family member to shine. Tilda Swinton and Michael Shannon’s characters clash over the decision, as they embody the authority and pragmatism that have kept them alive for so long.

The decision to make The End a full-blown musical is an audacious stroke that adds yet another layer of eccentricity to Joshua Oppenheimer’s already ambitious project. By blending the intimate, apocalyptic family drama with zany, elaborate musical numbers, the film walks a tightrope between absurdity and poignancy, creating a wholly unique viewing experience.

Swinton and Shannon dive headfirst into their roles, embracing the heightened reality that musical sequences demand. Swinton’s ethereal presence and Shannon’s rugged intensity are the perfect match for a story that oscillates between moments of surreal elegance and dark comedy. Their performances bring both gravitas and absurdity to the family’s strange existence, particularly as they navigate the moral and emotional upheaval caused by the stranger’s arrival.

The musical numbers themselves serve multiple purposes, acting as windows into the inner lives of the characters while also providing a satirical commentary on the idyllic yet oppressive world they’ve created. Swinton’s numbers carry an air of haunting nostalgia, reflecting her character’s yearning for a past long gone, while Shannon’s performances lean into his character’s gruff control over their environment. These tonal contrasts create a dynamic interplay between the parents’ perspectives.

The younger cast members also bring their own musical flair. George MacKay’s numbers channel the restless energy of a young man yearning for connection and discovery, while Moses Ingram’s character introduces a fresh, untamed quality to the musical sequences, contrasting with the polished yet eerie performances of the family.

The musical format allows for moments of levity and surrealism, with the supporting cast—Lennie James, Tim McInnerny, and Bronagh Gallagher—bringing their own unique spins to the numbers. Each performance further fleshes out the bizarre ecosystem of this salt mine sanctuary, blending humor, pathos, and a touch of the grotesque.

Admittedly, a 148-minute musical isn’t typically the type of film that would catch my interest, but The End manages to deliver moments that are undeniably engaging and enthralling. Joshua Oppenheimer’s commitment to creating a visually arresting environment is one of the film’s most significant triumphs. The salt mine setting is nothing short of breathtaking, providing a stark, expansive backdrop that perfectly complements the film’s themes of isolation and entrapment.

The design of the mines feels both vast and claustrophobic—a dichotomy that heightens the tension and unease throughout the film. Oppenheimer transforms these long, white-washed tunnels into a character in their own right. With floors, walls, and ceilings that blend into an endless, blinding expanse, the mines evoke a sense of cabin fever with each scene that takes place within them. Their oppressive monotony mirrors the characters’ stifling existence, creating an atmosphere of despair and stagnation.

Moments of musical bombast within these oppressive surroundings become even more striking, as the songs provide bursts of emotional release against the otherwise stifling backdrop. The juxtaposition of joyous, theatrical numbers with the bleakness of the salt mines creates an unsettling yet captivating tonal contrast, drawing the audience further into the strange and volatile world of The End.

And the cinematography is there to match the film’s grandiose vision, with Mikhail Krichman crafting dazzling musical numbers that elevate The End to a visual spectacle. Known for his mastery in films like Leviathan and Elena, Krichman brings his signature style to this project, using intricate long takes and multi-room setups that seamlessly follow the action across the sprawling salt mines. These sequences exude a kinetic energy that feels both immersive and meticulously choreographed, making the sheer scale and complexity of the production all the more impressive.

The musical numbers in The End are as much about movement as they are about music, and Krichman captures this dynamism beautifully. The camera weaves through the characters’ tightly controlled world, gliding past whitewashed walls and cavernous chambers, immersing the viewer in the physicality of each performance. These extended takes demand precision not just from the actors but also from the crew, who must synchronize every camera movement with the elaborate choreography and set changes. It’s a feat of coordination that adds a layer of immediacy and authenticity to the film, as if the audience is part of the unfolding spectacle.

I find myself more captivated by discussing The End and unpacking its ideas than fully engrossed in the act of watching it. At 148 minutes, it can feel bloated, with the characterization somewhat restrained by the film’s heightened, performative nature. While the musical numbers bring a buoyant energy and an undeniable vibrancy, I can’t help but wonder what a version of this film without those interludes might look like—one where the narrative plays out in a more grounded, straightforward manner.

Stripping the musical framework might have shifted the tone significantly, allowing the film’s themes of existential dread and ecological collapse to hit harder. The End is ostensibly about our collective anxiety over an uncertain future, particularly in the context of climate change, yet the exuberance of the musical sequences often undermines the gravity of these ideas. Instead of leaning into the despair or introspection one might expect from a film with such weighty subject matter, the energy often lightens the mood, creating a tonal dissonance.

This isn’t to say the musical approach doesn’t have its merits—it’s audacious, distinct, and perhaps even intentionally ironic in its juxtaposition of form and theme. But the film’s ultimate message feels muddled in the process. What exactly is Oppenheimer aiming to convey here? Is the spectacle meant to distract us, much like how society often distracts itself from impending crises, or is it simply a stylistic choice that doesn’t entirely cohere with the underlying narrative?

Either way, The End leaves plenty to think about, even if its execution isn’t entirely satisfying. It’s a fascinating experiment, but one that might have been more impactful with a clearer sense of tone and focus.

I’m drawn to many of the technical achievements in The End—its set design, cinematography, and sheer audacity are undeniably impressive. However, Joshua Oppenheimer has previously delivered films that feel more cohesive and incisive, works that seamlessly blend their tone and style with their themes. The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence marry their bold creative choices with a clarity of purpose that leaves a mark on the viewer.

By contrast, The End feels less decisive in its execution. While its technical artistry is undeniable, the film doesn’t quite achieve the same harmony between its ambitious form and its thematic underpinnings. It’s as though the spectacle occasionally overshadows or muddles the message, making it less impactful than Oppenheimer’s earlier, more precise works.

Score: 6/10

Movies like The End (2024)

Moves like The End include The Substance (2024), A Different Man (2024), and Megalopolis (2024).

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