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Review: It's 'The End' but deep underground, a sheltered family keeps on singing in denial

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Review: It's 'The End' but deep underground, a sheltered family keeps on singing in denial

“The End,” by director Joshua Oppenheimer (“The Act of Killing,” “The Look of Silence”), is a gloomy musical about perhaps the only six people left on Earth: an oilman and his trophy wife (Michael Shannon and Tilda Swinton), their bunker-born adult son (George MacKay) and the three aides (Bronagh Gallagher, Tim McInnerny, Lennie James) invited into this underground ark.

Something awful is outside. We hear allusions to a blood-red sun, a poisoned sea and buzzards. But this salt mine-slash-sanctuary boasts walls hung with fine art and a dinner table set for wine and Champagne. These survivors have walled-off suffering for more than 20 years. Still, they can’t breathe.

Not in the literal sense. The cast has the lung capacity for more than two hours of singing and the songs, which Oppenheimer wrote the lyrics for and composer Joshua Schmidt scored, are flat-out stunners, belted with humble charm. If a voice cracks, it cracks. The emotion holds center stage, backed by adamant violins and horns and sneaky melodies that vault up an octave to hit surprising notes.

But there’s not enough air in here for everyone to have a personality. The characters are all rigorously mannered, as though they’re mimicking the mannequins in old film strips of 1950s bomb shelters. In the opening song, people stroll into the living room one by one, casually clutching mugs of coffee, and when they realize the others are already crooning about another perfect new morning, they join in as though to be polite. “We fight through the dark together / our future is bright,” they harmonize, keeping their backs as straight as a church choir.

The irony is obvious and for the first hour, that’s all there is. The assured magnate, the superficial wife, the doted-upon child who was raised so cloistered he whistles canary songs to a tank of crawdads and tries to teach pet tricks to a fish. These aren’t full characters — they don’t even merit names — they’re just the clichés we’d expect to see dining on Dover sole while the rest of us are dead. (Plus the workers don’t merit much attention.) Oppenheimer and his co-screenwriter Rasmus Heisterberg have given each family member one flaw that they sing about so incessantly that the running time could be slashed by a third. We get it, bunker life is airless. This house is so gray and cold that something’s got to snap.

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During the film’s stiff and dull first stretch, the family discovers a young stranger, played by Moses Ingram, who has endured the apocalypse long enough to track the source of their smoke exhaust. If you think that’s implausible, wait til you see how this presumably hardscrabble refugee — a girl who has never before worn shoes — not only arrives with TikTok-trained options about the rights of the working class, but appears unfazed by these opulent digs.

George MacKay and Tilda Swinton in the movie “The End.”

(Neon)

Ingram and MacKay start off like the kind of couple you wouldn’t put together even though they truly might be the last fertile singles alive. But they warm to each other enough to sing their own duet, running through the salt mine with their arms stretched wide. (The choreographers Sam Pinkleton and Ani Taj smartly choose liberated movement over precision.) Finally, the film kicks up its heels and becomes something beautiful.

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Oppenheimer is after something that drives right at the heart of what a musical is. To harmonize means to agree. It’s a public display of solidarity — a pact to parrot the same delusions. Here, it’s only when these characters splinter off on their own that they sing their truth. Even then, they’ve been so suffocated by lies that they can’t always come up with the right words. In one number, Swinton, who goes glossy-eyed to show the cracks in her high-fashion veneer, poses in a transparent rain slicker while bleating raw, yowling noises that blend with the despairing strings. As for the naive son, whom MacKay plays with apple-cheeked precociousness plus a brain worm, during his wildest solo, he thrusts his crotch and goes, “Nyah, nyah!”

Lies are to Oppenheimer what the skeleton was to Da Vinci. He’s fixated on understanding how they work, how they evolve and bend, how they wind up controlling the way a person moves through life. When Shannon’s patriarch insists that “drilling for oil was just an excuse for wind farms, clean water, save the chimpanzees,” he’s rewriting history for an audience of no one but himself and how he wants his son to see him. The scale of destruction he has caused is vague and unspeakable. We know riots were involved because he insists they weren’t.

Given that our setting is the end of the world and all, we can estimate that his death toll trumps that of Oppenheimer’s breakthrough 2012 documentary, “The Act of Killing,” in which the former soldiers of an Indonesian death squad reenacted their past massacres to shore up their conviction that they were the heroes. That powerful film sided with our desire to punish the aggressors. But when Shannon’s fossil-fuel tycoon rebuts that the rest of humanity drove cars, too, well, he’s got a point.

Perhaps out of a shared sense of guilt, Oppenheimer yearns to give these sinners a chance to atone for their mistakes. Alone, they plead for forgiveness, like when Shannon scales a mound of salt clutching a taxidermy bird like he fancies himself the heroine of “The Sound of Music.” Rather than condemn its characters forever, “The End” gives these plastic people the choice to reclaim their humanity. That’s what turns out to be torture.

This is a musical that treasures goofy imperfection, a scene where McInnerny does a funny little tap dance, or the joy in Shannon’s hyena cackle. Oppenheimer untethers his script from the responsibilities of explaining how this doomsday manor functions. The food stash, the waste disposal, none of that comes into play, and the characters are wholly incurious about whatever’s going on outside their cave. Instead, all the attention goes to micro-shifts in people’s moods, which, for characters this manicured, are as dramatic as a new ripple in a rock garden.

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Only Ingram’s home invader can be both happy and sad at once. The girl can’t wall her emotions away and that rattles this bunker to its very foundation. The film around her is itself built on a fault line of contradictions — it’s at once tepid and sledgehammer-insistent, a slab of decadent milquetoast. But you leave thinking about the question the characters never bring themselves to ask or sing: What’s the difference between being alive and living?

‘The End’

Not rated

Running time: 2 hours, 28 minutes

Playing: In limited release, opens Dec. 6

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Movie Reviews

‘Evil Dead Burn’ Movie Review – Spotlight Report

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‘Evil Dead Burn’ Movie Review – Spotlight Report

Sam Raimi‘s Evil Dead films and TV series are a fine example of creativity within constraints, playfulness, self-awareness and outright slapstick comedy. The Evil Dead series after Raimi is very, very different. Starting with 2013’s Evil Dead by Fede Álvarez, followed by Evil Dead Rise by Lee Cronin, the new series takes itself more seriously and emphasises pure horror, violence and gore. Some have considered this praiseworthy as it avoids being a mere retread of the old films, but the reception has been mixed.

In Sébastien Vanicek’s Evil Dead Burn, Alice (Souheila Yacoub) loses her abusive husband (George Pullar) to a motor accident. When she goes home to stay with his family, the consequences of the work of their dead grandfather researching the Necronomicon and the Deadites manifest in terrible ways. One by one, the family are turned into the Evil Dead.

Horror is a genre that depends on you relating to the protagonists so you care what happens to them. In the case of Evil Dead Burn, Yacoub does a decent job with the character she’s given, but the gonzo horror elements manifest so early in the film that she may as well be collateral damage in the onslaught, especially as the film’s early point of view is that of her brother-in-law (Hunter Doohan).

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Fans of gory violence will get their money’s worth here, but there’s not a lot going on besides that. The film is a descent into madness and carnage that is so resolutely unpleasant that, after some of the early kills, it becomes numbing. It’s hard to gather what the tone is supposed to be, with lots of callbacks to the early films’ style by setting up inevitable kills with Chekhov’s weed trimmer, Chekhov’s fork and every other potentially dangerous prop the camera lingers on. The family are all deeply unpleasant at some level and so their deaths register as meaningless. Yes, the film has the obligatory something to say about how our tendency to ignore domestic abuse creates demons that destroy families, but then absolutely panders to bloodlust by absolutely revelling in some of the most extreme violence imaginable between family members (and a pet). To say this is not a film for the sensitive is to understate things considerably. This is a film that absolutely earns its content guidance warnings.

Is there any comedy? Some, but it feels out of place given the absolute brutality inflicted on the cast. While most of the other films were self-aware about setting up a ludicrously grisly end for a villain as a payoff, in Evil Dead Burn,the kills have very little flair. It’s also hard to know what the rules for getting rid of a Deadite are, as some of them are still upright and chatty after losing most of the contents of their skull and some are dispatched by the repeated application of a blunt object to the head. Towards the end, a McGuffin is added to make the kills final, but before that, who knows?

Should you watch Evil Dead Burn,? It certainly gets vocal reactions from audiences in a cinema, and if you’re a gorehound you’ll be in for a ride. If you’re a horror fan, it’s certainly a horror film, but violent instead of scary. If you’re just a fan of cinema who likes good films whether or not they’re horror films, then this will be an alienating watch. In Evil Dead Rise the decay of the family was more than background noise and factored into the circumstances of the individual deaths, but not here. It has slight pretences of being a film with Themes and Ideas, but in the end it just feels like an excuse to serve up limbs being mutilated, skulls being crushed and any number of stabbings, slicings and gougings rendered with psychopathic visual fidelity. If that’s what you’re after, that’s what it’s got.

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‘Children of Blood and Bone’ author won’t see film after feud with star Amandla Stenberg

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‘Children of Blood and Bone’ author won’t see film after feud with star Amandla Stenberg

Tomi Adeyemi, the author of the bestselling fantasy “Children of Blood and Bone,” isn’t planning to see the forthcoming film adaptation — even though she co-wrote it.

Over the weekend, the Nigerian American author posted a video on TikTok addressing fans who have been asking her the same question, “Why don’t you post about the adaptation of your first film adaptation anymore?”

“There is a reason I will not post anything about the adaptation of my work,” the author wrote in what appear to be screenshots of a group chat. “I have not seen the film, and I will not watch it.”

The adaptation of the first installment of Adeyemi’s “Legacy of Orïsha” fantasy trilogy is slated to hit theaters in January 2027. Gina Prince-Bythewood — who wrote and directed “Love & Basketball” and helmed “The Woman King” — is directing. The film stars Amandla Stenberg, Thuso Mbedu, Tosin Cole, Damson Idris, Cynthia Erivo, Lashana Lynch, Regina King, Idris Elba, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Viola Davis.

Alongside the screenshots of her comments in the group chat, she shared a February 2025 exchange with Stenberg that shows the author severing ties with the actor.

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Adeyemi shared only her final message to Stenberg, which reads, “Do not ever use my name in an interview or video again. Do not text me. Do not call me.” That exchange is followed by a notification that she blocked Stenberg, who plays Princess Amari in the upcoming fantasy flick.

The message from Stenberg that preceded Adeyemi’s reply is not shown in full.

Stenberg, who played Rue in “Hunger Games,” Starr Carter in “The Hate U Give” and, recently, Verosha “Osha” Aniseya and Mae-ho “Mae” Aniseya in Disney’s “Star Wars” series “The Acolyte,” had been getting flack from readers of the series, who claimed colorism was an issue while casting the movie.

In February 2025, Stenberg posted a since-deleted nine-minute TikTok addressing the controversy and told followers that Adeyemi had given the actor her blessing when cast as the series’ princess.

“I am four months into training for ‘Children of Blood and Bone’ and I am getting my ass whooped,” Stenberg joked in the video, per BET.

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“This year was mostly defined for me, honestly, by contending with what it felt like to receive racist death threats just for existing in the ‘Star Wars’ universe, and that was a really difficult thing for me to move through,” she continued. “But honestly, it feels so much more painful for me to feel like I’m at odds with my own community.”

Stenberg said that she considers her skin tone when navigating her career choices and would “never go after a role” she didn’t feel well suited for. “I know that colorism is an insidious system that relentlessly impacts every facet of entertainment.”

The actor continued that it was actually a meeting with the “Children of Blood and Bone” author that gave her the confidence to pursue the role.

“I had the opportunity to meet Tomi, the novelist, for the first time. … And she goes, ‘Amandla, I want you to know that when you were a little girl and you were cast as Rue in “The Hunger Games,” and people said that Rue’s death wouldn’t be as sad because you’re a Black girl — that inspired me to write this series so that Black girls like you and Black girls of all shades could have a story written about them,’” Stenberg said in the video. “We started crying, and I said to myself, ‘God wants me here.’”

Representatives for Stenberg, Adeyemi and Prince-Bythewood did not immediately respond to The Times’ request for comment.

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‘Night Nurse’ Review: A Caretaker Explores Her Kink for Elder Abuse in the Year’s Strangest Erotic Thriller

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‘Night Nurse’ Review: A Caretaker Explores Her Kink for Elder Abuse in the Year’s Strangest Erotic Thriller

There are any number of erotic thrillers in which rich old men are robbed blind and/or left for dead, but Georgia Bernstein’s admirably bizarre “Night Nurse” might be the first movie of its kind where elder abuse is the source — and possible subject— of its erotic thrills. If there are others, I’m not sure I want to know.

But this woozy debut feature doesn’t rely on its audience being turned on by the relationship between a nubile caretaker and her dementia-addled patient. Their psychosexual bond, meanwhile, hinges on cold-calling vulnerable old people under the guise of a grandchild in financial distress. (“I’m in trouble, nana, send me $10,000 or I’ll be left to rot in jail!” That sort of thing). With its slim wisp of a premise stretched into a Strickland-esque dreamscape that substitutes kink for conflict, the film itself hardly seems convinced by its own wrinkled lust — all desperate kisses and non-touching poses of subservience. More important to Bernstein is what that lust reveals about her characters’ deepest needs, specifically how their need to care and be cared for can be as easily perverted as any other form of desire. 

The Five-Star Weekend series stars D'Arcy Carden as Brooke, Regina Hall as Dru-Ann, Chloë Sevigny as Tatum, Jennifer Garner as Hollis, Gemma Chan as Gigi, shown here posing for a photo

As moody and weightless as the noir-accented score that blows through the movie like a curlicue gust of wind in an old cartoon (credit to musicians Sam Clapp and Steven Jackson), “Night Nurse” lacks the pulse required for its stray feelings to come alive. Still, the film ambiently taps into the latent eroticism of teasing out the distance between how you see yourself and who you really are. Bernstein plays with that distance like a telephone cord wrapped around her fingers, and Eleni — played by the excellent newcomer Cemre Paksoy, powerfully helpless — only frays even more as the receiver is brought near the hook. “Everything I did before today wasn’t me,” the nurse tells co-worker Mona (Eleonore Hendricks) after starting a new job at an Illinois retirement home. “It was somebody else.” 

What she did before today remains unexplored (specifically, what she did to get herself fired from her last gig), but I’m guessing she’s probably changed less than she thought. There’s a faraway flicker in her eyes the moment she catches the vibe between Mona and Douglas (a ribald and elusive Bruce McKenzie), a white-haired seventysomething who shows early signs of dementia but still commands an undiminished sexual energy. “I’m not an invalid,” he coos as Mona bathes him in the tub, to which she replies, “yes, you are,” in a supplicant tone that hints at a rich history of power games between them. 

Later that same night, Douglas will force Eleni to call a stranger, pretend that she’s their granddaughter, and ask for money — he’ll wrap the phone cord around the nurse’s body as she talks and shove her against the wall as they kiss. She’s into it. So into it that he has to clarify the terms of his whole deal: “If you’re looking for a pogo stick, I’m really not your guy.” But Eleni isn’t looking for anything to bounce on. She just wants to be needed, and maybe to need someone in return. Someone who will see her for who she really is and allow her the fantasy of pretending she isn’t being herself when she cons vulnerable strangers out of their money — when she exploits how enthralled those strangers are by the care they have for their loved ones.

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“Night Nurse” doesn’t belabor the psychology, as Bernstein prefers to express her story through heavy-lidded suggestion. Somnambulating from the moment it starts, the film moves through a series of beautifully arranged poses that stretch their latent meaning thin across the surface (Lidia Nikonova’s cinematography lacquers every shot with a seductive dreaminess). We see Douglas smoking in a lawn chair with Mona and Eleni curled around his feet. Eleni riding in the backseat of a convertible as the wind blows through her curls. The full staff of nurses — all of them under Douglas’ sway — stumbling around his condo in a state of zonked out bliss as they roll on the prescription drugs they’ve stolen from the residents. 

Once you’ve seen one shot of this movie, you’ve practically seen them all, at least until things escalate during a rushed and unsatisfying third act that forces Eleni into an honest confrontation with herself. People will do just about anything to feel needed — they’ll give whatever degree of care allows them to receive it in return. “Night Nurse” understands that desire, but remains far too numb to treat it. 

Grade: C+

The Independent Film Company will relase “Night Nurse” in theaters on Friday, July 10.

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