I'm Thinking of Ending Things Is A Retelling That Doesn't Work

(Please be aware, if you haven’t already seen Netflix’s new release I’m Thinking of Ending Things, there are spoilers below.)

Film is a unique medium because the artists bringing the story to life have so at their disposal to tell it. For musicians there is only sound or spoken word, for authors there is only the written word, for theatre the words and visuals are limited by what the production company can physicall create, for video games there is a limit based on the patience and skill of the player—some who may never see the ending of those pieces of art. For film though, a multitude of creative minds can team up and make something otherworldly using limitless amounts of sound, lighting, framing, clothing and set pieces, words, and, of course, effects (practical or special, it doesn’t really matter). Maybe that is why I am typically not one of those readers who automatically scrutinizes retellings and on-screen adaptations. I get excited and intrigued to see the scope that a filmmaker is trying to bring and there are genuinely MANY films I think are better than their source material (The Godfather, The Panic in Needle Park, Silence of the Lambs, No Country For Old Men, and The Graduate all come to mind, for example). Sometimes, in fact, the right actor or actress can bring a character so much charisma or screen presence it immediately elevates the story. Unfortunately, no amount of charisma from the cast of I’m Thinking of Ending Things can save this one.

The story begins well, with a woman contemplating a break-up on a trip to meet her boyfriend’s parents. The conversations and visuals grow increasingly bizarre from there until the viewer is left with overly artistic depictions of a break-from-reality narrative. Fragmentation of reality is a delicate topic to cover. As I’ve mentioned with Joker before, part of the reason for that is I believe that there is an artistic responsibility to marginalized groups and avoiding fetishizing or romanticizing their struggles. I wouldn’t say Ending Things goes quite that far, but the almost obnoxious and pretentious imagery associated with what can be read as psychosis (especially if you are familiar with the book), leans more into that territory than most. It made me uneasy because there didn’t seem to be any true substance behind the use of the psychosis other than a way for Kaufman to get visually obscure, and to try to live up to his reputation as a screenwriter who is bleak and haunted.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There is, or at least could be, a good movie in here somewhere. The cast is wonderful and they do a great job of ramping up the tension when they need to and slowing it down when the script calls for it. The pacing is excellent. Also, Kaufman has a very innate sense of tone and is able to stabilize an otherwise unhinged film through his meticulous use of staging, lighting, and set design. In fact, this film is beautiful. It reminds me quite a lot of Aronofsky’s mother! that way—intense visual crafting that far exceeds the actual telling of the story. For a movie that is supposed to fill the audience up with dread and anxiety, so much was foreshadowed so strongly at the beginning, I felt neither of those things during the runtime. However, a positive trend I have seen in recent horror movies is a slow-burn, psychologically torturing, emotional terror focusing on dread rather than cheap scares. This is a great thing, and Ending Things continues in that direction, whether or not it fully succeeds.

Unusual movies can be really great and I love solving their puzzles and getting drawn into their worlds. With Ending Things, though, it felt like Kaufman was trying to have his cake and eat it too; he wanted to create an accessible Netlix-packaged avant-garde film. Unfortunately, those aren’t two categories that mix well. This, combined with my reservations of using the mentally unwell for strictly artistic visuals and experimentation, makes this film a disappointment in my eyes.