The lie we tell ourselves is often more comforting than the truth we do not want to face.

(Friedrich Nietzsche)

The End presents itself as a philosophical reflection on the human condition in a post-apocalyptic context, where power structures and psycho-social defense mechanisms emerge as a mirror game between the past and the present. The narrative does not focus so much on the functionality of the residence/bunker housing the protagonists, but rather on their existential condition and the inner imbalance that drives those who inhabit it. The house, filled with artworks, includes a swimming pool, a library, a greenhouse, an aquarium, and a medical office; it is a sort of fortress built upon the ruins of a fallen civilization, a symbol of a desire for protection and self-sufficiency, but also of exile, which might be self-imposed to avoid the responsibility of civil and moral commitment.

The primary objective is to try to understand how the people who inhabit it function: mother, father, son, doctor, butler, friend.

The conflict is not so much between technological progress and its absence, but rather between those who adhere to a principle of selfish self-preservation and those who, through dialogue and confrontation, seek to recognize and remedy the immense damage that humanity has inflicted upon its habitat. The young woman who enters the inaccessible fortress symbolizes an otherness that, though lacking status and resources, brings with her the possibility of unveiling and transforming the consciousness of those who have chosen to isolate themselves. The affection the young son develops for her becomes the focal point of a tension between progressive idealism and the stagnant conservative ideology that permeates the family environment. The family itself finds itself confronting a reality that is no longer the result of a natural or immutable order, but that manifests as a "world in progress," permeated by uncertainty and the possibility of change.

This opposition does not only occur on the ideological level, but also plays out in an ontological game between what is and what could be. The philosophical reflection becomes even more intense when we consider that the image of the "old" is not simply that of a past that has been surpassed, but rather a system of thought that rejects change and evolution. Nostalgia for a vanished "golden age" becomes a vehicle for repression: A COLLECTIVE REPRESSION of one's own guilt and inability to face reality.

In this sense, the film becomes an expression of satire that goes beyond mere denunciation, bringing to light the mechanisms of collective psychological defense that prevent us from coming to terms with our role in the ecological and social disaster. The language chosen by Oppenheimer, with its baroque oscillations and cryptic phrases, gives life to a sort of collective monologue that challenges the linearity of traditional narration. Every word is a reflection, a counterpart to a distorted view of reality, yet never entirely foreign to our everyday experience. The inner world of the characters is a fragmented and contradictory space, where emotions are not expressed directly but filtered through the staging of the musical.

In this context, the musical assumes a meaning that goes beyond simple entertainment: it becomes an act of existential processing, a way to exorcise the ghosts of the past and the present. Just as in musicals people sing to express strong feelings, in the film, music becomes an evocation of what cannot be said with words. The ability to repress and forget is reflected in singing as an act of sublimation, but it is this repression that constitutes the core of the conflict.

The intrusion of the young woman, therefore, is not just a physical invasion of the family’s protected space, but an act of disruptive revelation, an opening toward an elsewhere that shakes the certainties of the house's inhabitants and forces them to look within. The perspective she brings with her is not so much that of pure morality, but rather that of a collective consciousness that demands answers, no longer individual, but communal. It is the rediscovery of a we that has forgotten to exist.

Just as in The Act of Killing Oppenheimer explored the individual’s capacity to conceal their guilt, here he explores the illusion of a life protected from everything, but at the same time lacking in authenticity. The end of this family, of the world it represents, is not so much the end of an era, but the end of a human condition whose existence is denied by the continual retreat into defense mechanisms, into the self-deception of a continuity that does not exist.

"I wanted to make a third film in Indonesia with the oligarchs who came to power through the genocide there. And I couldn’t because I couldn’t return to Indonesia safely after The Look of Silence and The Act of Killing. I started researching oligarchs in similar situations elsewhere. And I found someone who was buying a bunker, and this indirectly inspired The End," the director explains. "While I was on this journey, and in the years I worked in Indonesia, I always knew that a sign of corruption — and a sign of a corrupted country in general — was that people’s watches cost more than their cars. That’s how you knew government officials were corrupt."

Time is also a silent protagonist, the true antagonist, the concept that accompanies the title as well: the end of this family, the world, the ecological crisis, climate change, trying to focus on the need to become aware before it’s too late.

The director speaks of the false hope of the musical: a film about disappointment, denial, and self-deception. A form of despair dressed in the clothes of illusion, a despair disguised as hope, that tomorrow will be better than today and everything will resolve for the best.

Oppenheimer constructs a work where the characters sing when the truth has made their illusions crumble, and they begin to search for new melodies, new reasons to convince themselves that everything will be fine.

According to him, the characters are vulnerable and desperately search for floating debris after the wreckage of their illusions, which need to be rebuilt.

Thus, the need to build false hopes takes the place of the need to understand how to face the present and prevent what will happen if action is not taken.

"I think the friction between the stories we tell through our uniquely human ability to shape the world in language and the inexplicable mystery decays. All these nouns like chaos, horror, and beauty fail, because what I’m describing is beyond language. Somehow, the nullity/totality of the universe becoming self-aware and the friction between these two things is the place of being. It sounds terribly philosophical, but making a film is too hard, too laborious, too extensive, too time-consuming to be worth it unless you're trying to truly feel and understand what the nature of being is. I think all these films, The Act of Killing, The Look of Silence, and The End, are meditations on storytelling. It’s how we tell stories to make the world something we can live with more easily. But the unintended consequence of this is that we end up lying about it, and lies have terrible consequences, which lead us to insist on those lies in a vicious downward cycle," Oppenheimer explains.

So, the cave/mine/bunker/family is where one takes refuge if one does not learn to interrupt the saga of false hope that denies and hides instead of facing it: a physical and mental cave/bunker that hides reality behind the false shadows of repression.

Joshua Oppenheimer delivers an unparalleled operation: "they are us," he insists, "you can escape justice but not punishment." He satirizes a wealthy family by building the true antagonist, the concept that accompanies the title: the end of this family, of the world, the ecological crisis, climate change, trying to focus on the need to become aware before it's too late.

A monumental allegorical representation of humanity lying to itself with a miserable, imprudent, false, blunt optimism.

We run heedlessly toward the precipice after putting before our eyes something that prevents us from seeing it.

(Blaise Pascal)

14-Jan-2025 by Beatrice