How It Ends - Limitations & False Cutesyness
Thoughts On: How It Ends (2018)
An apocalypse dawns and a man is on the opposite side of America to his pregnant girlfriend, so he must journey back to her with his to-be-father in law.
How It Ends is one of seemingly many recent Netflix-distributed sci-fi films. If there is any genre of film I'm somewhat eager to see Netflix support, it has to be the original mid-to-low end sci-fi film - simply because this is a genre that sometimes only needs a good idea to formulate something brilliant. Alas, How It Ends, much like Bird Box, does not impress much - in fact, it has very similar structural and narrative downfalls. However, it is appreciable from a distance and without much expectation.
As mentioned, this fails in a similar way to Bird Box. Both are films that have some ambiguity about them - enough to grant the creation of those always much-needed 'explained' YouTube videos. But, whilst these films can be pondered in layman ways - what is it that causes the apocalypse? what do the monsters look like? - any basic questioning of narrative reveals each film's explicit lack of depth. So, whilst Bird Box could have very easily been a parable about confronting fear (a dark, post-apocalyptic fairy tale of sorts) somewhat reminiscent of psychological horrors such as The Babadook, it resorts to a cheap ending about living blindly. Both symbolically and emotionally, this is disappointing; not only does this mean little of substance in narrative, metaphorical terms, but there is no catharsis or projection of change and struggle that affects. How It Ends doesn't set itself up with a premise as rich as Bird Box, but this is still foundationally very simple - too simple. A film about individuation - the development of a stronger, better, more whole self - through the confrontation of life's darker side, How It Ends is fundamentally a film about being a man--a good one. This tale requires an alienated, unimpressive boyfriend just about getting his life together to live up to the man his lover's father is. There may be some Freudian mess in some dark corner of this film, but let us not venture there. In short, this is about earning a vacant throne - a prince gaining a throne next to the princess after the king dies. The basic elements of this narrative are put into place. The king is shown to be formidable, a man of great struggle and toil, of resolve, knowledge, answers, compassion and judgement; he is a leader, but he is old. The prince has warm virtues, but he lacks the ability to execute and to generate a shadow with which to confront the world without naivety. The apocalypse sees the prince go into training and the rest follows suit rather flatly. There is a little more complication to the narrative, but nothing worth delving into.
How It Ends is limited due to its refusal to engage melodrama and its misuse of realism. Without melodrama, this does not capture moments of emphatic change and meaning. More subtle in form, How It Ends has quiet moments be the most meaningful. We see a good example of this in the way in which the father and boyfriend conflict and connect. This is done through drama suppressed by civility; when the two argue, there is always something putting a lid on anger. Reversely, moments in which the two sacrifice for one another and show compassion as they begin to connect are silent - a moment of laughter, for instance, is the key signification that the two have reconciled. This realism is functional - but that's about it. A melodramatic film would have the father and son point guns at one another, scream, shout, fight and break things; it would have the two cry in each others arms, sacrifice their bodies for one another in slow-motion, etc, etc. We have seen this put on film before. You could argue that it is a net positive that this is not put to screen in How It Ends. But, what is missing from this realistic projection is access to the depths of our characters' humanity. There is just something human missing - something that the realism doesn't allow us to connect with.
That said, I'll start to bring things towards the beginnings of a conclusion with an observation I can't help but continually make. A plethora of films open with what I see to be a false cutesyness. We have all seen this. A relationship between a man and a woman is perfect; they live in an expensive house, they both have great jobs, they have their differences, but these only ever serve their relationship; they kiss too much, smile too much, joke too much, are simply too nice to one another for their relationship to be believable. We see this kind of relationship established in How It Ends - a cliche of an increasingly annoying class in my books. Another recent film that sticks out to me as opening with false cutesyness is Upgrade. As excellent of a film as this is in the technical and action departments, it is narratively ok. One of the limitations of storytelling in Upgrade is the cliched opening and its blatant foreshadowing of a break in a relationship. When we then see a couple engaging in an unrealistically ideal and perfectly smooth relationship, we know that one of them has to die soon. We know this because the reason why screenwriters use this cliche is clear: an important moment of drama is going to occur early on in the narrative, too early for us to properly care about the characters and events. Because a death within the first 10 minutes of the film isn't going to be particularly affecting, a writer feels they must front-load the story with cute moments all imbued with a sentimental tone. If we are made to like characters before they die, or if we are made to see why something is important before it is lost, then we will care and will be engaged from here on out in the story - this is what screenwriters think, and so this is how falsely cute openings find their way on screen.
What are screenwriters to do if they are to avoid the false cuteseyness cliche? Many films are structured in such a way that tragedy is concealed and only revealed later on in the narrative - after a point which we are already connected to our protagonist. Bird Box is a variation of this kind of narrative. Other examples would be Arrival - we are not allowed to know why our protagonist is so depressed until we are deep into the narrative (though, the revelation doesn't just seem to be emotional effect). One other example would come from the action horror, The Night Comes For Us. A character has a huge change of heart that puts into motion a lot of conflict. We are not allowed to fully understand this change of heart until we are deep into the narrative. It is at the point of revelation that we are invested enough for the moment to have proper impact (though, it is still presented rather sentimentally). Further examples can be found in the likes of Inception and Sophie's Choice, but I'm sure you know plenty. To present the issue more simply, however, there are many films that have tragedy of some sort early in their narratives that do not rely on a false cutesyness. A key example is The Lion King. Musafa is simply presented a symbolic, moral idol in the opening. There is not a real attempt to present him as a character per-se - there certainly isn't too much put in place that forcibly makes us like him. He is constructed as an ideal of sorts - an object archetype. That is the key difference between a cute opening and a strong opening that precedes tragedy. A cute opening contrives an ideal situation that we are (supposed to be) sad to see destroyed. An effective opening will construct an ideal for our protagonist to reflect upon across their narrative journey; it is the start of a meaningful film.
With all of that said, I'll leave things with you. Have you seen How It Ends? What do you think of all we've covered today?
Previous post:
End Of The Week Shorts #95
Next post:
Thoroughbreds - Act Without Intention
More from me:
amazon.com/author/danielslack
An apocalypse dawns and a man is on the opposite side of America to his pregnant girlfriend, so he must journey back to her with his to-be-father in law.
How It Ends is one of seemingly many recent Netflix-distributed sci-fi films. If there is any genre of film I'm somewhat eager to see Netflix support, it has to be the original mid-to-low end sci-fi film - simply because this is a genre that sometimes only needs a good idea to formulate something brilliant. Alas, How It Ends, much like Bird Box, does not impress much - in fact, it has very similar structural and narrative downfalls. However, it is appreciable from a distance and without much expectation.
As mentioned, this fails in a similar way to Bird Box. Both are films that have some ambiguity about them - enough to grant the creation of those always much-needed 'explained' YouTube videos. But, whilst these films can be pondered in layman ways - what is it that causes the apocalypse? what do the monsters look like? - any basic questioning of narrative reveals each film's explicit lack of depth. So, whilst Bird Box could have very easily been a parable about confronting fear (a dark, post-apocalyptic fairy tale of sorts) somewhat reminiscent of psychological horrors such as The Babadook, it resorts to a cheap ending about living blindly. Both symbolically and emotionally, this is disappointing; not only does this mean little of substance in narrative, metaphorical terms, but there is no catharsis or projection of change and struggle that affects. How It Ends doesn't set itself up with a premise as rich as Bird Box, but this is still foundationally very simple - too simple. A film about individuation - the development of a stronger, better, more whole self - through the confrontation of life's darker side, How It Ends is fundamentally a film about being a man--a good one. This tale requires an alienated, unimpressive boyfriend just about getting his life together to live up to the man his lover's father is. There may be some Freudian mess in some dark corner of this film, but let us not venture there. In short, this is about earning a vacant throne - a prince gaining a throne next to the princess after the king dies. The basic elements of this narrative are put into place. The king is shown to be formidable, a man of great struggle and toil, of resolve, knowledge, answers, compassion and judgement; he is a leader, but he is old. The prince has warm virtues, but he lacks the ability to execute and to generate a shadow with which to confront the world without naivety. The apocalypse sees the prince go into training and the rest follows suit rather flatly. There is a little more complication to the narrative, but nothing worth delving into.
How It Ends is limited due to its refusal to engage melodrama and its misuse of realism. Without melodrama, this does not capture moments of emphatic change and meaning. More subtle in form, How It Ends has quiet moments be the most meaningful. We see a good example of this in the way in which the father and boyfriend conflict and connect. This is done through drama suppressed by civility; when the two argue, there is always something putting a lid on anger. Reversely, moments in which the two sacrifice for one another and show compassion as they begin to connect are silent - a moment of laughter, for instance, is the key signification that the two have reconciled. This realism is functional - but that's about it. A melodramatic film would have the father and son point guns at one another, scream, shout, fight and break things; it would have the two cry in each others arms, sacrifice their bodies for one another in slow-motion, etc, etc. We have seen this put on film before. You could argue that it is a net positive that this is not put to screen in How It Ends. But, what is missing from this realistic projection is access to the depths of our characters' humanity. There is just something human missing - something that the realism doesn't allow us to connect with.
That said, I'll start to bring things towards the beginnings of a conclusion with an observation I can't help but continually make. A plethora of films open with what I see to be a false cutesyness. We have all seen this. A relationship between a man and a woman is perfect; they live in an expensive house, they both have great jobs, they have their differences, but these only ever serve their relationship; they kiss too much, smile too much, joke too much, are simply too nice to one another for their relationship to be believable. We see this kind of relationship established in How It Ends - a cliche of an increasingly annoying class in my books. Another recent film that sticks out to me as opening with false cutesyness is Upgrade. As excellent of a film as this is in the technical and action departments, it is narratively ok. One of the limitations of storytelling in Upgrade is the cliched opening and its blatant foreshadowing of a break in a relationship. When we then see a couple engaging in an unrealistically ideal and perfectly smooth relationship, we know that one of them has to die soon. We know this because the reason why screenwriters use this cliche is clear: an important moment of drama is going to occur early on in the narrative, too early for us to properly care about the characters and events. Because a death within the first 10 minutes of the film isn't going to be particularly affecting, a writer feels they must front-load the story with cute moments all imbued with a sentimental tone. If we are made to like characters before they die, or if we are made to see why something is important before it is lost, then we will care and will be engaged from here on out in the story - this is what screenwriters think, and so this is how falsely cute openings find their way on screen.
What are screenwriters to do if they are to avoid the false cuteseyness cliche? Many films are structured in such a way that tragedy is concealed and only revealed later on in the narrative - after a point which we are already connected to our protagonist. Bird Box is a variation of this kind of narrative. Other examples would be Arrival - we are not allowed to know why our protagonist is so depressed until we are deep into the narrative (though, the revelation doesn't just seem to be emotional effect). One other example would come from the action horror, The Night Comes For Us. A character has a huge change of heart that puts into motion a lot of conflict. We are not allowed to fully understand this change of heart until we are deep into the narrative. It is at the point of revelation that we are invested enough for the moment to have proper impact (though, it is still presented rather sentimentally). Further examples can be found in the likes of Inception and Sophie's Choice, but I'm sure you know plenty. To present the issue more simply, however, there are many films that have tragedy of some sort early in their narratives that do not rely on a false cutesyness. A key example is The Lion King. Musafa is simply presented a symbolic, moral idol in the opening. There is not a real attempt to present him as a character per-se - there certainly isn't too much put in place that forcibly makes us like him. He is constructed as an ideal of sorts - an object archetype. That is the key difference between a cute opening and a strong opening that precedes tragedy. A cute opening contrives an ideal situation that we are (supposed to be) sad to see destroyed. An effective opening will construct an ideal for our protagonist to reflect upon across their narrative journey; it is the start of a meaningful film.
With all of that said, I'll leave things with you. Have you seen How It Ends? What do you think of all we've covered today?
Previous post:
End Of The Week Shorts #95
Next post:
Thoroughbreds - Act Without Intention
More from me:
amazon.com/author/danielslack
