A note from the writer: this feature discusses endings in modern cinema and as such contains spoiler details regarding the conclusion of each film mentioned. All titles are written in bold so as to alert the reader, but if you don’t want to know the result, look away now...
At the end of Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds (2005), our hero Ray (Tom Cruise) arrives in Boston to find not only that his ex-wife’s neighbourhood has been completely untouched by the conflict, but that his son – last seen running toward certain death in an alien fire fight – has somehow both survived and made it there before him. It is a moment so out of kilter with what has occurred before that it immediately seems far less real than the film’s alien tripods. A narrative’s closing moments can have a great impact on our final view of it, making it essential to get things right. However, it is far too easy to mistake the best ending with the one that seems the most satisfying. Does every story need a “happily ever after”?
Log onto the IMDb.com message board for John Frankenheimer’s 1998 film Ronin and you might, as with any film, expect to find debates regarding minor plot holes and possible explanations thereof. Instead though, the page is dominated by posts deriding the feature’s inconclusive ending. “What was in the case?” This is the question repeated over and over. It would seem that in refusing to reveal the contents of a container pursued by Irish and Russian criminals throughout the film, Frankenheimer and his screenwriter (J.D. Zeik), have – in the eyes of many IMDb users – ended the story in an unsatisfactory manner. They have made use of what Alfred Hitchcock referred to as a ‘MacGuffin’ (a device that motivates the characters and advances the plot, but the details of which are of little or no relevance otherwise), but for some viewers human curiosity has allowed the particulars of this object to take up the position of central importance. In reality, the case is incidental. When the true motivations of Robert DeNiro’s undercover CIA agent are revealed, we discover that he doesn't want its contents and, due to his actions, neither the Irish nor the Russian gangs end up getting it. Perhaps this is all we need to know? At the film’s conclusion, Jean Reno’s character, Vincent, tells us in voiceover; “No questions. No answers. That's the business we're in. You just accept it and move on.” He is of course referring to the life of a mercenary, but it could also be seen as a comment on the film as a whole, or indeed aspects of life itself.
There will always be knowledge that we cannot access and, if art is designed to reflect something of life, then why have we come to expect more closure from it than we might get in reality? As children we are raised on fairytales with happy endings, but before that we listen to nursery rhymes where there is often no resolution. Humpty Dumpty cannot be put back together again, Jack and Jill never get their pail of water and it remains unclear as to whether Little Miss Muffet ever gets to finish her curds and whey. This is not to suggest that all stories must finish on a down note, but we should be aware from a young age that not every narrative has to end with all threads neatly tied-off.
Indeed, returning to cinema, it could be said that sometimes the themes of a film can be reinforced far more by an ending that refuses to compromise with what the audience may be expecting. Take, for example, Joel and Ethan Coen’s Fargo (1996). This is a film where, in the end, good people triumph and the greedy are punished for their crimes. It seems ironic then that the dedicated IMDb message board is littered with people lamenting the loss of the $920,000 that Steve Buscemi’s Carl leaves buried in the snow before his untimely demise. The story should be wrapped up, yet - by our very nature - many of us find ourselves wanting to know what happened to all that cash. In her monologue towards the film’s close, Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) states that there’s more to life than “a little bit of money”. Of course, the audience are privy to the knowledge that there are much larger sums involved than she is aware, but the point remains; too many of us find ourselves focused on that fictional stash when there is so much more we should take away from this story. Far from problematic though, this can actually be viewed as the screenplay’s creative masterstroke. In leaving audience members debating the fate of the lost money, the Coens have left these viewers unwittingly aligned not with the story’s heroes, but instead with its villains, allowing the film to serve as a fictional parable that calls into question the materialistic priorities of our own lives.
The brothers proved themselves masters of such ‘unsatisfying’ endings with 2007’s No Country for Old Men. By the time of the film’s climax the character assumed to be the story’s hero has died off-screen, his innocent wife’s fate has been left uncertain, the villain has walked away alive and free, and an aging sheriff has been left questioning his worth in this increasingly violent society. Many who saw the feature were left wondering where the resolution was and, of course, there was none. In response to negative reactions to the film’s ending, star Josh Brolin (the aforementioned ‘hero’ of the piece) was quoted as saying:
I love that people leave the movie saying, “I hate the ending. I was so pissed.” Good, it was supposed to piss you off...You completely lend yourself to [my] character and then you’re completely raped of this character. I don’t find it manipulative at all. I find it to be a great homage to that kind of violence.
The film is about the opportunism, greed and violence that can take hold with increased intensity in each new generation born into a morally apathetic society. Aggression and avarice breed in kind and unfortunately it is unlikely that this will lead to a positive outcome. Ultimately the story is perhaps more about Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, as portrayed by Tommy Lee Jones, than it is about Brolin’s character. At the film’s close, Ed Tom describes a dream in which he sees his father “fixin’ to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold”. However, he says that - before he could witness the blaze - he “woke up”, forced to return to reality. Far from being ineffective, this conclusion reinforces what has been suggested by the events throughout. Society has been enveloped by dark, cold realities and those older generations who fail to adapt will find themselves left behind, unable to see or create any change in the situation. It is not the ending that anybody wants for these characters, but it is the ending that best suits the tale.
It could be falsely deduced from such observations that, in order to be effective, a film’s closing moments must set out to thwart audience desire. This is not true. The point of this article is not to suggest that it is essential for filmmakers to leave people confused or pondering loose ends, more that they should not shy away from doing so purely to create a resolution where one isn’t necessary. Sometimes the perfect ending can be conclusive and rewarding, but in other cases it can be uncertain, upsetting, perhaps even frustrating. For each story there is an appropriate denouement that will best compliment the events narrated and themes raised and filmmakers should never be afraid let the right conclusion show.
Perhaps though, to avoid accusations of scepticism, it is best to end this particular commentary with an example of a full resolution executed well. During the same months that No Country for Old Men graced our screens, another feature provided one of the finest endings in recent memory. This one, in contrast to those mentioned above, was brilliant through its conclusiveness. When the final words of Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood (2007) are uttered by aging oil-tycoon Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis), they can be seen as carrying at least four different meanings, each firmly suggesting that an endpoint has been reached. As his butler approaches him, Plainview sits on the floor, food strewn across the room from the meal the servant left him eating. A man’s dead body lies nearby, his head caved in by Plainview moments before. Suddenly, speaking as if in answer to the most informal of questions his butler could possibly be thinking...
- Are you done with your meal, Sir?
- Are you through beating that young man to death?
- How do you think this situation will affect your future prospects?
- Do you think this story of your ever decreasing sanity has now run its course?
...Plainview blurts out a casual, two word sentence. It is the absurd yet perfect conclusion to a film that has shown how nonchalantly destructive a man can be when driven solely by power, and – for entirely different reasons – it is the perfect way to end this article. That sentence is simply this; “I’m finished”.
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