From personal experience and discussion with other informed voices in the film community, I’ve developed a shorthand set of thumb rules: ten film commandments, my decem praecepta. This series of articles breaks down what I’m on about.

Continuing on:

“7. Thou shalt not murder thy ending with ambiguity.”

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You’ve suffered along with your heroes, cheered them on until they reached the end of their journey, and… credits begin to scroll over a black screen. Wait, what?! Did I fall asleep? There’s no dénouement? Did our heroes get a happily ever after or succeed in revenge upon their enemies? Was this movie just a waste of time? If you’ve ever asked this question as the theater empties, you’re in good company.

Nocturnal Animals is a standout for a murdered ending. A never-was author-turned-stalker writes a glorified revenge fantasy, inflicts it upon their ex (who inexplicably reads it), and fails to show up for a dinner date before the credits? Seriously: if the only novel someone has managed to write after 20 years (!) fails, it’s a bungled revenge at best; if the author offed themselves (off-screen, of course) in a desperate attempt to make a former lover feel anything (“You did this to me!”), the lack of confirmation botches that, too. For all the cleverness throughout most of the film, it felt as if the director had no clue how to end this, so they didn’t. Just the idea is good enough to win awards, right?

But wait; there’s more! Red State was the self-described first foray into the horror genre by Kevin Smith. With a brilliant setup about a Waco-like cult going savage, it looked as if viewers might get an apocalyptic ending; it instead cuts to John Goodman reporting to someone with nothing shown or even satisfactorily explained. Mr. & Mrs. Smith blended True Lies and The War of the Roses, building toward a pre-John Wick assassins battle that ends abruptly (maybe they ran out of assassins?), cutting to a family councilor’s office, leaving behind all the complications and consequences for a sequel that never happened.

Was Deckard a replicant all along? What books did Alexander Hartdegen take with him to the future? Was Childs or MacReady The Thing at the end? Not every plot thread has to be tied off with a bow, especially if the main plot points get resolved. Horror films embrace this idea with glorious purpose, dropping hints with little actual explanation as to why their monsters are death-proof; it isn’t real, so it lends itself to the escapism (and sometimes our heroes come back, too). The Blair Witch Project had an infamously ambiguous ending, but the idea had been hinted at, and attempts to make it more succinct left it wanting.

Real life isn’t a story; it’s a shared experience. The idea behind storytelling is for things to happen for a reason and make sense in some grand scheme or design, the illusion of purpose. Viewers want the vision of the filmmakers, not read a choose-your-own-adventure book; a movie’s ending is not the the responsibility of the audience. It’s an unwritten contract like watching a movie trailer: here’s what you can expect, so please watch. Unfortunately (and particularly during “awards season), viewers learn film trailers can lie like politicians trying to win elections.

Disclaimer: these are my opinions; feel free to articulate your own. 💀

Up next:

“8. Thou shalt not plagiarize thy inspirations.”

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