Years ago, I had a dream so vivid it felt like reality. In this unsettling scenario, my morning began like any other — except my favorite drink, a crisp white can of Monster Energy Zero, was nowhere to be found. Not because I’d run out, but because the ingredients for energy drinks had become scarce, victims of rising temperatures and crumbling supply chains.

To make matters worse, the store shelves were barren of anything caffeinated, casualties of drought and disrupted production. My morning routine had transformed into an apocalyptic scavenger hunt, and I hadn’t even stepped outside the doors of my house. When I finally did, the air reeked of smoke from distant wildfires, while my weather app warned of an “Air Quality Alert.” Even my boss waved the white flag, telling me not to bother working from home because the power grid had collapsed under the relentless heat wave.

Sitting in my stifling house, sipping lukewarm tap water instead of my cherished Monster, it hit me how preventable this chaos had been. The warnings had been everywhere — documentaries, scientists, even ads for eco-friendly products. Yet there we were, choking on smog, suffering through droughts and watching energy drinks disappear from existence. Oddly, my anger wasn’t focused on the planet’s slow decline, but on my inability to caffeinate through it. Before I could see how this grim tale ended, I woke up.

Funny how some dreams stay with you — especially the ones that feel like a glimpse of the future.

While my dream of a caffeine-deprived apocalypse has not (yet) become reality, a very different vision unfolds in the post-apocalyptic musical, The End. Directed by Joshua Oppenheimer, this film tells the story of a wealthy family living in an abandoned salt mine decades after an environmental disaster has rendered Earth’s surface uninhabitable. The family — Mother (Tilda Swinton), Father (Michael Shannon) and Son (George MacKay) — reside in a luxurious subterranean home, accompanied by Mother’s Friend (Bronagh Gallagher), Butler (Tim McInnerny) and Doctor (Lennie James).

Son, who has only known life underground, dreams of what the surface world might have been like. One day, he discovers a young woman, referred to only as Girl (Moses Ingram), wandering through the salt mines. Against the cautious instincts of the household, he brings her home to help her recover.

As Girl regains her strength, she and Son form a bond, sparking a quiet rebellion in his heart. Son begins questioning his family about the environmental catastrophe that drove them underground, but as his inquiries grow sharper, long-buried tensions and secrets rise to the surface, threatening the fragile peace of their isolated world.

Oppenheimer took a significant gamble with The End. The post-apocalyptic genre, already worn thin from years of relentless exploration, has been reimagined, subverted and parodied to the point of exhaustion. But Oppenheimer didn’t just attempt to add his voice to the cacophony — he raised the stakes by crafting The End as a post-apocalyptic musical, a genre mashup that immediately sets it apart.

Unfortunately, this ambitious gamble didn’t quite pay off.

It’s clear that Oppenheimer poured passion into this project. The songs are intricately crafted, each one designed to articulate the characters’ emotions and the story’s central themes. There are moments where the music adds depth, shedding light on the claustrophobic tension of the subterranean setting or amplifying the fragile hope embodied by Son and Girl. However, these moments are few and far between.

Too often, the songs feel jarring, interrupting the flow of the narrative, rather than enhancing it. The sudden shifts into musical numbers undercut the story’s emotional gravity, leaving a disoriented feeling, rather than being immersive. While the idea of using music to explore humanity’s struggle and resilience in the face of environmental collapse is admirable, the execution falters, making the film feel uneven and, at times, unintentionally comical.

Oppenheimer’s bold vision is undeniable, but the result is a film that struggles to find harmony between its storytelling and its musical ambitions.

This is not to say The End lacks redeeming qualities. One of its undeniable strengths lies in its exceptional ensemble cast, each member delivering standout performances that elevate their respective characters. Tilda Swinton and Michael Shannon, in particular, shine as Mother and Father, portraying a complex dynamic that anchors much of the film’s emotional weight.

At the story’s outset, their characters exude an almost serene acceptance of their subterranean existence, appearing unburdened by the catastrophic events that drove humanity underground. Swinton’s portrayal of Mother is layered with an eerie calmness, hinting at a deep well of repression beneath her poised exterior, while Shannon’s Father embodies stoic pragmatism, steadfastly maintaining a facade of control and assurance.

As the narrative progresses, however, cracks begin to form in their carefully constructed reality.

Swinton and Shannon navigate these shifts masterfully, revealing the underlying fragility of their peace. Memories of the past — their lives before the disaster and the decisions they made to survive — begin to creep in, slowly eroding their confidence and unraveling the stability of their relationship. Swinton’s nuanced expressions and subtle shifts in tone convey a simmering guilt that grows harder to suppress, while Shannon’s portrayal captures the mounting tension of a man grappling with the weight of his choices.

Their transformations feel organic and profoundly human, offering a poignant commentary on how even the most fortified facades can crumble under the pressure of buried truths. Together, they bring a sense of gravitas to the film, grounding its more experimental elements in raw, emotional authenticity.

I give The End three out of five stars — a respectable score for a film that dared to take risks but fell short of fully realizing its ambitions. The bold decision to meld post-apocalyptic storytelling with musical theater was an admirable swing for the fences, even if it didn’t quite connect. While the narrative struggled with tonal consistencies and the songs occasionally felt out of place, the stellar performances of the cast, particularly Tilda Swinton and Michael Shannon, helped anchor the film and provided moments of genuine depth and emotion.

In many ways, The End reminded me of that dream I had — the world as we know it was gone, but I was fixated on the personal tragedy of losing my favorite energy drink. Much like the dream, the film explores humanity’s tendency to cling to small comforts while the world around us disintegrates.

Son’s yearning to understand life on the surface mirrored my own sense of longing for normalcy in the face of inevitable change. Both the dream and The End are poignant reminders that even in the midst of monumental upheaval, it’s the smaller, personal stakes that often resonate the most. For that, and for the ambition it displayed, The End earns its place as an imperfect, but memorable entry into the post-apocalyptic genre.