I'm Thinking of Ending Things

The walls of your living room have never felt quite so close as they do when you're watching a Charlie Kaufman film, but I’m Thinking of Ending Things takes that claustrophobia and turns it into an Olympic sport. I watched this during a rainy Tuesday afternoon while wearing a pair of incredibly itchy wool socks, and honestly, the physical discomfort of the socks perfectly mirrored the psychic itch this movie leaves behind. It’s a film that arrived in 2020, a year when we were all trapped in our own heads anyway, and it basically told us: "You think your apartment is small? Try living inside a decaying memory."

Released directly to Netflix, this is the kind of mid-budget psychological puzzle that simply doesn't get a theatrical wide release in our current era of franchise dominance. In a cinematic landscape crowded with multiverses and legacy sequels, Kaufman used the "streaming blank check" to hand us a 135-minute existential crisis disguised as a disastrous "meet the parents" road trip. It’s a bold, uncompromising piece of art that understands something fundamental about the streaming era: if you give people something weird enough, they will spend the next three weeks on social media trying to decode it.

A Masterclass in Second-Hand Embarrassment

The plot—if you can call it that—starts simple. A young woman (Jessie Buckley) is traveling with her boyfriend, Jake (Jesse Plemons), to his family farm. She’s thinking of ending things. Not her life (maybe?), but the relationship. As they drive through a blinding snowstorm, the conversation oscillates between high-brow intellectualism and awkward silences that feel like they last for decades. Once they arrive at the farm, time begins to liquefy. Jake’s parents, played with terrifying brilliance by Toni Collette and David Thewlis, shift ages between scenes. One minute they are vibrant middle-aged hosts; the next, they are geriatric and fading.

Jesse Plemons has officially cornered the market on playing men who are "just slightly off," but here he’s a revelation of repressed resentment. Opposite him, Jessie Buckley—who I’m convinced is a shapeshifter—carries the movie’s shifting reality on her shoulders. Her character’s name changes, her profession changes, even her clothes change, yet she remains the only anchor we have. Watching them navigate a dinner scene that feels like a fever dream is more stressful than trying to explain a crypto wallet to your grandmother. It’s horror, but not the kind with monsters under the bed. The monster here is the passage of time and the crushing weight of unrealized potential.

The Secrets in the Snow

Because this film has already achieved a sort of "instant cult" status among the film-bro circles of Letterboxd, the behind-the-scenes details have become part of the lore. For starters, did you know the film within the film—the cheesy romantic comedy the Janitor (Guy Boyd) watches—was actually directed by Charlie Kaufman but credited to a fake director? He even brought in Hadley Robinson to play the lead in that "fake" movie to make the Janitor’s world feel more lived-in.

Speaking of the Janitor, many viewers were baffled by the Oklahoma! dance sequence toward the end. Turns out, Kaufman is obsessed with the idea of how we use media to build our own identities. The Janitor isn't just a background character; he’s the "real" Jake, and the entire movie is his dying fantasy, constructed from books he’s read and movies he’s seen. To pull off that balletic climax, they hired professional dancers as body doubles for Jesse Plemons and Jessie Buckley, creating a dream-logic sequence that shouldn't work but somehow feels like the only logical conclusion to a story about a life lived in the margins.

Another weird detail: the poem Jessie Buckley recites early in the film, "Bonedog," isn't something Kaufman wrote. It’s a real poem by Eva H.D., and the actress had to deliver it in a way that felt both profound and like someone else's memory. It’s that layer of "stolen" reality that makes the film so haunting. Even the 4:3 aspect ratio wasn't just a stylistic quirk; Kaufman and cinematographer Łukasz Żal (who did the gorgeous Ida) chose it to make the car scenes feel like a coffin. This movie is essentially a Reddit "Explain Like I'm Five" thread waiting to happen, and that’s exactly why people are still talking about it four years later.

Why It Matters Now

In an era of cinema where we are often spoon-fed every plot point, I’m Thinking of Ending Things treats the audience like intelligent adults capable of handling ambiguity. It reflects our current cultural anxiety—the fear that we are just observers in our own lives, scrolling through the memories of others. It’s a horror movie about the terror of being forgotten and the shame of a life that didn't turn out like the movies.

Is it "fun"? Not in the popcorn-munching sense. But it is deeply, strangely rewarding if you’re willing to let it wash over you. It’s a film that "stays, sticks, and lingers," much like the original tagline promised. Just maybe don't watch it right before you head home for the holidays. Or do—it might make your own family’s awkward dinner conversations feel like a walk in the park by comparison.

Charlie Kaufman has crafted a film that feels less like a narrative and more like an organ transplant of his own insecurities. It’s dense, frustrating, and occasionally pretentious, but it’s also one of the most singular visions to hit a streaming service in years. If you’re tired of movies that feel like they were written by an algorithm, let this beautiful, snowy nightmare pull you under. Just remember to bring a warm blanket and a high tolerance for existential dread.