Eternity

The concept of the afterlife is usually handled with either fire-and-brimstone gravity or the sugary whimsy of a greeting card. But David Freyne’s Eternity takes a different, more paralyzing route: bureaucracy mixed with the ultimate "sliding doors" regret. In this version of the Great Beyond, you get one week to decide where you’re spending the rest of forever. No pressure, right? I watched this in a theater where the guy behind me spent the entire first act slowly, methodically unzipping and re-zipping his hoodie, and honestly, that rhythmic, anxious scratching felt like the perfect soundtrack for a movie about a woman being asked to audit her entire romantic history in seven days.

The film follows Joan (Elizabeth Olsen), who arrives in this celestial transit lounge only to find her dead husband, Larry (Miles Teller), waiting for her with open arms and a plan for their eternal domesticity. The catch? Her first love, Luke (Callum Turner), who died decades earlier in his twenties, is also there. He hasn’t aged a day, he’s still carrying that "doomed poet" energy, and he’s been waiting at the gate for Joan to arrive so they can finally have the life they were denied on Earth.

The Impossible Choice

What makes Eternity work isn't just the high-concept hook; it's the chemistry between the central trio. Elizabeth Olsen has always been the queen of the "micro-expression," and here she uses every muscle in her face to convey the sheer exhaustion of being a prize in a cosmic tug-of-war. She’s not just choosing a man; she’s choosing a version of herself. Does she want the comfortable, lived-in companionship of Larry—a man she shared a mortgage, a dog, and a decade of silence with? Or does she want the lightning-bolt electricity of Luke, the man who represents the girl she used to be?

Miles Teller plays Larry with a heartbreaking degree of normalcy. He’s not a villain; he’s the guy who knows how you like your coffee and which shoulder you need rubbed. On the flip side, Callum Turner is almost unfairly charismatic as Luke. He’s essentially a walking "what-if" wrapped in a leather jacket. Freyne’s direction allows these scenes to breathe, often favoring long, static shots where the actors have nowhere to hide. It reminds me of the intimacy Freyne brought to his earlier work like The Cured, though with significantly fewer zombies and a lot more existential dread.

Lightness in the Limbo

Despite the heavy premise, Eternity stays light on its feet thanks to a supporting cast that understands the assignment perfectly. Da’Vine Joy Randolph plays Anna, the afterlife’s version of a weary travel agent who has seen a thousand Joans come through her office. Her deadpan delivery provides the necessary ground-wire for the film’s more melodramatic moments.

Then there’s John Early, who plays Ryan, a fellow "newly dead" soul who is treating the one-week decision period like he’s choosing between two different all-inclusive resorts in Cancun. John Early is the only person allowed to make the afterlife look like a mid-range Marriott lobby, and his presence ensures the movie never slides into self-importance. The script, co-written by Freyne and Pat Cunnane, balances the "Drama" and "Comedy" tags with a deftness that’s rare in contemporary A24 releases, which sometimes lean a bit too hard into the "misery is art" aesthetic.

A Modern Kind of Forever

In our current era of "swipe-left" culture and infinite options, there’s something genuinely radical about a movie that demands its characters make a final, immutable choice. We live in a world of digital footprints and "ghosting," so seeing a film tackle the permanence of death through the lens of a romantic comedy feels strangely timely. The production design by the A24 crew doesn't lean on CGI clouds or golden gates; instead, it uses the stark, beautiful cinematography of Ruairí O’Brien to make the afterlife feel like a slightly more vibrant, slightly more quiet version of our own world.

I particularly appreciated the inclusion of Barry Primus as the older version of Larry in the film’s various flashbacks. It’s a subtle nod to New Hollywood and adds a layer of weight to the "history" Joan is considering leaving behind. The film asks if thirty years of shared taxes and hospital visits are worth more than one summer of "perfect" love. There’s no easy answer, and to the film's credit, it doesn't try to give you one until the very last frame.

Eternity is the kind of mid-budget adult drama we keep saying we want. It’s smart, it’s beautifully acted, and it manages to turn a supernatural premise into a deeply human story about the cost of moving on. Whether you’re a "Larry" or a "Luke," you’re going to walk out of this one arguing with whoever you went to the theater with. Just try not to unzip your hoodie too loudly while you're doing it.