Last Night (1998)

Directed by
Don McKellar
Written by
Don McKellar

To suggest that Last Night shows an apocalypse that is low key is almost doing it a disservice. In fact, I almost want to suggest it is a cozy end to the world. It's quiet, intimate and refuses to give into the spectacle of your usual end of the world story. It's worth mentioning that this movie comes out the same year that "Armaggedon"does, with all of its $140M budget and all of its VFX-assisted bombast and Bayhem.

So it's easy to assume that "Last Night"'s fractional scale is a result of budgetary considerations and, sure, maybe ($2.3M is the only number I could find, on the TMDB and no citations SO), but in leaning into those limits, a softer, kinder and, yes, more realistic look at the end emerges. One not concerned with the hows and whys, only mere suggestions ["i miss the night" scene]. In its place, we have... characters. People. Moments of mundanity, interconnected vignettes of humanity in all its diversity of faces, shapes, concerns and priorities.

Given time, knowledge that the world is ending could bring about many feelings. It's sad, of course. Scary. Several layers of frustration and anger. Many crises of faith are due. But beyond that, there's the inevitable wave that feeds and fuels it all: Grief. Grief, for yourself: the life you lived and the life you won't. Grief for the people you love and that love you. Grief that everything you know and are is cooked. In some cases, literally. You might even be feel a sense of disappointment in how it will end. A morbid desire to see the end, but damn, not like this. Give me a good one, if a good one is possible...

Like, remember FIVE YEARS AGO when the end was coming and it was less due to the virus and more due to the incompetence of the government and the refusal of corporations to just... stop and figure their shit out? We saw a quick million people die and the ghouls were out here talking about the economy? But anyway, this is about a fictional film, nothing to map reality onto. Let's go back to "Last Night"... or 2019 please--!

The Players

When "Last Night" starts, all of the grief has come and gone. On a societal level, panic has dissipated and all that's left to do is figuring out what is left to do.

Patrick drags himself to his parents' house before going back to his place to bear witness to the end of it all, by himself. His stoicism "UM ACHKSHUALLY"ïsms a thin facade for the open wound that is the loss of his wife shortly, before the end of the world was announced.

His parents are recreating their happiest moments by pretending it's Christmas and all that that means— presents, feast, family. And pleading with their boy to not go or not be alone (which is ridiculously relatable). Also there is his sister, Jennifer (played by Sarah Polley), and her boyfriend Alex. After this Christmas dinner they're going to an end of the world party. The New Year's Eve party to end all New Year's Eve parties.

Sandra, played by Sandra (Oh!), is desperately trying to make it home to her husband, [redacted for spoilers], where they will enjoy their last night together before aiding each other in one last round of put the bullet in the brain — a last act of agency.

Elsewhere we meet Craig, Patrick's friend, who is steadily checking off a long list of every sexual experience you can imagine, with a goal to meet the end at midnight with an orgasm. His list includes, but is not limited to: a black woman, his French Teacher from school, a virgin and gay butt sex. His kitchen has been converted into a repository for his very long list. A pure display of (consensual) hedonism.

Duncan, played by David Cronenberg, is the executive running a gas company office with a promise that they will be there until the very end, delivered in such a reassuring, soothing tone. He is joined by Donna, who is keeping herself busy as well with no clear plans for the end except maybe hoping Duncan makes a move? Unfortunately, Duncan is married, has plans and there is never a hint he is even interested (though, probably, is aware of her attraction). Don't worry, she'll eventually find Craig's website.

Even minor characters receive some nice payoffs here: Menzes is driving around looking for a Tux, preparing for his big debut concert. The unnamed Radio D.J. is soundtracking the night with the top 500 songs of all time (according to him ) and a Marathon Runner delivers the time hour to hour, corner to corner and gets the last full line of the movie in the most blissful runner's high this world has ever seen.

I don't want to give a full recap of the movie because, personally, I hate a recap. And besides, with those quick Character intros you should have an understanding of where it's going and the type of movie that it is. I don't want to recap because even if you were worried about spoilers, this is a movie that resists spoiling. It's ultimately a hangout movie. Which is what gives it its coziness.

Going back to the "cozy" vibes, it's hard not to notice that the few moments of anarchy are shot down in some form. "Harmless" chaos, like flipping an empty car over, is the norm— impotence masked as nihilism. Toronto isn't burned down before the story starts and it doesn't burn at any point. At a certain point, the most violent moment occurs when a "partygoer" torments Sandra, only to be gently tapped in the face by not-Jon-Favreau.

The Shooting Interlude

The one truly violent moment, even as it builds, is quiet— almost matter of fact. And the actual moment of violence happens off screen. Refuse the spectacle. The result of the moment is never in question before or after it happens, even as Cronenberg calmly states that he "is not afraid", offering a safe space, an absolution of sorts for the young man pointing a rifle at him. Simultaneously, "not afraid" acts as defiance of fate. A declaration of peace in the face of chaos. Let's zoom out.

This is not the kid's fault. It's not fair that in front of him stands a man who lived a full life. Whereas his was cut short in a devastating cosmic theft of agency. If redemption is no longer an option, and the future is a punchline to a cosmic joke, fear and desperation remain. Grasping at bodily autonomy. A youth that was labeled and seen as "threatening" in their formative periods. The old folks that labeled and saw them that way. Afraid, not by what they might to do them but, deep down, what they might take from them.

Gen Z Interlude to the Interlude

How can i not swap these two for a zoomer and a boomer. Gen Z and all they've known: Post 9/11- America. Two and a half recessions. The Obama Illusion. Two scoops of Trump-flavored Fascism. School shootings. School shooting drills for the school shooting because our milquetoast geriatric Congress is too chickenshit to protect the kids they say they're so concerned about with regulation or reform or taxation. A non-existent job market and the fantasy of Home Ownership. Meanwhile, all the media can muster is spook stories about tide pods and juul pods. Snapchat and Tiktok.

Throw in a world-shifting Pandemic as their coming of age.

In front of them stands the boomer who took it all from them for themselves. That fed and fed into lies about them. That climbed to the top of the financial hierarchy and then burned the ladder, along with the rest of the world.

The world that is now over.

The boomer lived a full life. Did it all with impunity while the zoomer has only known instability, anxiety and violence. It's all they've known and all they will know.

They (the zoomer) may not be thinking about all of these things; they might not be thinking about any of these things. But it's in them. It made them. The hum of anxiety in their childhood. The hijacking of their teen brains by glass squares of judgement and despair. Their introduction into adulthood foregrounded by an apocalyptic virus in a police state.

None of that has to be front of mind in this moment. This moment is the result of.

Drivers today all drive a little faster. A little jumpier. at best, impatience and at worst, rage. But look at their faces and they're seemingly, shockingly, unaffected. Completely unaware of what they've become. What the speed and noise of modern life has done -to- them. It doesn't make them bad people. It makes them exactly what capitalism and the neoliberal hellscape needs them to be.

Unfortunately, "I'm not afraid of you" can be (and is) perceived as defiance, where it could've been a plea towards goodness; An absolution for sins committed and not. "You are not who they say you are." In his tone, too, there is a lack of hesitation or fear. There is a clarity: an acceptance.

This kid with a rifle is almost a stand-in for the chaos of the moment. 3 months ago, this was a regular night after work. Tonight, night is day and only getting brighter by the hour. Nothing makes sense anymore and where the kid looks for meaning behind his weapon, Cronenberg finds a peace of sorts. It's bittersweet. A wave is coming to flood the world and everyone in it and his choice is to flow. No sense in swimming against it.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"You are not a monster.""

"You will not corrupt me."

He chooses non-action.

In keeping with the refusal of the spectacle, I love the restraint in the camerawork. Most scenes, the camera is locked down, a still life tableau exposed. It gives the whole thing room to breathe, the characters to just dialogue naturally. In fact, one tiny nitpick you could have with this movie is that 'natural' dialogue. In some ways, the slavishness to realism firmly plants this as proto-mumblecore. You get used to it quickly, same as the "stiff" camerawork and the overall tone. Once it settles in (and it does so quickly), you're treated to a movie that asks not only "what would you do with your last hours?", but also "what if the end of the world is kinda nice, actually?"

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