What films released over the last three or four years have had great endings? Maybe a few have and maybe none have — I’m asking. Nothing’s coming to mind but then again I’m packing and distracted. I’m driving to New Jersey tomorrow afternoon and flying to London late Saturday night — a 21-hour stopover enroute to Nice.

In the meantime, consider some all-timers that I posted on 2.22.21 — a truly terrible time in the history of this country…Covid, woke terror, widespread outrage in the wake of the 1.6 MAGA riot…three and one-third years ago:

The best endings are those in which the main characters are finally stuck with themselves and they know it…stuck with the yield of their hustling and bustling…left to ponder who they are deep down and to contemplate the terms “just desserts” and “fair shake”…alone with themselves (even if they’re a couple), facing an uncertain future, throwing their hands up, half-laughing and half-crying about their big scheme that didn’t work out, or because it did but led them to an unexpected place. Desire, deception and discovery.

Great endings, in short, are about acceptance of and submission to fate or dumb luck or, if you will, God’s grand plan. We got what we deserved, and we’ve only ourselves to blame.

The last five minutes of Only Angels Have Wings is one of the greatest ever, hands down.

The finale of Michael Ritchie‘s The Candidate sticks the landing.

The last shot of The Godfather, Part II — Michael Corleone engulfed by solitude and shadows — is a perfect finish.

A nominally “satisfying” ending in which good triumphs over evil but at the same time doesn’t really resonate and could even be called mediocre? The last two minutes of On The Waterfront.

The ending of Thelma and Louise is fatalistic romantic crap.

Another ending that doesn’t quite get it? The last shot of Stanley Kubrick‘s 2001: A Space Odyssey in which Keir Dullea‘s infant star child is gazing down upon earth. Also Sprach Zarathrusta tells you it’s an ending, but try to imagine it “working” without music.

On the other hand the ending of Kubrick’s The Killing is damn near perfect; ditto the ending of A Clockwork Orange — “I was cured, all right!” and therefore a healthy psychopath again!

Anyone will tell you how much they love the ending of Barry Lyndon, but it’s not how the movie ends as much as the aptness of the epiloque (“…they are all equal now”).

The best ending of an otherwise mediocre film? The long shadow at the conclusion of Nicholas Ray‘s King of Kings.

Many have praised the last-minute “uh-oh” ending of Mike Nichols‘ The Graduate because the happy ending when Ben and Elaine escape the church ceremony gives way to feelings of uncertainty, loneliness and anxiety. And melancholy is better than ecstasy. They don’t know what to do next. It’s an interesting ending but we all know what happened among audiences, of course. They pretty much ignored the “uh-oh” ending and told all their friends about the good parts, and that’s why The Graduate became a huge hit.

The ending of Planet of the Apes isn’t all that great when you think about it. It hasn’t been set up. The film takes place in areas that look like Nevada and SoCal’s Imperial Valley and Malibu Canyon, and yet we’re supposed to believe that this hilly, desert-like terrain is located somewhere on the East Coast near New York City, hence the fallen Statue of Liberty lying on a beach next to Zuma State Beach cliffs. An “oh, wow” ending that doesn’t make the least bit of geographical sense.

Movies that end with senior characters being burned to death are horrible — wicked sadism for the same of wicked sadism. Midsommar, of course. Both versions of The Wicker Man (’73 and ’06). Ken Russell‘s The Devils. Marlon Brando burned to a crisp at the ending of The Fugitive Kind.

The ending of The Wizard of Oz is perfect — cathartic but truly fulfilling. Ditto the last two minutes of Some Like It Hot.

One of the greatest endings ever? And the best ending of a nourish police thriller ever devised? Hand that trophy to the director and writer of Se7en — David Fincher and Andrew Kevin Walker.

Another great Fincher ending — Mark Zuckerberg + “Baby, You’re A Rich Man”.

One of the worst, most full-of-shit endings ever was delivered by True Romance.

One of the best was created for Eric Von Stroheim‘s Greed.

Billy Wilder delivered five great endings with Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, Ace in the Hole, Stalag 17 and One, Two, Three.

I’m not sure if the ending of No Country For Old Men is my all-time favorite or not. Sometimes it is, and at other times I prefer the last shot of A Serious Man.

I gave a respectful thumbs-up to Matt Reeves‘ Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (’14), which opened two months shy of a decade ago. I didn’t love it quite as much as Rupert Wyatt‘s Rise of the Planet of The Apes, which opened 13 years ago but it was a fine, well-crafted, grade-A film as far as it went.

But I felt myself disengaging when Reeves’ War for the Planet of the Apes (’17) came along. The truth is that I got off the boat. And now Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is upon us.

I’m honestly debating whether it’s worth my time to see it later today. The first two were exemplary, but now the bloom is off the rose. I don’t mind the idea of seeing Kingdom, but I really don’t see how it matters one way or the other.

Okay, I’ll prpbably see it later today, mainly because of Freya Allan, the pretty lead actress.

13 years ago I went apeshit Rise of the Planet of The Apes, calling it “the best Apes flick ever made, and that includes the original.

“Rise is sharper, tighter, more emotional…lacking a Statue of Liberty finale, okay, but nonetheless with a ‘better’ story in a sense. And without the perfectly styled, Vidal Sassoon ape coifs that bothered me so in the Charlton Heston original. Not one orangutan had a single hair out of that place in that film, the reason being of course that the prosthetic makeup guys felt more compelled to represent the sartorial values of Beverly Hills, ape-appearance-wise, than the corresponding particulars in a world first imagined by French novelist Pierre Boulle.

“Rise is a gripping, compassionate, well-plotted sci-fi fantasy popcorn film — riveting, amusing at times, state-of-the-art CG, movingly acted by performance-capture guy Andy Serkis, etc. No, I’m not exaggerating. It has excitement, intrigue, humanity, empathy, soul. And the story is primarily an ape POV thing — the human actors are strictly backup, speaking the same kind of rote expository dialogue that James Arness, Joan Weldon and Edmund Gwenn spoke in Them!.

“And don’t listen to guys like Lewis Beale, who earlier this evening called Rise a “fun, not-intellectually-taxing summer entertainment.” C’mon…it’s much better than that! It’s a compassionate look at imprisonment and oppression, and a rousing saga of rebellion and revolution. And it all levitates courtesy of some of the best motion-capture CG I’ve ever seen.

“What could have been just another blah-blah origin story has been turned into a simian Spartacus….or more precisely the first act of Spartacus, which ends with the slaves breaking out of the gladiator school in Capua. That’s precisely how Rise concludes, so to speak.

“James Franco plays a nice-guy genetic scientist — intelligent, tactful, bland — who’s trying to find a cure for Alzheimer’s Disease by performing serum tests on apes. He soon realizes that a serum given to a chimp mother named “Bright Eyes” (remember who had that nickname before?) has been passed along to an orphaned baby chimp named Caesar. The little chimp soon proves to be a major-league achiever and learner. Franco also tries out the serum on his Alzheimer’s-afflicted dad (John Lithgow), and it’s Awakenings all over again. But Ceasar’s passion and curiosity leads to complications and the authorities seize and lock him up.

“This is when the Spartacus stuff kicks in. We’re not going to take this any more, fellow apes, and I’m the one to lead you guys out of this, because I’m smart and ballsy and a good strategic thinker. (Harry Potter costar Tom Felton plays roughly the same part that Charles McGraw played in Spartacus. Or the ‘Fritz’ role that Dwight Frye had in Frankenstein.)

“Franco hooks up with the beautiful Freida Pinto early on, but this is of no consequence as she has no extended dialogue scenes of any kind. As always, she’s very pretty. She obviously has to do more that just look great if she’s going to last. Her best chance at showing what she’s got will probably come with Michael Winterbottom‘s Trishna, an Indian-set adaptation of Thomas Hardy‘s Tess of the d’Urbervilles.

“The apes are the soul and the spirit of the film. They’re fascinating, fully-emotional and fully-dimensional characters. Much of Rise is non-verbal, and appropriately so. Serkis, I should add, tends to over-emote at times. The facial expressions he gives to the young Ceasar — the lead ape protagonist — are just a tad too expressive for my taste, a wee bit too “actor”-ish. But I’ll probably be in the minority on this issue.”

HE’s initial, gut-hunch Cannes picks, posted this morning in HE comment thread:

What tells you that Kevin Costner’s Horizon is “pap”? Because it concerns white settlers in covered wagons? Did you presume Kelly Reichart’s Meek’s Cutoff wouid be pap?

Emanuel Parvu’s Three Kilometers to the End of the World.

Limonov, a sprawling fact-based saga that Pawel Pawlikowski wanted to make for years but then bailed on, is Kirill Serebrennikov’s English-language debut feature.

Andrea Arnold’s Bird seems promising, although Barry Keoghan’s bee-stung nose is a proverbial problem…when he’s on-screen all I can do is stare at that awful thing…worst schnozz in cinema history .

Pretty much everyone has been persuaded that Francis Coppola’s Megalopolis will be a tough watch. It’s not just me.

Oliver Stone’s Lula doc, if I can fit it in.

Schrader, Lanthimos, Baker, Audiard, Cronenberg, Sorrentino.

Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice (i.e., young Trump) certainly has my interest.

Mohammad Rasoulof’s The Seed of the Sacred Fig, the Iranian politically flammable cause celebre, is obviously essential.

I’m hoping for the usual odd pop-throughs from Director’s Fortnight, Un Certain Regard — forget Critics Week and Acid.

I’d really like to see Abel Gance’s Napoleon on a big screen again. Possibly Laurent Bouzereau’s Faye Dunaway doc. The Elizabeth Taylor lost tapes doc or whatever that’s about.

We all have a pretty good idea what Furiosa will most likely be.

Rithy Panh’s Pol Pot documentary.

There’s room for roughly another six or seven screenings. What should I include?

Jordan Ruimy sez: “Not sure if it’s up your alley, but there’s an actual body horror American movie in competition this year — The Substance. Possibly this year’s Titane. Margaret Qualley, Dennis Quaid and Demi Moore. Thierry Fremaux’s decision to include this for Palme d’Or contention is at the very least intriguing.”

I’ve watched it twice, and I personally think it’s one of the most repellent ads I’ve ever seen in my life.

To promote the just-published “The World Is Yours: The Story of Scarface,” author Glenn Kenny hosted a Wednesday evening (5.8) IFC Center screening of Brian DePalma’s 1983 gangster classic.

After the show GK discussed aspects of the production saga, took questions and signed a few books with a felt-tip pen.

HE has read the first 40 or 50 pages and heartily approves. A very tasty and nourishing Hollywood story with dozens of first-hand sources. The prose is smooth and confident…swaggering even.

Al Pacino didn’t speak to Kenny because his own personal Scarface saga account will appear in the autobiographical “Sonny Boy,” which will publish in October.

I was devastated to learn that Kenny wasn’t able to locate the whereabouts of that legendary 10–foot–tall oil painting of Tony and Elvira.

…Glenn Powell, youngish but no spring chicken, is going to have to star in a movie that isn’t mechanized, prefabricated, power-pumped, big-studio bullshit.

No, I still haven’t seen Richard Linklater‘s Hit Man (Netflix, 6.7), which began screening eight months ago and still hasn’t opened.

You can’t just spew jizz-whizz all the time. Every now and then it’s really necessary to put some nutrition into the cereal bowl.

It was reported this morning by Iranian cinema journalist Mansour Jahani that Mohammad Rasoulof, director of the forthcoming Cannes competition selection The Seed of the Sacred Fig, has been sentenced by the 29th branch of the Islamic Revolution Court of Iran to eight years in the slam.

Rasoulof (Manuscripts Don’t Burn, A Man of Integrity, There Is No Evil) will also be whipped, fined and have his property confiscated.

Babak Paknia, Rasoulof’s attorney, originally reported this on X. This ruling was recently confirmed in the 36th branch of the Court of Appeals. The case has been sent to enforcement.

Sacred Fig summary: “Iman, an investigating judge in the Revolutionary Court in Tehran, grapples with mistrust and paranoia as nationwide political protests intensify and his gun mysteriously disappears.”

HE to Rasoulof: Blow this pop stand, move to Paris, live in glorious exile. Don’t give those fuckers eight years of your life.