The Existential Highway: How 'It Ends' Reimagines Horror's Most Tired Trope
When Time Loops Meet Existential Dread
Let me tell you what genuinely fascinates me about It Ends: it takes the most overused narrative device of the 21st century—the time loop—and weaponizes it against itself. We’ve all seen protagonists relive the same day ad nauseam, right? From Groundhog Day to Happy Death Day, these stories inevitably become parables about self-improvement through repetition. But what happens when the loop isn’t a mechanism for growth, but a cosmic punishment? That’s the question Alexander Ullom dares to ask, and frankly, it’s terrifying.
The film’s premise—four friends trapped on an infinite road stalked by feral entities—initially masquerades as another Backrooms-esque liminal horror exercise. But here’s the twist: the real horror isn’t the monsters. It’s the realization that their nightmare has no exit, no moral lesson, no escape hatch. This isn’t a test they can pass; it’s an existential void they must endure. And that’s where Ullom’s genius shines. By stripping away the genre’s safety nets, he forces both characters and audiences to confront the ultimate horror: meaninglessness.
Liminal Horror’s Existential Evolution
One thing that immediately stands out is how It Ends reframes liminal horror’s aesthetic of unease into something philosophically profound. Let’s be honest—most liminal spaces in horror (think Skinamarink’s endless hallways or Exit 8’s recursive subway) rely on visual uncanniness to unsettle viewers. But Ullom goes deeper. His infinite road isn’t just a creepy setting; it’s a metaphor for Gen Z’s collective anxiety about a future that feels simultaneously inevitable and inaccessible.
What many people don’t realize is that this film taps into a cultural moment where “figuring life out” isn’t just difficult—it’s structurally impossible. The characters aren’t stuck because they’re flawed or unprepared; they’re stuck because the system itself is broken. That’s why the film’s monsters don’t need backstories or motives. They’re manifestations of raw, indifferent chaos—a horror far more relatable than any slasher villain’s revenge plot.
Why This Movie Feels Like a Generational Breakthrough
From my perspective, It Ends succeeds where others fail because it rejects the baby boomer narrative of “overcoming adversity” through grit and ingenuity. When Phinehas Yoon’s character desperately tries to rationalize their predicament, it’s not bravery—it’s denial. The film’s most radical act is denying its protagonists (and us) the catharsis of resolution. This isn’t a puzzle to solve; it’s a trap to survive. And survival, as the trailer teases, becomes its own kind of torture.
Compare this to Backrooms, which ultimately devolves into a chase sequence with tangible stakes. Ullom’s vision feels more like Beckett’s Waiting for Godot meets a TikTok algorithm—existential despair filtered through digital-age nihilism. The result? A film that doesn’t just scare you in the moment but leaves you questioning the entire premise of “moving forward” in a world that increasingly feels like a dead-end highway.
The Deeper Implications of Hopeless Horror
Here’s the uncomfortable truth It Ends forces us to consider: What if our cultural obsession with “finding meaning” is just another coping mechanism? The film’s refusal to explain the infinite road mirrors our own reality, where climate collapse, economic precarity, and political chaos render traditional narratives of progress obsolete. If you take a step back and think about it, the real horror isn’t being trapped—it’s realizing you were never free to begin with.
This raises a deeper question about horror as a genre: Are we entering an era where catharsis itself feels like a lie? By discarding the possibility of escape, Ullom challenges the entire premise of storytelling as a vehicle for resolution. And honestly? I’m here for it. Art that reflects our collective doom with unflinching honesty matters more than ever. Because when the road never ends, sometimes the bravest act is to keep asking “Why?”—even if the answer is nothing at all.
Final Thoughts: The Nightmare We Can’t Wake Up From
When It Ends hits theaters next year, I suspect critics will debate whether it’s “horror” at all. But that’s precisely the point. This film isn’t about jump scares or body counts—it’s about the quiet terror of existing in a world that refuses to make sense. Personally, I think Ullom has crafted more than a movie; he’s created a mirror for a generation raised on promises of opportunity, only to inherit a reality where the only certainty is uncertainty itself.
What this really suggests is that liminal horror’s next phase won’t just be about eerie spaces or glitchy aesthetics. It’ll be about weaponizing those aesthetics to expose the fragility of our collective delusions—about time, progress, and control. And if that sounds bleak? Good. Because sometimes, staring into the abyss isn’t about finding answers. It’s about realizing the abyss was never going to answer back.
