The end of the world is one of the oldest themes in storytelling, appearing in several books in the Torah and Bible, such classics like the Books of Joel, and Zecheriah, and Daniel, and we of course couldn’t leave out Isaiah’s chapters 24-27, poetry up there with the likes of Dickinson and Whitman. Isaiah approaches apocalyptic themes with a subtlety and maturity rarely seen in literature, saying, “See, the Lord is going to lay waste the earth and devastate it; he will ruin its face and scatter—” Ok, well you get what I mean. We’ve been talking about the end of the world since we were conscious of “the world” and “the end”. I think humans are just naturally so terrified of death that we externalize that fear into this gargantuan-sized, existential threat rather than accept is as a part of life. But I only took two philosophy classes while studying abroad in Scotland and went to class like five times total so maybe don’t listen to me. You’re like, “they weren’t.”
We’ve been obsessed with the end of the world forever, this idea that there’s a God with the temper of a 5-year-old boy who’s been up for 26 hours only eating Nerds ropes who could, at any second, Thanos-snap his fingers and vanish us from existence. You know, that’d be kinda hilarious. Like what if that was actually the situation we’re living in, some sleep deprived five-year-old is controlling us and the entire universe.
The apocalypse is practically its own genre of film now. I looked up “movies about the apocalypse” while doing research (entering words into Google) for this video, and there are such a wide variety of films that approach this topic, or at the very least take place in an apocalyptic setting, it just seems… overdone? I feel like we’ve run every simulation at this point so might as well just, you know, sit back and wait.
The end of the world isn’t just a film genre, it’s a religious genre, too. Entire denominations of Christianity are dedicated to figuring out exactly when God is going to snap and light us on fire, or freeze us, or… I don’t know. One of those groups was the Millerites who followed the teachings of William Miller, a Baptist preacher who made the bold prediction that Jesus was going to make a cameo in the year 1843, or maybe 1844. One of the two, don’t worry about it. He did a whole bunch of biblical math to determine the date in which Jesus would come down from some clouds and purify the earth with fire. Because, you know, Jesus was known for being a crazy arsonist. This movement gained a ton of momentum worldwide, people sold their possessions because you’re only allowed a carry-on during the rapture, I guess. And then, Tuesday, October 22nd, 1844, the date Miller had landed on as being The Date, came. And nothing happened. Then Wednesday, October 23rd, 1844. Nothing, again. This became known as The Great Disappointment.
If you’re one of the 90 people who watched season 3 of HBO’s The Leftovers, which I hope you are because I’m about to spoil the entire show, this sounds familiar. I want to talk specifically about the cinematography in the prologue of season 3 (the first 10 minutes of episode 1) and how it illustrates a main storyline of the season: waiting for the end of the world.
To summarize what happens: we’re on an Australian farm/commune, following a Florence Welch impersonator as she prepares for the end of the world with her husband and son. They give away all their stuff, including a pet goat (how sad), then go to church where they’re told that Jesus will definitely, 100%, no doubt, be coming on January 21st, 1844 (just in time for the Women’s March). Florence and her family are really excited to be… obliterated by Jesus? They put on their Lord of the Rings elf cosplay robes and go stand on their roof, to make sure Jesus doesn’t miss them. Homegirl is ready. Ready for nothing, apparently, since Jesus doesn’t come and they climb down their roof, dejected. The townsfolk make some sort of mean comment and Florence’s hunky hubby is ready to throw hands. The priest or minister or pastor (I truly do not know the difference) gets a letter from a bird that, just kidding, the end of the world is actually April 16th. Florence is really excited, her hubby less so but he’s still going with it. They get on the roof, Jesus is still not there, and they come back down. Another bird, another date, and hubby is angry. He is done waiting for the end of the world and leaves Florence to do her roof routine alone. It pours down rain, she’s the only one in town doing it, and then everyone makes fun of her the next day. And like, I get it, it is kind of funny, but laugh at her behind her back at least like a normal person. It looks like hunky hubby is leaving with their kid and it’s like… maybe try and talk it out with her she’s clearly lost her faith at this point. She returns to Millerite HQ, and we seamlessly pan over them into present day Jardin, TX, right where we left off at the end of season 2. Evie wakes up, asks Meg, “what are we waiting for?” (with pen and paper, of course) who starts talking about Tiger King or something and then the US government drops a drone on a building full of civilians. And then we get a “Three Years Later” title card, a callback to the pilot, and uh, yeah. That’s pretty much what happens.
So, back to the beginning. The first shot of anything, movie, pilot, season, whatever, carries a lot of weight. It’s the first impression you’re giving your audience, setting the tone for the rest of the piece. This shot of the community, which we return to several times, places a lot of emphasis on the sky, it takes up 2/3rd of the frame, the upper 2/3rd, which gives it a weight, a kind of power over this town and the people living there. It also causes there to be significant empty space in the shot, making the characters feel small and, more importantly, isolated. The first thought I had watching this scene, and seeing this shot, was that this season is going to be all about faith. Which I’m sure was entirely intentional on director Mimi Leder’s part, as well as cinematographer Michael Grady (who also shot the masterpiece Easy A but that’s another video).
This shot centers the sun which gives this feeling of comfort; God is looking kindly on this town and family. The cross right next to the sun only adds to that sense, the sun, or light, being a guiding figure, a symbol of faith. That idea returns here as Florence holds the lamp that casts this orange glow, guiding her through the darkness, supported by the cross behind her as she looks up to the sky.
The angle that a character is framed at can tell you a lot. The stars look small around her, as if she’s already in space, in heaven. She’s looking up, excitedly, expectantly, full of hope.
Then the first shot repeats itself, this time taking on a new meaning: the sun isn’t God providing warmth, it’s simply the sun, and its presence means that there’s a new day. In other words, Jesus didn’t come.
Here, the priest (I’m just gonna call him a priest) is above the rest of them, as they all wait for news. Side note, the birdhouse is literally being supported by like two sticks and it makes me really anxious. The cross is right next to the priest, really hammering the point home. Him being above the rest of them, and next to the cross, as they wait for news or direction, but the priest is just as lost as they are… I mean this shot is saying a lot. Season 3 dives into people who dedicate their entire life to faith or a certain belief that they don’t end up actually living their lives. This particular shot has a nihilistic undertone: if the priest represents God and humans are the churchgoers, and both groups are lost and directionless… I mean that’s kind of terrifying. The idea that God, if it exists, is just as human and fallible as we are would cause any person of faith to go into an existential tailspin (which happens several times throughout the season). This scene is also referenced later in the season with Nora collecting the doves carrying messages of love. More on that later.
They’re back on the roof, round two. This is an obvious reference to the Guilty Remnant, the white clothes and standing in weird places and having massively misguided beliefs.
Back to the angles of shots: whereas the previous shot was angled up at Florence, here it’s slightly down, the sky isn’t in frame at all, putting her back to earth. It’s grounding her and a stark contrast to the previous shot. The wonder and hope of her looking at the stars is all gone. She even closes her eyes and starts praying, and usually people who are really confident about something don’t start praying over it.
Back to the weird bird/tree house. Look at the difference in color from the last shot to now. It’s colder, and sparser. The sky is overcast, closed off from them. It’s also shot from a higher angle this time, lowering the bird house, and priest, closer to the ground, as their faith begins to falter.
Round three of waiting for Jesus on the roof, let’s go. Once again, it’s overcast, heaven isn’t accessible, nothing is coming. Florence is also now alone in carrying the ladder, contributing to this sense of isolation. It pours down rain, rainfall being a recurring symbol throughout season 3 as well as being biblical symbol. Heavy rainfall is often used in the Bible to signify a cleansing, or purification, of the world; Noah’s Ark being the most obvious example.
And again, Jesus doesn’t come. It was just rain. After she comes down from the ladder, the camera goes handheld for the first time in the sequence, tracking her from behind. The colors are cold and it’s uncomfortable, everyone in town staring directly at her. There’s a heavy vignette at the edges of the frame, creating a claustrophobic effect: the world closing in on her. Her faith has been shaken, to say the least, and her life is coming undone. And, in classic Leftoversfashion of kicking characters while they’re down, hunky hubby is leaving.
The church is now a place to hide from the outside world, rather than being a conduit to escape. The show is clearly linking the Millerites to the Guilty Remnant with this seamless pan from Florence to Evie. Both groups are obsessed with the end of the world and have focused their entire lives on it. The difference between the two is that the Millerites are waiting for the end of the world while the GR’s mission is to not let people forget, or move on, from the Sudden Departure, which they believe was the end of the world.
Ok, back to the bird house and how Nora ties into it. In the finale, at the wedding, guests are invited to write messages of love down which will then be flown away by a flock of birds.
- “Every corner of the world, spreading love” clip
But in reality, they’re flying like five miles down the road to Nora’s cottagecore fantasy. The messages aren’t being received by people all over the world, Nora dumps them and returns the birds, rinse and repeat. The point of the ceremony doesn’t lie in the messages actually getting to someone, it lies in the participants writing down the messages.
Going back to the prologue, it gives this shot a new meaning: the messages don’t actually carry any meaning, the meaning is assigned by the people waiting for the bird. The act of them waiting is what the show is putting its emphasis on: these people are wasting their lives on an unknowable, unlikely apocalyptic fear rather than living their life. Waiting for the apocalypse isn’t going to affect whether it comes or not, because no one person has the ability to affect anything on such a cosmic scale. Individuals do, however, have the power to affect change within their own lives and in their relationships with those that they love, which ends up being the final point of the show.
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the thing you’re looking for is right in front of you, you’re just not looking properly.