It Ends (2026): Ullom's Sticky Horror Trip Reviewed

The setup is deceptively simple: five recent grads - James (Phinehas Yoon), Day (Akira Jackson), Fisher (Noah Toth), Tyler (Mitchell Cole), and a fifth wheel - pile into a Jeep Cherokee for one last late-night burger run before life scatters them to the winds. A wrong turn onto a two-lane strip of asphalt that shouldn’t exist plunges them into a perpetual twilight loop. The roadside is littered with the abandoned husks of other vehicles, flickering neon signs for diners that vanish on approach, and figures that shuffle at the treeline - some begging, some menacing, all wrong. The radio crackles with disjointed voices, including a chilling, disembodied call from Fisher’s mom (Jenny Doyle). As the miles rack up and the fuel gauge drops to empty, the group fractures. Do they give in to the loop’s strange rhythms, or claw for an exit that keeps receding?

Ullom, who also appears as a member of the ensemble in a minor role, understands that the real horror here isn’t the unspeakable entities lurking beyond the headlights. It’s the inside of the car: the stale air, the mounting silences, the petty grievances that bloom into existential ultimatums. The cramped framing is a masterclass in claustrophobia, with handheld camerawork that never feels nausea-inducing but constantly reminds you there’s nowhere to go. Yoon’s James is the designated pragmatist, quietly unraveling as his logic fails; Jackson’s Day is the spiritual anchor, holding onto a thread of hope with white knuckles.

The film’s strongest sequence comes about forty minutes in, when the group encounters Ian Weir as a Lost Man wandering the shoulder. His monologue - a rambling, tear-streaked confession about seeing his own childhood home repeat for “three hundred cycles, give or take” - is the closest “It Ends” gets to explaining its rules. Weir’s delivery is unhinged perfection, a raw nerve that injects a spike of genuine terror before the film slips back into its meditative drift. Similarly, Jon Linstad shows up as an Interrogated Man in a brief, disorienting mid-film cutaway, hinting at a larger cosmic bureaucracy at play, but Ullom wisely leaves that thread dangling.

The dialogue is lean and natural, with the kind of clipped, knowing banter that feels authentic to Gen Z friendships - equal parts defensive irony and aching sincerity. However, the plot’s central tension - embrace the loop or escape it - never quite reaches a boil. The horrors are mostly glimpsed, never confronted; the film prides itself on suggestion, which is both its virtue and its flaw. A late-film pivot toward a nebulous, quasi-religious rebirth feels rushed and undercooked, like Ullom ran out of runway and chose ambiguity over payoff. The audio design, though, is brilliant: a low drone that burrows into your skull, punctuated by the Jeep’s creaking suspension and the wet gravel crunch under tires that never seem to wear.

• Pros:

  • Yoon and Jackson deliver grounded, emotionally raw performances that anchor the surreal chaos.
  • The soundscape is a creeping, industrial nightmare that elevates every frame.
  • A central horror sequence involving a roadside diner that disappears on approach is genuinely chilling.
  • The 89-minute runtime is lean, never overstaying its welcome.
  • The film’s thematic core - about the terrifying finality of growing apart - is resonant and thoughtful.

• Cons:

  • The cosmic horror remains frustratingly abstract, with no satisfying mythology or resolution.
  • Supporting characters Tyler and the unnamed passenger are barely sketched, serving as plot furniture.
  • The pacing dips in the middle act, with several repetitive “they drive, they argue” cycles.
  • The ending feels like a cop-out, substituting mood for meaning.
  • The low budget occasionally shows in the cheap-looking CG fog and shadowy figures.

“It Ends” is a film that wants to have its eerie cake and eat it too - to deliver a mind-bending nightmare while also leaving the door wide open for interpretation. In that attempt, Ullom has crafted an admirably moody piece of anti-escapism horror, one that will likely find a devoted cult following among those who prefer their terror as a rumination rather than a roller coaster. It’s a film about the impossibility of truly fixing a broken moment, and its repetitive loops feel like a shrewd mirror of the characters’ refusal to let go. And yet, as a narrative, it’s a tease that never delivers a full meal. You’ll leave the theater quoting the vibe, not the dialogue, and that’s both a compliment and a critique. For a late-night rental, it’s a haunting, imperfect gem. For a classic, it’s a flat tire on a long road. Stream it with friends, but don’t expect a destination - just a very long, very strange ride.