It starts with a jingle. That "Tulsey Town" ice cream song feels like a fever dream, and honestly, if you've seen Charlie Kaufman’s Netflix adaptation or read Iain Reid’s original novel, you know that’s exactly what the whole story is. I’m Thinking of Ending Things isn't just a movie about a bad breakup or a creepy road trip. It is a brutal, claustrophobic look at the inside of a decaying mind. Most people finish the film feeling like they just took a philosophy final while high on anesthesia.
You’re not alone.
The thing about this story is that it lies to you. From the first frame, we think we’re following a young woman—played by Jessie Buckley in the film—who is weighing the pros and cons of dumping her boyfriend, Jake. They’re driving through a snowstorm to meet his parents on a secluded farm. It feels like a standard indie drama. But the title itself, I’m Thinking of Ending Things, is a linguistic trap. You think she's talking about the relationship. She isn't.
The Twist Everyone Misses on the First Watch
Here’s the reality: the "Young Woman" doesn't exist. Not really.
She’s a composite. She is a collection of regrets, old movies, poems, and scientific papers rattling around in the brain of the Old Janitor we see intermittently cleaning a high school. If you pay attention to her clothes, her career, or even her name, they change constantly. One minute she’s a physicist, the next she’s a painter, then a poet reciting Eva H.D.’s "Bonedog."
Jake is the only "real" person in the narrative, but he’s an old man imagining a version of his life that never happened. He’s a lonely soul who spent his life as a janitor, obsessed with media and intellectualism he never quite mastered. He’s "thinking of ending things," but he means his life, not a girlfriend.
It’s heavy. It’s dark. And it’s incredibly complex.
Why the Farm Visit Feels So Weird
When they finally get to the farm, the timeline shatters. We see Jake’s parents, played by Toni Collette and David Thewlis, age and de-age in the blink of an eye. In one scene, the mother is young and vibrant; in the next, she’s on her deathbed.
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This isn't time travel. It’s memory.
Have you ever tried to remember a specific night from ten years ago? You remember your mom’s face, but then your brain accidentally overlays a memory of her from last week. That’s what Kaufman is doing here. He’s showing us the fluid, unreliable nature of how we store our lives. Jake is trying to integrate the woman he wished he’d talked to at a trivia night decades ago into the reality of his childhood home.
It’s awkward because it’s a forced fit. The Young Woman starts noticing things that shouldn't be there, like a photo of herself that is actually a photo of Jake as a child. The "glitch in the matrix" moments are clues that the world is collapsing because the dreamer—the Janitor—is reaching the end of his rope.
The Connection Between the Book and the Movie
Iain Reid’s 2016 novel is a much tighter, more traditional psychological thriller. It plays more with the "horror" of the situation. Kaufman, being the guy who wrote Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, leaned much harder into the surrealism and the "meta" nature of existence.
In the book, the ending is more visceral. It’s clearer that the Young Woman and Jake are the same person. The movie, however, decides to end with a full-blown dream ballet and a prosthetic-makeup-heavy Nobel Prize speech.
Why the change? Kaufman wanted to highlight how we use art to shield ourselves from the void. The Janitor’s entire internal life is built out of scraps of Oklahoma!, Wordsworth, and Robert Zemeckis movies. He can’t even express his own misery without quoting a film critic like Pauline Kael. It’s a devastating critique of how the media we consume becomes the architecture of our own identities.
Decoding the Symbolism of the Ice Cream and the Janitor
The Tulsey Town stop is where things get truly haunting. The girls working the counter have rashes; they seem terrified of the "outside." They represent the parts of Jake’s psyche that are screaming at him to stop. They are the warning signs of his own trauma and the physical toll of his isolation.
And then there’s the Janitor.
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- He is the anchor.
- He is the "real" Jake.
- He watches the students, a ghost in his own workplace.
- He represents the invisibility of the working class and the quiet desperation of a life spent "waiting for things to begin."
When the Janitor finally sees his "characters" arrive at the school in the blizzard, the fantasy and reality collide. The dance sequence—the dream ballet—is a stylized version of the life he wanted. A beautiful romance, a tragic rivalry, and a graceful ending. But reality is a naked man following a cartoon pig through a hallway.
The pig is a reference to a story Jake told earlier about farm animals being eaten alive by maggots. It’s a metaphor for his own mind being eaten away by loneliness and age.
Is I'm Thinking of Ending Things a Horror Movie?
Kinda. It’s "existential horror."
It doesn't rely on jump scares. Instead, it relies on the dread of realizing you might be wasting your life. That is way scarier than a guy in a mask. The film uses a 4:3 aspect ratio, which makes you feel trapped, just like Jake. You’re stuck in his head, and there’s no exit.
Critics like those at IndieWire and The Guardian have noted that the film demands a second viewing. You have to look at the background. Look at the books on the shelves in Jake’s childhood bedroom. They are the exact books the Young Woman has been "quoting" all night. She isn't an intellectual; she’s a bookshelf.
Actionable Takeaways for Your Next Watch
If you’re going back in for a rewatch, or if you’re trying to explain this to a friend who is totally lost, keep these points in mind.
First, watch the Janitor's interludes more closely than the car scenes. They provide the context for why the weather is changing and why certain dialogue feels so stilted. The Janitor is reacting to the world around him, and that ripples into the "dream" with Jake and the Young Woman.
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Second, listen to the dialogue as if one person is talking to themselves. When the Young Woman criticizes a movie, she’s actually Jake criticizing his own taste. When she expresses doubt about the relationship, it’s Jake’s self-loathing manifesting as a woman who wants to leave him.
Finally, accept the ambiguity. Kaufman isn't interested in giving you a neat "it was all a dream" ending. He wants you to feel the weight of a life lived in the margins.
To truly grasp the layers, you should:
- Compare the ending: Read the final ten pages of Reid’s novel to see how much more "slasher-esque" the original concept was compared to Kaufman’s theatrical finale.
- Research the "Bonedog" poem: Read the full text by Eva H.D. It explains the entire emotional arc of the film better than any dialogue.
- Look for the "Pauline Kael" Easter egg: The Young Woman’s long monologue about the movie A Woman Under the Influence is actually a word-for-word review by the famous critic. It’s a huge hint that her thoughts aren't her own.
The story is a puzzle, but it’s a puzzle with pieces that are designed to hurt when you fit them together. It’s about the tragedy of being a "stayer" in a world that celebrates people who go places.
Next time you see a janitor in a hallway or a lonely person at a diner, you might just find yourself thinking of Jake. And that’s exactly what the story intended. It forces empathy for the forgotten.
Now, go back and watch that opening scene again. Pay attention to the wallpaper. It changes. Just like everything else.