How Does Aftersun End?

'Aftersun' ends with this slow, aching realization that creeps up on you. The entire film feels like a sunny vacation with undercurrents of something unspoken, and by the time adult Sophie watches the old tapes, you’re putting together the pieces alongside her. The father-daughter dynamic is so beautifully portrayed—full of love but also this unbridgeable distance. The ending doesn’t confirm anything outright, but the way Calum’s struggles are framed suggests he didn’t make it. What gets me is the contrast: young Sophie’s carefree joy versus the adult Sophie’s quiet grief. The film leaves you with this hollow feeling, like you’ve just witnessed something precious and fragile slipping away. It’s heartbreaking, but in a way that feels true to life—how we often only understand people’s pain in retrospect.

The ending of 'Aftersun' is one of those quietly devastating moments that lingers long after the credits roll. It centers on Calum and his daughter Sophie during a holiday in Turkey, where their bond feels both tender and fragile. The film subtly builds this sense of unease through Calum's quiet struggles—his smiles never quite reaching his eyes, the way he drifts off during conversations. The final scenes show Sophie, now grown up, watching old camcorder footage of their trip, realizing how much her father was silently suffering. It's not spelled out, but the implication is heavy—that Calum may have taken his own life. The way Sophie reaches out to touch the screen, as if trying to bridge the past, absolutely wrecked me. It’s a masterclass in showing rather than telling, leaving the audience to piece together the emotional weight.

What makes it hit harder is how ordinary everything seems until you look closer. The pool scenes, the karaoke, even the way Calum teaches Sophie self-defense—they all take on this haunting double meaning in retrospect. The film doesn’t need a dramatic climax; the tragedy is in the gaps, in what’s left unsaid. I rewatched it recently and caught so many tiny details I’d missed before, like how Calum’s posture changes when he thinks no one’s watching. It’s a story about memory, about how we only truly see people in Fragments—and sometimes, too late.

I walked away from 'Aftersun' feeling like I’d been punched in the gut, but in the best way possible. The ending isn’t some grand reveal—it’s quieter, more reflective. We see adult Sophie revisiting their holiday through grainy camcorder tapes, and it’s clear she’s grappling with the realization that her father was in pain she couldn’t understand as a child. The film leaves Calum’s fate ambiguous, but the way he stares into the ocean in one scene, or the way he breaks down dancing alone in his room… it all points to something darker. Those moments hit differently when you realize Sophie might be watching these tapes to look for clues she missed back then.

The brilliance of the ending is how it makes you complicit in Sophie’s hindsight. You start noticing little things—how Calum hesitates before answering questions, or the way he shields Sophie from his sadness. The final shot of him walking into the ocean isn’t explicitly ominous, but combined with everything else, it feels like a goodbye. It’s a film that trusts its audience to connect the dots, and that’s what makes it so powerful. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw it.