Reimagining the Apocalypse in One Hundred Mornings


One Hundred Mornings
Written and directed by Conor Horgan
Opens March 25, ReRun Gastropub Theater

In One Hundred Mornings, the apocalypse is not imagined as burned-out landscapes or cities being blown to bits, but simply as two young couples holed up in a rural Irish cabin with no electricity and a dwindling stock of food supplies. Forgoing spectacle in favor of practical considerations, Conor Horgan’s film smartly takes the short view of end-of-the-world survivalism. Even though the power outage is general and a trip to the nearest town yields the film’s only conventionally end-of-days imagery (rubbish-strewn streets, burning oil drums), our viewpoints are tied to those of the characters, who are denied a sense of the tragedy’s scope. Set in an idyllic countryside and filmed in crisp browns, the locale could be that of a weekend getaway, except for the intrusions of marauders, the visits of vaguely menacing police, and the mounting internal tensions, which give way to a steadily escalating sense of despair. Part morality play, part comment on our excessive energy consumption, One Hundred Mornings is often most affecting when it considers the most mundane points: In a world where resources are almost nonexistent and money is meaningless, what stakes can you play for in a poker game?


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