The Quiet Earth

 1985's last-man-on-earth sci-fi drama The Quiet Earth has a bit of a reputation as a cult movie, an arty meditation on loneliness, accountability and humanity's self-destructive drive. I've had on my radar for ages but always put off because I feared it'd be a slog. A guy wandering abandoned sets, raging against the dying of the light for two hours or something.

 I shouldn't have worried; Yes, it's definitely on the artsier reaches of the spectrum, and it does feature long stretches of its protagonist roaming abandoned cityscapes - but said protagonist, Zac, is played by an excellent Bruno Lawrence, who leavens his existential angst with wry self-deprecation and some truly inventive ways to go nuts alone at the end of the world.

 Zac wakes up buck-naked at the turn of the apocalypse, his prominently featured free willy as much of a statement of intent of the film's more artistic ambitions as the slow-as-molasses title credits. He comes to just after something strange happens to the rising sun, and quickly discovers everyone else seems to have disappeared without a trace. The radio is silent, the streets are empty, and as he wanders into a gas station staff room looking for someone, he discovers a boiling kettle and a half-eaten pie.

 It's like this all over as Zac moves from the sleepy suburbs to town center - the whole world as a Mary Celeste, or the Roanoke colony. It's all engagingly presented, and on a grand canvas that includes completely empty city blocks, car wrecks and the site of an airline crash. An explanation for "the event" quickly becomes apparent, too, as it's revealed Zac was working on a mysterious US-backed project that had the potential to destabilize reality.

 From there, we witness Zac's descent into slight madness as he realizes the enormity of his predicament. That doesn't preclude all the fun bits of post-apocalyptic movies, like moving into a higher-end house, building a large artwork collection (most recently referenced in Will Forte's Last Man on Earth) and using his engineer skills to find creative solutions to the many of the problems he runs into.

 The plot unspools methodically, and while the pacing is slow, the script (by Bill Baer, Bruno Lawrence and Sam Pillsbury) ensures there's a steady stream of developments that keep things interesting and engaging. Things get more complicated when it turns out that [slight spoilers ahead!] other people seem to have persisted through whatever happened (Alison Routledge and Pete Smith, both great).
 Dialog is a bit stilted and prone to making grand statements, all of which contributes to the film's unique, slightly off-kilter feel. As artificial as many of the interactions are, there's a warm, affectionate seam of humanity underlying many of them. There's a lot of spontaneous hugging, maybe the best type of hugging.

 Director Geoff Murphy ably moves things along, sprinkling the film with a couple of excellent action beats and a surprising number of explosions. His unfussy framing is always crystal clear, aided by crisp cinematography from James Bartle. Add in a lovely, old-school (even for its time; depressing reeds ahoy!) soundtrack by John Charles and a clever, truly excellent ending with an instantly iconic image, and it all adds up to an excellent, idiosyncratic little gem.