Se7en

I found this on a list of great endings, and this list was absolutely right. There were some points where I felt as if the movie was slow but that immediately changed the next second. The plot twists throw you into another world of suspense and the ending left me feeling many, many emotions.

Se7en isn’t just a movie; it’s a journey through the darkest corners of the human soul, served on a stormy, silver platter. A 10/10 thriller for those who want to know what’s really in the box—and whether curiosity should be considered an eighth deadly sin.

“The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.” - Ernest Hemingway

You know, I always thought it was a strange way to end a movie with a quote like that after the most disturbing scene just happened, where you as an audience member will lost all faith in humanity. On a second thought, perhaps it opens up the possibility to find the light in the darkest of times.

However, I found out Ernest Hemingway killed himself. Read that quote again with that context in mind. Unnerving.

Seven is well crafted and ingeniously clever, making it one of the greatest films of the 90's.

The movie’s story revolves around two detectives—one young and one old—who take on a particular case. It’s the last case for the older detective and the first for the younger one. The case involves a mad killer who chooses his victims based on the seven deadly sins (pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth). Will they succeed in solving the case? The film is intense and highly recommended, with an unexpected ending that shows that good doesn’t always win.

After 20 years Fincher finally said what's in the box.

“Se7en” is the kind of movie that haunts you after the lights go out—not because it relies on cheap scares or gratuitous gore, but because it digs deep into an uncomfortable corner of your mind, where the idea of evil doesn’t have a specific face, a simple motive, or an explanation that makes you feel better. What David Fincher does here is more than just direct a crime thriller; he builds a claustrophobic sensory experience, a dive into a world soaked in decay, where every detail—from the relentless rain to the sickly color palette—seems to conspire to remind you that hope is a fragile concept. The nameless city, choked by grimy buildings, damp alleys, and a constant gray haze, isn’t just a backdrop; it’s an extension of the rot the film wants to expose, a living organism that breathes the same nihilism as the characters.

At the heart of this hostile environment are William Somerset and David Mills, portrayed with almost surgical precision by Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt. Somerset is the cynical gaze, a man who’s seen so much of humanity’s worst that his disbelief has become armor. Freeman carries the role with restrained melancholy, never over-the-top but always there—in the silences, the lingering glances, the weary, low voice. Mills, on the other hand, is the spark of someone who still believes he can make a difference, impulsive and idealistic in a way that’s almost painful. Pitt brings raw energy to the character, an impatience not just with the world but with himself, with his inability to control it. Their clash isn’t just a generational or methodological conflict; it’s a philosophical battle over whether it’s still worth fighting when everything around you already seems lost.

Andrew Walker’s script is smart enough to avoid the easy “who’s the killer?” route and instead focuses on “why is this happening?” The crimes inspired by the seven deadly sins are disturbing not just because of their brutality, but because of how precisely they reflect the very concept of sin as an inherent flaw in human nature. John Doe, the killer, isn’t some maniac screaming his insanity to the world. He’s meticulous, cold, terrifyingly logical. When he finally shows up, he doesn’t bring the relief of the villain’s capture but the discomfort of realizing he’s already won in a way—because his real crime isn’t in the bodies he’s left behind, but in the emotional and philosophical impact he has on the detectives—and, by extension, on us watching.

Visually, the film is a masterclass in using aesthetics to serve the narrative. Darius Khondji’s cinematography turns every scene into a dark painting, saturated with yellowish, brown, and black tones that create a constant sense of decay. The never-ending rain isn’t just a weather element; it’s there to wash, but never to clean, as if the city is trapped in an endless cycle of filth and corruption. Even when there’s light, it’s dim, insufficient—a reflection of the lack of moral clarity that permeates the story. And Fincher, with his precise direction, knows exactly when to hold a shot, when to let silence speak louder than any soundtrack, creating tension that doesn’t explode in catharsis but builds until it’s unbearable.

The ending of “Se7en” is the final blow—not just because of the now-iconic twist, but because it subverts the expectation that justice will somehow prevail. The famous “What’s in the box?” transcends the shock of the moment to become a symbol of the film itself: a question you don’t want answered, because the answer is worse than the doubt. It’s not just about finding out what happened; it’s about facing what it means for the characters and for us. The final act of violence isn’t about the act itself, but what it represents—the complete defeat of any illusion of control, morality, or redemption.

If there’s a “criticism” to be made, maybe it’s that the film dives so deep into pessimism that, at times, it feels almost trapped in its bleak worldview. There’s no breathing room, not even a crack for light to seep through. But that’s the whole point of “Se7en”: not to offer comfort, but to hold up a distorted mirror where, whether you like it or not, you end up seeing yourself. Fincher doesn’t want you to finish the film feeling like you’ve just watched a great movie. He wants you to feel unsettled, carrying an invisible weight, replaying every scene in your head, and realizing that the real horror isn’t in the images but in what they make you think about.

Rewatching “Se7en” in theaters, and for the first time in IMAX, was an experience that amplified this oppressive sense of immersion even more. The giant screen didn’t just enhance the dark aesthetics; it turned the discomfort into something physical. Details that might’ve gone unnoticed on a TV—the slick gleam of wet asphalt, the cracks in the walls, Somerset’s exhausted gaze in a subtle close-up—became overwhelming presences. It felt like the film wasn’t just being projected; it was literally breathing in front of you, making any emotional distance impossible. The sound, amplified and meticulously calibrated, made every raindrop, every tense breath, every loaded silence vibrate in your chest, as if the very environment was collapsing along with the characters. “Se7en” has always been a film that pulls you into its universe, but in IMAX, it doesn’t pull you in—it swallows you whole.

First time seeing it on the big screen,IMAX to boot, absolute scorcher of a movie.

Fincher was years ahead of his time with this one. No one even got close still

Se7en is brutal, psychological, and dark. It was ahead of its time then, and remains the apex of crime dramas today.