We talk a lot about how you shouldn't be on the nose in your writing or direction. For the most part, that means not having your characters deliver their exact feelings or telling the audience the "point" of the story (in the form of a thesis statement or similar). But a recent video from Like Stories of Old has pointed out something that Christopher Nolan does at the end of all his films, and now we can't unsee it.

You know the Nolan ending when you feel it coming. A montage. A character delivers a final monologue or a voiceover, and Hans Zimmer's score climbs. It's a signature at this point. But Like Stories of Old argues that those familiar trappings aren't why the endings stick. Underneath them sits a structure. Maybe you can even lift that structure for your own third act.


The video frames it as a half-joking equation (essayist Tom van der Linden admits it isn't real math), but the components are what matter. Learn more from the video essay below.

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Land on a Theme

The first ingredient is a thematic statement. (I know, I literally just said not to do this.)

It's a line near the end that tells you what the movie was about. Nolan delivers it two ways. Sometimes it's straight voiceover, like the closing narration of Memento, The Prestige, or Tenet. Sometimes it's inside the story as dialogue, spoken by one character to another, as in The Dark Knight, Dunkirk, Interstellar, and Oppenheimer. Either way, the audience walks out with something specific to chew on.

On its own, that move is kind of common. You'll find a summarizing voiceover at the end of lots of movies, including superhero franchises.

But the thing is, a bare thematic statement can shrink a story to a platitude and tie too neat a bow, leaving no room for the audience to interpret anything. So, sure, state your theme if you must. But know you're risking coming across a bit trite if you don't do it well or subtly.

Remember the Theme? Fracture It

The second ingredient is where Nolan separates himself, according to Like Stories of Old. Instead of affirming his theme, he complicates it. He undercuts his own resolution, presenting the statement "as a fracture," leaving the audience with an open question.

He tends to do it with a twist. In Memento, Leonard preaches the need for objective reality right after we've watched him manipulate everything around him. The Prestige reveals the terrible cost of obsession. Batman Begins closes on a warning about escalation that, one film later, hardens into a hero who wins only by becoming the villain and compromising himself.

Even the simple films get a complication. Interstellar and Dunkirk both undercut their victories with a catch. That fracture is what keeps a Nolan ending open rather than tidy, and it's the move most likely to make your own ending land instead of evaporating. The trick, as Nolan's own editor has said, is to complicate without confusing.

Lee Smith told WTOP News, "Chris does make very complicated films, and I think my job in the whole process is to try to keep it as understandable as you can ... Because there's nothing worse than a film where the audience gets lost to the point of being disappointed."

Leave a question, not a mess.

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Then Make It Cinematic

The third ingredient is the cinematic high note. Theme and complication get elevated by the visuals and music. Nolan piles on montage, beautiful imagery, and score until the ending is felt in your very bones. He moves the audience emotionally.

In the video's comments and in the video itself, Tenet is cited as the weak example. Because the movie ends on something that didn't happen (a disaster prevented), there's no strong image to pin the idea to, and the catharsis doesn't really arrive.

Compare The Dark Knight, where a downbeat finish (the hero hunted) gets turned into a rush by the Batpod montage and Zimmer's music kicking in as Batman disappears into the night. The same idea is in Oppenheimer, where the dread is made physical by the nightmare imagery.

Pair the idea with a picture and a score so the audience feels it. Nolan builds his finales on that narrative-and-cinematic relationship.

Inception Is the Formula in Action

The video's cleanest example is Inception, where Nolan takes the ending down to image and sound. Once Cobb wakes up in the real world, there's no monologue and no voiceover. Just Zimmer's incredible music cue. Cobb bids his team farewell. He finally goes home, and the camera drifts to his totem spinning on the table before the cut to black.

The video says the shot isn't really asking whether Cobb is still dreaming. It's more about the theme and complication. There's a longing for emotional truth after this journey, and Cobb turns to his kids instead of waiting to see if the top falls. He chooses a leap of faith without certainty.

So we have theme, fracture/twist, and cinematic language. It's a famous ending, although maybe not one of his most beloved.

You can read his screenplays to see how he lays this kind of thing out on the page.

Steal the Structure, but Only When It Makes Sense

We're about to get another Nolan film in The Odyssey, and I'm eager to see if we'll have this formula at play again. Will there be a fracture or twist? Someone speaking the theme as characters finish their journeys? We'll have to find out together.

If you want to copy this ending structure, note the caveat the video makes. This is a Nolan mode, not a universal blueprint. Plenty of great endings do the opposite, so it's not a one-size-fits-all. You could do a quiet fade to black, a conversation focused only on subtext, or maybe you don't resolve anything at all. It doesn't always have to be big, montaged, or monologued.

The transferable part is the sequence, and you can play it however you like. Have a theme so the audience knows what the story means. Consider leaving them with a question instead of a summary. See what cinematic language works best for your story.

Nolan swears by knowing his ending before he writes anything. Figure out yours, decide what to steal from Nolan, and you'll have a finale people will love (or love to hate).