"At the End of the Night" by Konstantin Lopushansky, summary Automatic translate

The screenplay "At the End of the Night" (published, among other things, in the anthology "Film Screenplays," 1985, No. 1) depicts the first weeks after a catastrophe, which is imposed on the survivors as the result of a world war, although the protagonist persistently searches for evidence of a localized accident and political manipulation. The plot hinges on the confrontation between Larsen and the system, which, for the sake of "big politics," demands that they accept a non-existent version of events and remain silent.

The script is connected with the creative circle of Konstantin Lopushansky, who would soon become a co-writer and director of the film Letters from a Dead Man (1986), also built around the figure of Larsen and the experience “after the end of the world.”

The Bunker and the "Version of War"

Larsen wakes up on a cot in a cramped concrete bunker, where the very sense of time is lost, people live amidst loudspeaker orders, cold, and a dearth of clear news. He sees how command and the military are shorting communications to cables, imposing secrecy regimes, and not allowing anyone "up" to reach them, even those demanding explanations. In a conversation with Advisor Kornfield, the absurdly businesslike preparations for "evacuating the best" to the orbital complex emerge, along with the cynical selection criteria and the idea that "everyone" was not promised salvation.

At the same time, Larsen watches footage of the disaster: the destruction of the city, a firestorm, people in flames, a blinded boy groping through the rubble. These images don’t make the world any clearer, but rather reinforce his doubts: radio silence fell too quickly, the loss of communication was too "convenient," as if deliberate jamming were at work. Larsen begins to formulate a hypothesis that what happened might not be an all-out war, but an accident at a missile base, and decides to go to the electronic center to verify the facts.

Museum, controversy and deep "conservation"

Part of the action shifts to a large museum building converted into a shelter, where the Tescher and Hummel families, the sick and children, survive side by side, and electricity is generated through hard labor — a pedal generator. Here, heated debates unfold about the value of culture, the impotence of "masterpieces" in the face of mass death, and the fact that humanity has accumulated more blood than intelligence over millennia. Against this backdrop, everyday life remains fragile: Anna’s condition worsens, a young girl assistant asks Larsen to read to her from a book, and people survive on pills, drips of water, and mechanical discipline.

From the "central bunker" come orders to suppress rumors of an accident as "panic," interfering with the plan to rescue the remaining people, and to prepare for a deep closure for decades, if not forever. Larsen perceives this as a moral capitulation: instead of a reality check, he retreats into sleep; instead of communicating with the world, he keeps closed lists and prohibits questions. Meanwhile, the hero’s personal pain emerges through memories of his son, Eric: images of his former life emerge in Larsen’s mind — a garden, summer, a child’s voice, simple, homely words.

A Visit to the Electronic Center and the Price of Truth

Larsen searches for a way to the electronic center, despite warnings that the perimeter is guarded and shoots on sight. At a crucial moment, he is assisted by people connected to the security forces — Huger and the driver — who also need facts to influence Ulf, the man capable of "breaking the game" of the higher-ups. Along the way, Larsen increasingly connects his hypothesis to the main question: if there was an accident, then the war might not have started, and their island could have been merely a "victim-justification" for someone else’s decisions.

Having reached the communications point, Larsen tries to urgently halt the flight and explains to Kornfield: the disaster was caused by an accident at the base, not the entire world perished, and they need to contact the mainland and understand why there is no salvation. In response, Kornfield essentially confirms the worst: the island is isolated, the story of the accident cannot be released because "it didn’t happen" — this is the demand of politics, using the disaster as a pretext for further action. For Larsen, this is a blow: the truth is not simply being hidden, but dangerous, because it undermines the structure of power built on fear and a convenient legend.

Children, the path through the snow and the finale

After breaking with the "official" logic, Larsen increasingly finds himself alongside the children the adults abandoned aboveground, in the ruins and cold. He tries to rehabilitate them: he gathers kindling, starts a fire, offers them a symbolic "Christmas tree," makes toys from scrap metal, and talks to them as equals who must make decisions. Larsen measures the background radiation, notices a drop in radiation and "clean" snow, and builds his hope on this: if the background radiation decreases, it means a global war isn’t unfolding, and peace could survive beyond their misfortune.

However, the older boy meets this hope with disbelief and accuses Larsen of lying and self-interest, assuming the adult simply wants to get rid of the children for food. Larsen takes the accusation hard, his strength ebbing, but one night, one of the boys comes to ask him directly: was Larsen telling the truth? Larsen confirms he was telling the truth and urges the children to move on — toward people, to the "other world" they can still see.

The children form a column and walk across the scorched earth, through snow and ash, until they see the Southern Spit from a hill, ambulances, helicopters, UN and Red Cross flags — signs of order and aid. Adults run toward them, among them a tall man ripping off a gas mask and a heavyset, middle-aged companion who shouts to ask about Larsen. Larsen himself regains consciousness in the helicopter, sees an aged Ulf, and, at the edge of speech, asks a strangely simple question about the name of the planet — "Earth" — and then smiles, looking at the morning sky and the streaks of sunlight above the clouds.