The final quarter of the film comprises some of the most heartwrenching, nerve-wracking moments of cinema I've ever come across. One moment you're in the tragicomic world of teenagers in love, one you're intimately familiar with even if not under these specific circumstances; the next thing you know, it is announced to you that you are on a collision course with sheer, pointless insanity. You spend those minutes with your heart and stomach lurching around your ribcage like drunken dance partners. You alternate between sympathy and revulsion, a feeling of disbelief and a feeling (one you know is the right one to have, you've known it since the opening sequence) of inevitability. And when it happens, it's not just bad--it's awful. The sounds alone are pure horror. And it helps no one, and there's no point to it, none at all, and it happens anyway, and your ship pulls away, and you're left standing on the shore, crying (I've seen this how many times and I still cried?), and alone.

No monsters, no chainsaws. Just the horror of the inevitable, the horror of a decision that cannot be undone. The horror of the human.