The Dog Stars ends just as it starts to get compelling. But perhaps that’s rather the point in a world where most of the population has already disappeared because of a virus.

It’s worth adding that I missed the first few minutes because I had to run downstairs at Odeon Greenwich and ask someone to turn the lights off. Remarkably, the exact same thing had happened during The Odyssey in the very same screen.

As seems mostly to be the case, I went in knowing absolutely nothing. If I’m honest, I half expected a comedy about a person and their dog. It becomes apparent fairly quickly that The Dog Stars is anything but.

These almost apocalyptic, post-pandemic films are right up my street, which perhaps says more about me than any film can.

And The Dog Stars is largely fine.

There are some stunning aerial shots of a world emptied of most of its population, although I’m not convinced IMAX adds enough to make it essential viewing in the format. It’s a lovely film to look at and, for the most part, a lovely enough film to watch.

But I could feel it pulling.

The pacing isn’t awful simply because the film is slow. It’s awful because of what the film repeatedly demonstrates it could be. Too often, it settles into a rhythm of quiet, drama, quiet, drama, until you begin to feel the structure rather than simply experience it.

Then comes Grand Junction.

Following the old ‘there’s a signal on the radio, I must head towards it’ trope, an unlikely trio find themselves in what initially appears to be a haven. Then the woman running the community tries to marry off the doctor, and things become increasingly sinister. Without spoiling everything, there are enough discoveries to leave me fairly convinced that something deeply unpleasant is happening there.

I’m still not entirely convinced they weren’t cannibals.

For a moment, the film becomes properly tense. Grand Junction is fascinating and horrible, and I immediately thought it would make an incredible scare maze. But just as you begin to understand what this community might really be, everything erupts, and suddenly the characters are back in the plane.

I wanted to stay there longer.

That’s The Dog Stars all over.

Just as you want to spend time with these people, just as the characters begin to emerge from the unimaginable grief of everything they’ve lost, just as hope gives the film something new to threaten, it ends.

And perhaps that is the point.

Life doesn’t necessarily provide satisfying dramatic structures, particularly when almost everything that once gave it structure has disappeared. The vast aerial cinematography captures that emptiness beautifully, and I particularly like that the film doesn’t begin with the event itself.

But ambiguity and restraint aren’t automatically interesting.

Too often, The Dog Stars feels as though it’s approaching something compelling, only to silently recoil and do something else instead.

It’s an enjoyable enough film, particularly if you don’t overthink it. I had a lovely time watching it at the end of an absurdly long day at the cinema.

I just wish the film it eventually threatened to become had arrived a little sooner.