Nuked

If the end of the world is coming, you might as well go out high, surrounded by old college friends, and stress-eating weed hors d’oeuvres. That’s the premise, and the punchline, of writer-director Deena Kashper’s sharply observed stoner apocalypse comedy Nuked. Co-written by Danny Kashper, this film manages to be both hilarious and deeply unsettling in its accuracy.

Set during what should be a peaceful, tech-free dinner party, a group of terminally online 30- and 40-somethings become trapped in a cannabis-fueled social experiment. Phones are off, small talk is forced, and tensions simmer until an emergency alert announces an incoming nuclear missile. What unfolds is not mass panic, but mild irritation, brand anxiety, and the slow unraveling of everyone’s curated identities.

Anna Camp is a standout as Gill, a wellness-obsessed podcaster who responds to the literal end of days with desperate attempts to stay relevant and composed. Camp plays her with the perfect blend of obliviousness and charm. Gill is obnoxiously into herself, yet somehow still lovable. She’s the kind of person who would absolutely try to manifest a better apocalypse, and Camp sells every moment with the conviction of someone who’s recorded far too many affirmations on a ring light.

The rest of the ensemble holds their own. While Natasha Leggero only appears briefly as the dinner party’s cannabis chef, she makes the most of every second. As a fan of her work, it was a joy to see her absolutely nail the role. Her presence in Nuked, though short-lived, brings a perfect touch of chaotic flair and deadpan elegance, exactly the kind of presence you’d hope for from her.

The party begins with awkward small talk and fancy hors d’oeuvres.

“…traps a group of terminally online thirty- and forty-somethings in a cannabis-fueled social experiment.”

One of the film’s biggest strengths is how fearlessly it leans into stereotypes. These characters aren’t subtle, but they’re not meant to be. From the new mom who’s itching to check the baby monitor to the poly couple in a constant state of low-key tension, every personality is dialed up to 11. Yet instead of feeling broad or lazy, it all plays as uncomfortably real. That’s what makes the satire sting; it’s a little too close to home.

The humour is punchy, dark, and often painfully relatable. It thrives in the quiet meltdowns and passive-aggressive moments that feel all too familiar. Instead of relying on big spectacle, the comedy comes from painfully real interactions, and the unsettling truth that we might not actually like the people we surround ourselves with when we don’t have a screen in front of our face to keep us half checked out.

Stylistically, Nuked looks fantastic. The direction is tight, the cinematography is crisp, and the editing keeps things moving even as the story stays in one location. This isn’t your average indie apocalypse; it’s sleek, stylized, and visually polished, which only enhances the absurdity. It’s a glossy world falling apart in real time, where the biggest concern isn’t dying, but dying off-brand.

Despite the doomsday setup, the film avoids going too bleak. There’s no deep sci-fi explanation, no massive plot twists, just a tightly written, character-driven meltdown that feels both ridiculous and eerily plausible. That restraint works in its favour. By focusing on the group dynamic instead of the missile itself, Nuked delivers something rare: a comedy about the end of the world that’s more interested in what’s happening across the dinner table than what’s falling from the sky.

In the end, Nuked is less about survival and more about self-delusion. It’s about the lies we tell ourselves to stay sane, the personas we project, and what happens when all the noise is stripped away. The apocalypse is coming, but for this group, the real horror is just being alone with their thoughts.