Nakajima's low-budget bummer raises the usual troubling questions about our
radioactive future: Will we truly need to fashion clothes out of padded storage
materials? And will forlorn plastic baby dolls be as common a post-Armageddon
sight as they seem here? After the Apocalypse occasionally offsets its
tired conception with chintzy charm, and Carolyn McCartney's high-contrast
b&w cinematography lands upon a perfect balance of grainy 16mm noise and
harsh toxicity. But countless scenes involving, say, naive ogling at the sight
of a dude making music with spoons ultimately prove wearying.