I suspect that World's End will be a popular DVD release, as it invites spectators to revisit individual shots and lines of dialogue to hunt for clues. I worry, however, that the home-viewing experience might reduce the movie to a Where's Waldo book. (On a related note: Does anyone else remember Nintendo's ill-fated Where's Waldo video game from the early 1990s? The "game" simply recreated pages from Martin Handford's books in big, hard-to-read pixels, and you "played" it by choosing which part of the page you wanted to see on your screen. If anyone remembers a more inessential Nintendo game, let me know; I'll be sure never to look for it.) The film seems best suited for a theater, where there's room for the many details to recombine as a fully equipped little world.
Perhaps it's just my inner Where's Waldo fan speaking, but I wish more filmmakers aspired to make sacrosanct environments the way Wright and Pegg have. This sort of achievement isn't limited to fantasy films or big-budget projects. One wanders through Powell and Pressburger's realistic pictures (The 49th Parallel, I Know Where I'm Going!) as easily as their fantasies, and David Cronenberg managed this self-contained quality back in the days of his cheapo productions.
When I revisited David Gordon Green's Prince Avalanche last week, I realized that it too has certain illustrated-storybook aspects. You know that ridiculous song Paul Rudd and Emile Hirsch make up when they're drunk on moonshine? You hear a "legit" version of it in one of the movie's first scenes—it's the song Hirsch plays on his boom box. Green and Rudd recently explained the song's evolution in a piece for the New York Times website (where, as a bonus, you can stream both versions of the song), explaining how it went from being an inside joke to a part of the film's historical reality. It's details like these that make Avalanche such a distinctive experience. You don't look at it in terms of character or setting or music, but as a construction that depends equally on all these things.