The LighthouseIs it the company we keep that drives us to madness, or the lack of it? The Lighthouse is a psychological horror movie set in the late 19th century about a pair of "wickies" (lighthouse keepers) in New England who are isolated ostensibly for four weeks, and gradually descend into madness. The younger wickie is Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson), and he is subordinate to the older Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe), who works Ephraim like a dog and hoards the responsibility of tending the light for himself. Their relationship banks toward camaraderie at times, but always feels precariously balanced on the knife edge of chaos, as if a mere change in the wind would be enough to topple their fragile minds.
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The Lighthouse is directed and co-written by Robert Eggers, and is the follow up to his earlier psychological horror film, The Witch. As with the previous film, The Lighthouse is set in the past, and is far enough back to warrant dialogue that is evocative of that time and place. This is especially true for the loquacious Thomas, who is prone to eloquent toasts and fiery diatribes that wouldn't be out of place in the plays of William Shakespeare. Thomas himself shares characteristics with Shakespeare's grizzled rogue Falstaff, and Willem Dafoe's performance has shadows of Orson Welles' turn as the same crusty scalawag in Chimes at Midnight. But more than this, Thomas' salty disposition and rugged beard conjures images of none other than the Ancient Greek god of the sea, Neptune. Thomas even calls upon "Triton" in the midst of a heated argument with Ephraim as though he were the primeval incarnation of the lord of the depths himself. He sees himself as a commander and master of Ephraim more than his employer or senior colleague, appearing to derive pleasure from Ephraim's suffering and lack of experience. His primary source of release appears to come from keeping solitary vigil with the light at the top of the tower all night long, as though he were carrying on congress with a private lover. When Ephraim suggests that he is entitled to alternate duties with Thomas, the curmudgeonly sea dog lashes out with even more tasks to keep the junior wickie busy, constantly threatening to dock his pay. Of course this only stokes the flames of Ephraim's curiosity, which in turn drives in the wedge of discord between them even further. Ephraim starts concocting schemes--despite his lack of skill at it--to secure admittance to the light, to claim the fire for himself. This is where The Lighthouse begins to resemble the classic myth of Prometheus, who stole the fire from Olympus and was punished by the bearded king of the gods, Zeus, for his crime. The Promethean myth persists throughout The Lighthouse; for example, Prometheus was considered a "trickster", which becomes important after Ephraim "spills the beans" about his past to Thomas. Ephraim was initially reluctant to share his history with Thomas during their first night on the island, leading Thomas to accuse him of being "on the run"--reasonable given Ephraim's stammering and fidgeting as he claims that he became a wickie just because was "tired" of working in the forests of Canada and wanted more money. Despite this flimsy deception, his own subconscious works against him, constantly twisting his perception of reality. Thomas and Ephraim arrive on a boat together, but don't even speak to one another until that night. Later, Thomas suggests that he might just be a figment of Ephraim's imagination--intriguing considering Ephraim disclosed that his real name was "Thomas Howard", and his first name mirrors that of his companion. The Lighthouse is clearly inspired by the 1801 incident at Smalls Lighthouse in Wales, where a wickie--named "Thomas Howell"--claimed that his colleague, "Thomas Griffith", died due to an accident, despite their reportedly acrimonious work relationship. Howell attempted to conceal the death, and madness followed.
Ephraim's own escalating madness is ratcheted up by the relative isolation--"cabin fever", in other words. This justifies his increasingly frequent hallucinations, and his subsequent breakdown resembles that of Jack Torrance from The Shining. This comparison is further underscored in a pair of tense scenes involving a fire ax, like when Thomas chases Ephraim while hobbling on his bad leg, recalling the climax of The Shining. And consider when Thomas asks Ephraim to confirm just how long they've been on the island; there is no definite answer, as though they've always been there--not unlike when the former caretaker of the Overlook Hotel declares the same in The Shining. The Lighthouse is shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio, resembling vintage silent films from the dawn of movies. The films of Guy Maddin often embrace this aesthetic, especially Brand Upon the Brain, coincidentally set on an island centered around a mysterious lighthouse--another place where sanity is a scarcity. But this presentation also recalls a pair of psychological thrillers by Ingmar Bergman--Persona and Hour of the Wolf. Both are also shot in the same aspect ratio, emphasizing the claustrophobic relationship between Thomas and Ephraim as it leads to insanity and the breakdown of identity barriers. Like The Lighthouse, Persona principally concerned itself with two main characters who take on the characteristics of the other over the course of their isolated retreat to an island. Compare this with when Ephraim--who initially refuses to imbibe alcohol as Thomas proposes a toast--begins to lose vast swaths of time due to drunken blackouts after staying up late, dancing and singing with his boss. In time, it seems as though Thomas' condescending words are coming out of Ephraim's mouth when he compares Thomas to a dog, just like Thomas did so many times before. In Hour of the Wolf, Johan Borg is an artist who gradually loses his sanity after a series of of phantasmagoric episodes that teeter between fantasy and reality. (A scene where Ephraim recalls of the death of his erstwhile foreman is framed to resemble one where Johan kills a young boy.) Even Ephraim's adoption of a new identity and job following the death of his former boss recalls the character of Bill from Terrence Malick's Days of Heaven, as does his quickness to give into his violent impulses.
Shooting The Lighthouse in black and white is no mere idiosyncrasy; it is as if all of the life has been bleached away from the island. (And being set in the late 19th century should remind audiences of the blessings of modern living, not least of which is indoor plumbing.) The world of The Lighthouse is a hard and cruel one, and Ephraim's lot is even worse. Thomas has him perform the most backbreaking work while the older wickie does little more than cook, drink, and loudly pass gas. Ephraim finds a scrimshaw of a mermaid tucked into his mattress after he arrives, which he employs to try and dispel his pent-up tension; but even this pleasure is denied when his dreams turn into nightmares. The sultry mermaid of his fantasies (Valeriia Karaman) is washed up with the tide and covered in nothing but seaweed; but she only howls shrilly at the frustrated junior lighthouse keeper. When an obnoxious seagull pesters Ephraim, Thomas criticizes him for fighting with it, claiming that it's "bad luck" to fight with a gull because they house the souls of departed sailors. After Ephraim has finally had enough of the bird's interference, his violent retribution seems to invoke a curse akin to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's epic poem, "Rime of the Ancient Mariner". Water and storms are ubiquitous in The Lighthouse, primal forces that dwarf Ephraim's place in the world and casts everything in a gloomy pallor. Even before the audience sees anything at the start of the film, the sound of maritime activity--the lashing waves and thunderous horns--fills the darkness. Rain is constant in The Lighthouse, affecting the lighthouse even before the men arrive. Everything creaks and groans under Ephraim's every footfall, and the storms that have worn away the tower's paint compels Thomas to dangle Ephraim along the sides to repaint it as one of his "duties". The Lighthouse excels at turning the screw of discomfort in its audience through these subtle tricks of sight and sound, making them feel as insignificant and powerless to the elements as its protagonist.
Recommended for: Fans of a psychological thriller that borrows its fundamental plot and themes from historical tragedy, Romantic poetry, Shakespeare, and even classical myth, while alluding to notable cinematic thrillers in the process. The mentally unreliable protagonist of The Lighthouse and periodic moments of violence and grotesque imagery makes this a film that is best suited to adults who relish psychologically challenging fare that toys with its audience's expectations.
Ephraim's own escalating madness is ratcheted up by the relative isolation--"cabin fever", in other words. This justifies his increasingly frequent hallucinations, and his subsequent breakdown resembles that of Jack Torrance from The Shining. This comparison is further underscored in a pair of tense scenes involving a fire ax, like when Thomas chases Ephraim while hobbling on his bad leg, recalling the climax of The Shining. And consider when Thomas asks Ephraim to confirm just how long they've been on the island; there is no definite answer, as though they've always been there--not unlike when the former caretaker of the Overlook Hotel declares the same in The Shining. The Lighthouse is shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio, resembling vintage silent films from the dawn of movies. The films of Guy Maddin often embrace this aesthetic, especially Brand Upon the Brain, coincidentally set on an island centered around a mysterious lighthouse--another place where sanity is a scarcity. But this presentation also recalls a pair of psychological thrillers by Ingmar Bergman--Persona and Hour of the Wolf. Both are also shot in the same aspect ratio, emphasizing the claustrophobic relationship between Thomas and Ephraim as it leads to insanity and the breakdown of identity barriers. Like The Lighthouse, Persona principally concerned itself with two main characters who take on the characteristics of the other over the course of their isolated retreat to an island. Compare this with when Ephraim--who initially refuses to imbibe alcohol as Thomas proposes a toast--begins to lose vast swaths of time due to drunken blackouts after staying up late, dancing and singing with his boss. In time, it seems as though Thomas' condescending words are coming out of Ephraim's mouth when he compares Thomas to a dog, just like Thomas did so many times before. In Hour of the Wolf, Johan Borg is an artist who gradually loses his sanity after a series of of phantasmagoric episodes that teeter between fantasy and reality. (A scene where Ephraim recalls of the death of his erstwhile foreman is framed to resemble one where Johan kills a young boy.) Even Ephraim's adoption of a new identity and job following the death of his former boss recalls the character of Bill from Terrence Malick's Days of Heaven, as does his quickness to give into his violent impulses.
Shooting The Lighthouse in black and white is no mere idiosyncrasy; it is as if all of the life has been bleached away from the island. (And being set in the late 19th century should remind audiences of the blessings of modern living, not least of which is indoor plumbing.) The world of The Lighthouse is a hard and cruel one, and Ephraim's lot is even worse. Thomas has him perform the most backbreaking work while the older wickie does little more than cook, drink, and loudly pass gas. Ephraim finds a scrimshaw of a mermaid tucked into his mattress after he arrives, which he employs to try and dispel his pent-up tension; but even this pleasure is denied when his dreams turn into nightmares. The sultry mermaid of his fantasies (Valeriia Karaman) is washed up with the tide and covered in nothing but seaweed; but she only howls shrilly at the frustrated junior lighthouse keeper. When an obnoxious seagull pesters Ephraim, Thomas criticizes him for fighting with it, claiming that it's "bad luck" to fight with a gull because they house the souls of departed sailors. After Ephraim has finally had enough of the bird's interference, his violent retribution seems to invoke a curse akin to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's epic poem, "Rime of the Ancient Mariner". Water and storms are ubiquitous in The Lighthouse, primal forces that dwarf Ephraim's place in the world and casts everything in a gloomy pallor. Even before the audience sees anything at the start of the film, the sound of maritime activity--the lashing waves and thunderous horns--fills the darkness. Rain is constant in The Lighthouse, affecting the lighthouse even before the men arrive. Everything creaks and groans under Ephraim's every footfall, and the storms that have worn away the tower's paint compels Thomas to dangle Ephraim along the sides to repaint it as one of his "duties". The Lighthouse excels at turning the screw of discomfort in its audience through these subtle tricks of sight and sound, making them feel as insignificant and powerless to the elements as its protagonist.
Recommended for: Fans of a psychological thriller that borrows its fundamental plot and themes from historical tragedy, Romantic poetry, Shakespeare, and even classical myth, while alluding to notable cinematic thrillers in the process. The mentally unreliable protagonist of The Lighthouse and periodic moments of violence and grotesque imagery makes this a film that is best suited to adults who relish psychologically challenging fare that toys with its audience's expectations.