Robert Eggers’ first feature, 2015’s “The Witch” was a horror
film steeped in 17th century folklore, so much that it felt like the sort of
tale Puritans might tell to scare each other out of straying off the righteous
path.
As a
filmmaker, Eggers has an attention to detail that creates an immersive quality
to his stories, giving off the feeling that we’re slowly sinking into his mad
world right along with the characters. Even those who don’t necessarily enjoy
his films would be hard-pressed to say they aren’t, at the very least, triumphs
of mood and atmosphere.
The bonkers,
bleak, and darkly humorous fable “The Lighthouse,” is his latest; a
black-and-white fever dream that follows two lighthouse keepers, played by
Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson, on their slow descent into madness on a
remote island outpost.
The film
begins as Ephraim Winslow (Pattinson) arrives on that mysterious island in what
appears to be New England sometime in the 1890s, though the film never
specifies. He’s there for a four-week stint, hoping to earn some fast money
working under crusty old sea dog Thomas Wake (Dafoe, doing his best impression
of the Sea Captain from “The Simpsons”), the coarse and flatulent senior wickie, or lighthouse keeper.
While
Winslow takes on the back-breaking manual labor, Wake takes the less physically
intensive night shift (though always holding off sleep long enough to bark his
critiques of Winslow’s work). He sleeps through the day to keep the light at
night, manning the beacon for any passing ships. Wake never allows Winslow to
see what lies at the top of the tower, holding tight the key that allows him
access to the room and the secrets it contains.
During their
rare downtime, Wake regales Thomas with meandering tales of sea monsters,
mermaids, and the occasional sea shanty. They drink horrific looking
concoctions made of what appears to be honey and kerosene to stave off the
doldrums. “Boredom makes men to villains,” Wake warns darkly.
We
eventually learn that his last assistant died, shortly after he went
stark-raving mad. And seeing the isolation the men endure, alone on a barren
pile of rocks, with nothing but salt water and fog surrounding them, it’s not
hard to see why. Soon Winslow begins having increasingly sexual visions of a
mermaid washing up on shore, and signs of a supernatural world lying just off
the edges of the story’s map.
The two men
bicker and snipe at one another incessantly, and tempers flare with only the
disconcertingly intrusive seagulls for company on their desolate pile of rocks.
But as much of a nuisance as the birds can be, Wake insists that it’s bad luck
to kill one, claiming they carry within them the souls of sailors who’ve died
at sea.
Paranoia and
madness burble up slowly in the men, then with an unstoppable force as it mixes
with their deeply embedded rage and guilt. As they lose their already tenuous
grip of reality, the film dips into the surreal — appropriate for a story
that’s shot through with moments of mythic grandeur and Lovecraftian
horror.
As miserable
as these two men are, watching them is always a delight. The script — written
by Eggers and his brother, Max — gives Pattinson and Dafoe two indelible
characters to dig into, and both actors deliver exquisite performances.
Eggers’
meticulous filmmaking craft is always on display. Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke shoots on 35mm,
using mostly natural light. The stark black-and-white photography captures
every textured detail, tossing us down into the gloom and the muck. The
expressionist shadows add to the silent film theatricality of the story, and
the boxy 4:3 aspect ratio emphasizes a sense of claustrophobia. You can
practically feel the salty sea air and the dank, noxious smell of booze and
stale old farts inside the whitewashed walls of the lighthouse.
There’s also
the impeccable sound design. The roaring winds and waves, incessant foghorns
and sharp screeches of gulls in the distance. Layered above it all is the
unnervingly discordant score from Mark Korven,
cultivating an air of intense unease.
“The
Lighthouse” sits comfortably within the recent trend of films that plumb the
psyches of men, and drudge up all manner of insanity. Lonely and horny, Winslow
and Wake alternate between seemingly wanting to tear each other to shreds,
kiss, or violently screw. In its way, “The Lighthouse” is its own sort of love
story.
Just what
exactly it all means is never made explicitly clear. Its deeply strange and
mesmerizing mania doesn’t make “The Lighthouse” the most commercial or broadly
appealing time at the movies. I can see the film driving many audience members
as batty as its characters, but just as many (myself included) will undoubtedly
fall under its hypnotic spell.
This article appears in Oct 23-29, 2019.
