“There is enchantment in the light”

Robert Eggers may have broken film criticism – not because he made a perfect film, but rather one that is singularly impossible to fully encapsulate in any amount of words. It’s difficult to figure out precisely where to start when talking about The Lighthouse – this is a brilliant work of complete unhinged insanity, and a film that will undoubtedly be considered both a homage to the early days of filmmaking and speculative fiction, as well as one of the most progressive pieces of horror storytelling of the present era. By no means a film that will be loved by everyone, and one that certainly wears its status of being a truly polarizing nightmare of a film with a great sense of pride, The Lighthouse is one of the year’s most extraordinarily unique films, a terrifyingly bleak dark comedy that goes far beyond expectations and becomes a truly unsettling work of unrestrained anarchy, delivered by a director making his second feature film after The Witch, another highly-influential period horror that could not be any more different in style, intention or thematic overtures than this. Anyone who believes they can form a firm opinion on this film immediately after having been witness to it is deeply mistaken – it requires deep rumination, where the many ideas that Eggers presents to us are processed, as we come to terms with the fact that we may have just experienced one of the most daring films of the current decade, a truly unsettling sequence of images that are equal-parts dark comedy and nightmarish horror, and a bundle of ideas thrown together in such a way that they converge into a mosaic of pure, deranged delight.

Eggers made quite an impression when he directed The Witch, one of the most distinctive in this renaissance of auteur-driven horror that we’re currently seeing around us. Suddenly, cheap thrills and easy scares weren’t necessary to terrify audiences. Suspense and atmosphere could more than suffice in transporting us to more unsettling narrative territories and telling some of the most chilling stories ever captured on film. So much of that film was based around it’s setting in the puritanical era of American history, where the period setting played as much a part in the fear as the supernatural elements that lingered throughout it. This is certainly the case for The Lighthouse as well, which sees Eggers not necessarily resting on his laurels as being at the forefront of period horror, but rather progressing his own sensibilities to the point where it evolves, allowing him to remain within the same basic territory of historical horror, but different enough from his previous work in terms of the story he intends to tell, the themes he explores and the style in which he executes them to stand all on its own as a unique piece of creative horror. Taking its cue from many sources, including the writings of various authors and memoirists, most of which wrote with the perilous mysteries of the lives of marines on their minds. Inspired by some of the greatest works of aquatic and horror fiction of previous centuries, Egger’s vision is one that feels uncompromisingly rich in scope, and deeply troubling in how it manifests in a cold, arid but ultimately incredibly compelling period film that’s almost impossible to classify. Blurring the boundaries between comedy, horror and fantasy, The Lighthouse is a profoundly rich work even just in terms of how it navigates a very unique story through the perspective of multiple different genres, and if we look beyond the absurdist brilliance of the film, and dive deeper into the intentions of the film, we find ourselves both thoroughly riveted by a film that is unlike anything we’ve seen before, and deeply vexed by the purely manic version of the past formulated by a director who seems to be taking so much joy in petrifying those brave enough to immerse themselves in his unearthly vision.

In looking at The Lighthouse, we have to acknowledge that regardless of how one feels about the film, it is a work of pure visionary genius, hand-crafted by a director whose intentions in making this film were truly for the sake of exploring new territory in every facet of the filmmaking process. A divisive film by design, The Lighthouse is a work of disquieting beauty because while it certainly does go incredibly far in its aim to bewilder the audience, it isn’t ever intent on disturbing us to the point where we find ourselves almost traumatised (perhaps a quality some of his fellow New Wave auteurs could take a cue from), rather wanting to enchant us with the deeper meanings behind the film. It’s rich with references to many previous works, and as the film notes at the end, the writers derived inspiration from innumerable sources, including old sea-tales, marine novels and even some Greek mythology, all of which may not be entirely necessary to appreciate this film, but rather supplement it in extraordinary ways. What’s most important to remember about the film is that it never quite needs to make sense – the first half is an outrageous dark comedy about two men trying to overcome their differences in order to work together, an ocean away from anyone else, while the second half is pure chaos, a deliriously unhinged sequence of horrifying moments that are both frightening and hysterical, in both senses of the word. We aren’t dared to be afraid, we’re provoked to laugh. The audience is presented with something so deeply strange, we can’t help but feel some sense of morbid curiosity, and through understanding that the viewer doesn’t necessarily want to be comfortable, but rather experience something unique, Eggers crafts one of the most deeply unsettling, but also enduringly fascinating, horror films of the present era, catapulting every curious viewer into a vision of the past that none of us were quite expecting.

A work of extraordinary surrealism, The Lighthouse is a spine-chilling masterpiece that feels almost unimpeachable – there is not a single false-note to be found anywhere in the film, because all the necessary components of a cinematic masterpiece are present, and executed with such precision, it overcomes the bewildering nature of the final product to become an oddly endearing piece of fiction, where the macabre charms will entrance even the most apprehensive of viewers, which is something very few horror films made in the last few decades have ever been able to do, and signals Eggers’ masterful return to the hypnotizing horror films of the silent era, yet another of the endless influences that informed this film. There’s something about early horror that has been lost in the progression to sound films, something about the imagery coming into contact with the story, without the burden of explanation that was seen as a great advancement in narrative storytelling, but a regression in the unsettling sensation of the unknown that silent films, such as those F.W. Murnau, Robert Wiene and Benjamin Christensen perfected to the point where replication was impossible. The Lighthouse feels like such an outlier in the contemporary horror landscape not only because of how unique the story is, but also because the approach is something much more suited to the earlier sensibilities of horror films, rather than those preoccupied with the story above anything else. The Lighthouse foregrounds terror in a way very few modern films seem to be capable of – this is less about the story (which is just as enthralling as the rest of the film, but just not the sole focus) and more about the niggling sensation of anxiety that being presented with the unknown tends to inspire. Of the many merits in this film, the dedication to creating an atmospheric ode to the fears of what lies beneath this terrifyingly tranquil world is what stands out the most. It’s from this approach that every other element of the film flourishes. There’s a certain resonance in this extremely absurd film that seems far too potent to not have its roots in some real-world menace, and Eggers’ fascinating approach to taking these sinister sea-shanties and testimonies of the enigmatic nature of the ocean results in a truly poignant, but utterly disconcerting adventure into the mind of two men slowly losing their sanity.

The Lighthouse is a two-hander of a film, with a pair of extremely talented actors taking the helm and bringing the nightmarish screenplay to life. Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson are undoubtedly some of the finest actors of their generation, and anyone with even the faintest interest in cinema would be fascinated by the chance to see them in such a film. It’s a truly memorable experience to see them work across from each other and considering it was through the guise of a period horror film by one of the most promising young auteurs working today, there was very little chance their performances would be anything less than stellar. Both equally brilliant, it’s difficult to pick apart their performances, because what they’re doing here seems to transcend what we normally tend to expect from even the most outrageous of performances. This doesn’t mean they are infallible – so much of The Lighthouse is built on the rugged ideals of imperfections – but that both Dafoe and Pattinson are going for something very different, a kind of performance that has to be called truly intrepid in how they descend into these characters in a way that goes beyond the confines of a performance, and becomes almost unsettling, just on the level of their portrayals. The way they slowly devolve into insanity is profoundly uncomfortable, which is entirely the point of their powerful performances, and proves them to be truly gifted actors. At this point in his career, Dafoe has very little left to prove – one of the select few character actors who has risen to become a magnetic screen icon in his own right, no one would fault him for regressing into easier roles. Yet, he consistently takes on roles that challenge him, both as an actor and as an individual, with The Lighthouse being just another in his innumerable performances that are nothing short of exceptional achievements. Playing a crusty, sinister seaman who harbours very dark secrets, Dafoe is at his most ghastly but still finds space to be hilarious as well, playing Thomas Wake as both a senile old fool and an otherworldly entity. Pattinson is not far behind, also propelling himself into the role with an unprecedented ferocity that even his most ardent admirers wouldn’t have expected. The actors also have extraordinary chemistry, having a clear understanding of what Eggers (who isn’t only a great storyteller but is a very generous director of actors, something I expect his subsequent films will continue to prove) required from them. Their work here is terrifying, poignant, hilarious and incredibly powerful, and so much of the film’s successes are the result of these two incredibly talented actors surrendering themselves to the director’s horrifying vision.

The Lighthouse is an experience unlike any other, mainly because the first viewing is innundated with frantic confusion and outright bewilderment, it’s difficult to make sense of what this film is saying in the moment. This is the brilliance of a film like this because while the initial reaction can be anything from disorientation to repulsion, it puts the viewer in a meditative state, where the rich nature of the story is only revealed after some careful thought, where the demented qualities of the film have been processed. There’s so much underlying this film, no amount of thought can fully conceive everything this film is trying to say. Some would argue that this is a flaw, as overly-convoluted films are not always very successful. Yet, from the perspective of this film, it seems to work incredibly well, especially considering how it seems to be designed almost entirely to be open to interpretation. There are certain overt themes that everyone should be able to pick up on, mainly those to do with the simple premise that the film is about two men desperately trying to hold onto their sanity in the midst of the crippling isolation of their situation. From the outset, there is something sinister about their relationship, and as the film goes on, it only becomes more twisted – secrets are revealed, their true natures come to the fore, and the awkwardness of strangers erodes in favour of the animosity of adversaries, as both of them descend into madness. The enigma of The Lighthouse is what precisely causes this erratic behaviour – could it be a form of cabin fever, in which the close proximity of these two strangers results in them growing weary of the other, or possibly the loneliness of being stranded on an island without anyone else that causes them to abandon all logic? Perhaps there’s something deeper to their loss of sanity – the island could be inhabited with some supernatural forces, whether it be seductive mermaids that lure unexpecting seamen to their deaths, or sea-monsters looking to prey on the weak, or even the spirits of departed sailors that inhabit the bodies of seabirds that haunt those that dare trod upon their territory. Dafoe’s character remarks that “there’s enchantment in the light”, and this certainly plays a major part in the mysterious nature of the film, especially in the climax, when Pattinson’s character finally achieves satiation by entering into the light and seeing something that causes him to finally lose all semblance of sanity, and perhaps even his very humanity, as the final chilling shot of the film is amongst the most disturbing ever put on film.

Yet, even beyond this, there’s some deeper commentary that pervades the film and makes it such a rich experience. Identity is a pivotal part of the film, because neither of the two individuals at the heart of the film presents themselves as entirely honest, with much of the conflict being centred around their fundamental humanity, or their lack thereof. The Lighthouse could be used as a text to explore the intersections between masculinity and homoerotic subtext, which are certainly very much omnipotent themes and form the basis for a lot of the interactions between the main characters. However, it avoids being overwrought or letting this commentary distract from the absurd horror occurring around it. Rather, Eggers is using this story as a way of commenting on heteronormative ideals and their place in previous eras, where two men stranded on an island engage in a form of psychosexual manipulation in order to assert dominance. Naturally, this is executed without much finesse, but rather a sense of intricate disorder. This all comes into play with the eventual descent into complete chaos, where Dafoe’s character gaslights Pattinson into abandoning his sanity when in actuality he’s the one that has lost all rationality. There is something so insidious about the film, especially considering this isn’t solely about the supernatural elements, which are prominent but otherwise secondary in terms of what really lingers about The Lighthouse. A deep reading of the film shows that it is essentially a text about a perverted relationship, a friendship with overtures of sexual and psychological tension between two individuals resorting to nothing short of demonic madness as a way of not only passing the time and dealing with the crushing anxiety of being alone on an island without any hope of escape, but also to atone for their past lives, whatever they may be. Eggers certainly doesn’t do this with a heavy-handed approach, making it incredibly funny along the way (there are countless quotable moments in this film that will surely enter into the cultural lexicon once this film’s status inevitably starts to ascend) but also extremely compelling – this isn’t just an excuse to portray two men losing their minds, but a labyrinthine portrait of a gradual descent into complete insanity, which hasn’t been conveyed with such intensity in a very long time.

After commenting on the fascinating story, derived from many influential works, and the astounding performances that brought it to life, the final element of The Lighthouse that makes it such a compelling piece of work is the technical prowess behind it. Making it with a relatively small budget (especially in contrast to other horror films), Eggers makes sure that the final product is something that won’t only linger in the mind of the viewer because of the story, but also the visual spectacle of it. Featuring some of the finest cinematography of the past year, Eggers and director of photography Jarin Blaschke contrast the hideosity of this demented story with truly gorgeous imagery. Filmed in black-and-white on authentic equipment, and in an aspect ratio that gives off the appearance of being one of the classic horror films from the 1920s, The Lighthouse is simply a sight to behold. It isn’t traditionally beautiful, at least not from the standard of sweeping epics that normally are associated with unforgettable cinematography, but the way in which the filmmakers capture the horror, inciting the feeling of mystery and dread that pervaded these kinds of films in the past, is simply extraordinary and creates a hostile, but truly memorable experience. The film evokes an almost claustrophobic atmosphere, where the viewer feels trapped on this island with the two main characters, being an active participant in their gradual loss of sanity. This is all due to the brilliance of the production design and costumes that supplement the cinematography, launching us into the past in a way not even the most intricate of historical epics tend to do. It all comes down to the magnificent simplicity of the film, where Eggers doesn’t attempt to make something enormous, knowing that the most effective approach would be to keep it at its most basic, where the visceral nature of the story will work alongside the idiosyncratic creativity that is employed in taking the audience right to the foot of this lighthouse, a looming entity that is all the more intimidating through the unconventional execution that stands as some of the most impressive in quite a while. While it may not be very evident now (as this is still a film very recent in our memories), its quite difficult to envision this film as not becoming highly influential for future auteurs hoping to create potent cinema that challenges the audience rather than allowing them to be complacent.

The Lighthouse is an astounding film, one that incites nothing short of a true existential crisis in any viewer curious enough to enter into Robert Eggers’ mysterious world. It’s a film unlike anything one has seen before, with the director taking us into a version of the world that seems vaguely recognizable, but with enormously terrifying overtures of unmitigated fear – as one of the characters boldly states, this film is situated in “the devil’s own rumhole”. A singularly unique work, it’s difficult to decide where one would classify this – it’s far too terrifying to be a comedy, but also too darkly hilarious to be a pure horror. However, much like Eggers has done with his previous work, the specifics of the film are irrelevant in contrast to the themes he intends to convey with it. Whether it’s in the daring approach to a period in history that isn’t ever represented in such bleak terms, the gloriously deranged performances of its two astonishingly talented leads, or the gorgeous cinematography that supplements, rather than contradicts, the unsettling story, there’s very little doubt that The Lighthouse is a film that is going to stir conversation and inspire generations of future filmmakers to rebel against conventions and realize their own visions, regardless of how deranged they may be. Strange, uncompromising and utterly original, The Lighthouse represents a seismic shift for horror filmmaking and a thoroughly enthralling experience that absolutely no viewer will ever be able to forget.