There are some subjects that are simply too painful to discuss, and making artworks centred around them can be a challenging endeavour, especially when it comes to exploring the emotions situated around particular circumstances. Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson are driven by the desire to explore a few of these subjects in Ghostlight, in which the former is making her directorial debut and the latter is following from his previous film, the well-received but tragically underseen Saint Frances, a truly delightful film that indicated he was steadily on his way to becoming an intriguing name in contemporary independent cinema. The premise is profoundly simple – a construction worker in a small Illinois town is plagued by various domestic and work-related problems and is inadvertently drawn into an entirely different world when he is coerced into participating in an amateur theatre’s production of Romeo and Juliet, where he not only makes the friends he has been seeking for his entire adult life but finally can work through several personal traumas that he is forced to confront when they begin to emerge through engaging with this text, which in turn takes on entirely new meaning through his perspective. Over time, he begins to work on the fraught relationships he has with his daughter and wife, but most importantly starts to reflect on his journey, developing a sense of self-respect that he had lost at some point during his life, and which he has finally been able to regain through prioritizing his emotional wellbeing. A very simple film in theory, but one that is filled to the brim with emotions and ideas that make it a far more layered work in practice than we could ever imagine, Ghostlight is an extraordinary piece of cinema, the kind of quiet and meditative character-driven drama that doesn’t announce itself so much as it silently entwines itself into the viewer’s heart, being a soulful and moving examination of the human condition, curated by a pair of directors who seem to understand the subject of grief, trauma and individuality better than most, and who use this film as a way to examine each one of these ideas in vivid detail, leading to a truly extraordinary work of contemporary filmmaking.

Grief is not an easy subject to discuss, despite it being something that most of us will experience at some point in our lives. It is an inevitable part of existence, and loss is simply something that we all have to endure, with our only hope being that the journey to process it isn’t too difficult and that we can find the right support and comfort as we navigate that period and find the strength to heal. It may seem like this is attempting to introduce broad psychological elements into the discussion, but this is indeed the foundation of Ghostlight, a film that is essentially about loss and how a family navigates the death of their son. We only discover that this is what the film is about midway through, with the directors keeping this side of the narrative quite ambigious through brief allusions and skirting around his absence, leading to the eventual revelation being a shocking and harrowing moment in a film that filled with them. O’Sullivan and Thompson were adamant in crafting a film that was based around the experience of grief, albeit not the kind formed in the immediate aftermath of someone’s death when the emotions are at their most intense and devastating, but rather after some time has elapsed, focusing on the throbbing, persistent pain that lingers with someone long after a loved one has passed. The idea of a parent losing a child evokes a sense of unspeakable pain, the kind that no one should ever have to endure, and those who have experienced it have spoken about how there comes a point where they begin to wonder whether they will ever be able to overcome that sense of anguish and inconceivable suffering. No words or images can ever truly capture the extent of what grief feels like, both because it is such a deeply personal experience and because it takes on so many different forms – but Ghostlight uses its time very wisely to examine the intricate emotions that emerge in periods of mourning. The film follows the ebb and flow of a family as they navigate these challenges, drifting apart and growing closer at different points in their grieving process, and ultimately becoming a stronger unit once they can realize that this journey is not one that they have to brave in isolation.

Accompanying the more intimidating themes of grief and the impact it can have on family, we find that Ghostlight is also a film about something much more inspiring and motivating, namely the healing power of art. Many of us have found solace in creativity, whether in terms of producing art or consuming it, and there is an argument to be made that the primary purpose of artistic expression is as a means for the emotional catharsis of some form, a way for an artist to explore their inner world and bring it to life in their chosen medium. This film chooses theatre as its primary focus, a smart decision for several reasons, primarily related to the concept of community – except the occasional experimental piece (and even then, performance art is often only effective if there is an audience to witness it), theatre is a communal activity, involving different individuals coming together to form a cohesive work that tells a story, each playing a vital role in a larger production. The main character in this film is forced into participating momentarily, and while his first instinct is to retreat, specifically because he realizes that such an endeavour will require him to open up and be more vulnerable than he had ever been previously in his life, it would allow him the opportunity to exist within a safe space where he is not bound by any expectations. None of these people are defined by their age, gender, race, sexuality or socio-economic status when occupying that stage – they’re merely players, speaking words written hundreds of years ago, but which still resound with such incredible intensity because of their internal beauty and how they have resonated with audiences over the years. Theatre connects people and unites generations, and can be truly healing – this is what makes Ghostlight such a profoundly beautiful film, since even at its most harrowing, there is always hope on the horizon for these characters, since they are consistently moving forward, taking it one step at a time. Healing is about gradual change, moving gradually away from your comfort zone and embracing new experiences.

The characters at the heart of this film ultimately realize that this play is not being produced for an audience (who they come to acknowledge is only an optional part of the process), but rather it is for themselves – a chance for them to heal and develop on their own, taking advantage of the safety and security of a truly compassionate space in which they are encouraged to be vulnerable, which culminates in a truly beautiful and poetic climax in which everything begins to fall into place. There are complexities in Ghostlight that require extremely strong actors, but also ones who would be able to adhere to the more simple, bare-boned style of the film. The directors enlist a cast of mostly working actors drawn from the theatre world, as well as a few more obscure character actors – most of them are relatively unknown, but yet prove to be unforgettable. Primary amongst them is Keith Kupferer, who is beyond a revelation as the protagonist Dan, who seems to be a mild-mannered Midwestern everyman who works a blue-collar job to support his working-class family. However, beneath the surface there is an anger and sadness that Kupferer captures beautifully, bringing this character to life in a way that leaves the viewer in a state of complete emotional shock. To call this the best performance of the year seems to be an understatement, with the work he is doing here being truly extraordinary, and the fact that he is a mostly unknown character actor who has spent the past few decades peddling his wares in bit parts only makes this an even more poetic performance. He is joined by his family members Katherine Mallen Kupfere and Tara Mallen (herself a veteran stage actor in her own right) as his character’s rebellious offspring and stoic wife respectively, both of whom also have very limited film acting experience but yet are still absolutely extraordinary. Dolly de Leon has broken through as one of the most exciting names in the contemporary arthouse, and this film just reaffirms her extraordinary gifts, with her heartbreakingly funny and charming performance as the woman who essentially acts as the catalyst for the process of the protagonist’s healing being truly terrific. The entire ensemble is astonishing, with every member of the cast being perfectly chosen to bring their roles to life, and working closely with the directors to infuse Ghostlight with such profound humanity, which is not always easy to accomplish.

Authenticity is a priority for everyone involved in the creation of Ghostlight, and ultimately having a resonant story told by actors who convey the sense of being these salt-of-the-earth individuals means very little if the execution isn’t just as dedicated to the same premise. The directors are insistent on making sure that the film follows a very specific tone, and that it never veers towards melodrama, which is a challenging request considering this is a film that tackles themes such as grieving the loss of a child, marital strife, teenage rebellion, suicide and mental health, all of which factor heavily into the plot. The film even makes time to infuse some humour into the proceedings, which should make it very clear just how impressive the amount of effort that went into this film is, and the extent to which the directors were committed to realizing a premise that they knew to be difficult to capture in its entirety. Their approach was quite simple – focus on the most intricate of human emotions, and emphasize the small details rather than veering into the most obvious concepts. There is a version of this story that is heavy-handed and overwrought and focuses far too much on the melodrama, which would have removed every element of what makes Ghostlight special, so we’re truly fortunate to have a film that feels so incredibly earnest and willing to take the more difficult route, knowing that the challenges associated with this method would be far greater, but have a more significant reward. The film is consistently subtle, and it always makes sure to redirect its attention to the centre of the story, which is a very tender and heartfelt examination of a family navigating the grieving process. There are a few moments of eruptive emotion, which are certainly unavoidable considering the nature of the story, but they are configured in such a way that they feel authentic and like they are coming from a place of honesty and sincerity. The honesty with which O’Sullivan and Thompson approach these themes is admirable since they choose to closely inspect some very difficult themes without expecting praise or credit for the effort – their intentions are pure, and they simply want to craft a meaningful story of a group of individual searching for meaning, and finding their salvation in the most unexpected of places, which makes the narrative all the more resonant.

A beautiful and poetic film that is simultaneously intimate and sprawling when it comes to its emotional inventory, Ghostlight is a remarkable achievement – it doesn’t appear to be much based on a cursory glance, and the directors intentionally convey the sense of it being a simple, unassuming character-based drama as a means to conceal its true intentions. However, once we have fully surrendered to the quietly endearing nature of the film and stepped into its world, we cannot help but be entirely enamoured with its achingly beautiful, and often profoundly funny, depiction of the human condition. It is not always a particularly easy film to watch, and some moments come across as quite brutal, which can be a challenge for those who have lost someone, especially in how it can be quite raw in its depiction of grief. There are many haunting moments throughout the film (the title is not meaningless – the spectre of the past does linger heavily over the film, following these characters), and the atmosphere is filled with a sense of melancholy that evokes a particular kind of drama that we don’t find in contemporary cinema very often. Anchored by some of the year’s best performances, particularly by Kupferer (who delivers perhaps the most heartwrenching monologue of the decade so far), and told with heartfulness and humour, Ghostlight is a masterful work of contemporary American storytelling, an exploration of grief and an observation of the journey towards recovery, which it views as a perpetual and neverending series of steps forward. You can never fully heal from some losses, and the pain may remain unbearable for a very long time – but with the help of a strong support system and a community that can help bring out your vulnerabilities in a safe space, it is possible to move forward and see the future as a place with potential. It’s a simple film, but one that makes a profound impact and will undoubtedly come to be seen as a true gem of contemporary independent American cinema.