The Lighthouse - 2019
Updated: Sep 22, 2022
Show of hands...any Greek mythology fans in the audience? Prometheus the Titan? Proteus, the old man of the sea? Anyone? Beuhler...? Well, let's just keep those figures in our back pocket throughout these proceedings, m'kay.
In truth, The Lighthouse is so unique and expertly crafted that I'm actually fearful that I won't properly do it justice in these few words. From the brilliance of its black and white, Academy ratio visual formatting to two completely indelible powerhouse performances by its leads, The Lighthouse is a masterful genre picture. (Talk about a film shafted by the Academy!) It is not an easy film to watch, in truth. Maybe it will be most beloved by those who like a cinematic puzzle.
The film begins straightforward enough. Former timber-man Ephraim Winslow (played magnetically by Robert Pattinson) arrives on an island to serve as a "wickie" for the island's lighthouse keeper, the elderly Thomas Wake (a perfectly cast Willem Defoe). Wake is a distant, persnickety man full of many superstitions and prone to long, mythogically-infused monologues. (Side note: Get the screenplay for a few of these men's diatribes. It will be among the best writing that you read all year). The two men are forced to live in tight quarters for a span of four weeks, Wake allotting Winslow the most menial, physically taxing labors. Soon, even as they grow somewhat closer, frustrations begin to build between them.
As the film progresses, strange omens begin to come into play. There is the persistent nuisance of seagulls, who come to torment Winslow, and who Wake claims are the souls of deceased sailors. On his first night on the island, Ephraim finds a mermaid figurine stuffed into his mattress. Soon, he begins having visions of such a creature and of the premature demise of his former employer. But, the lighthouse itself is perhaps the oddest thing of all, casting a light which clearly captivates Wake. The old man will allow no other being in the topmost part of the tower, but he himself stares obsessively into its light night after night, often completely naked.
These isolated experiences really begin to take flight when Ephraim, finally sick and tired of the gulls' torments, acts out violently towards one creature. Almost immediately the winds start to shift and a nor'easter begins to pelt the island. The men, forced inside of their claustrophobic barracks, begin to drink to excess and engage in all sorts of debauchery. A tentative alliance is formed between them, kindred spirits of the bottle, even as they still fight and jockey for supremacy.
Soon, time begins to lose all meaning. Questions arise in the men and the viewers minds: What day is it? Did Ephraim miss his return ship off this cursed land? And how many weeks ago was that? Is that siphoned gasoline that the two are starting to imbibe? The men's grip on their sanity begins to wane and animosity between them reaches a fever pitch. Surrealistic elements begin to infiltrate the narrative, and masterfully, with two rather untrustworthy narrators before us, we're not sure what to believe!
This, at the last, is the real power of Egger's achievement here. The black and white smaller ratio serves to confine the film's cramped quarters even more. And the lack of color only aids in the disillusionment of time and altered narratives. Eggers himself said in an interview that the film was really a coalescence of two Greek myths, that of Prometheus the fire bringer, and Proteus, a sort of right hand man to Poseidon. (You can guess who was who). Though never before melded together in this fashion, their stories offer an enrapturing lens into interpreting the film's key events and conclusion. Speaking of the ending, it is as terrific as all that went before it. Ay ye travelers of the world, come near. There is enchantment in the light.
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