What's Not To Like About The Lighthouse?

Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson in 'The Lighthouse'

It’s become a tradition of mine. On rainy days I turn to Amazon Prime to watch Robert Pattinson, donned in a lush sailor’s mustache, masturbating so ferociously that he cries a howling tearless cry. The Lighthouse (2019) is creepy but not uselessly gory, black and white but not gratuitous, and intensely dramatic but not hammy. Once again, A24 knocks it out of the park with this triumph for experimental horror.

In his sophomore film, following the dimly lit and widely acclaimed The VVitch (2015), Robert Eggers teams up with his brother Max Eggers in this stormy thriller, loosely inspired by the real-life tragedy of the Smalls Lighthouse, and Edgar Allen Poe’s unfinished piece, The Light-house. Though the beginning may be unbearably slow for some, when things pick up they quickly take off in an unpredictable, eerie direction.

Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are impeccable as a pair of wickies. Pattinson is constantly showing us that he is no longer the pretentiously disheveled vampire heartthrob we once thought he was. When he’s given the chance to really go buck wild in a role, he will give it everything he’s got. His performance comes across as so frenetic and anxious, one can see why he prepared for the role by spinning in circles and vomiting.

And naturally, everything Willem Dafoe touches is gold. I could watch hours upon hours of black and white shots of roaring waves or long dark hallways if only for a chance to see one of Dafoe’s Shakespearean soliloquies. There is almost no human or supernatural force in the movie that can get him to shut up, but why would you want him to? His gaunt face and brutish beard adeptly portray the manipulative, gassy, swashbuckling lighthouse keeper, Thomas Wake.

The combination of an unhinged Pattinson alongside Dafoe’s tribute to his theatrical career roots is a stunning spectacle. The striking acting techniques of the two create an antsy, cramped, cabin-fevered sensation throughout the film. Neither of the characters are our hero, nor our villain; they are truly just two men wrapped in a battle of psychological torture, occasionally coming together in strange tender moments.

The cast is made up of just four actors (if you don’t count the vengeful seagull), two of whom have speaking lines. The stakes are higher because of it. A bad performance could become all the more obvious, but in this case, the two play off of each other seamlessly. Egger’s typical, boxy 1.19:1 aspect ratio and use of lenses designed in the early 20th century isn’t just a pat on the back for setting accuracy. It lends itself to the grainy, unforgivingly cold atmosphere and makes way for the many fervent closeups of the two disheveled men. The camera catches every wrinkle, greasy smudge, teardrop, and blood splatter.

For all its artistic prowess, the deeper meaning of the movie is hard to articulate. What is The Lighthouse really about? Man versus nature? The futility of running from one’s past? Toxic masculinity? Homoeroticism? An art-house-horror retelling of a tale from Greek mythology? A statement on roommate drama? Who knows? Wherever you arrive conclusion-wise, one must admit that Thomas Wake’s intermittent pieces of advice are pretty sound:

“Bad luck to kill a seabird!”

“Boredom makes men to villains.”

“A man what don’t drink, best have his reasons.”

And a man what don’t like The Lighthouse, best have his reasons as well.

★★★★★