FILM REVIEW: The Lighthouse (2019)

Directed by Robert Eggers

* * * *

I saw The Lighthouse at my local mall, which has a long staircase leading up to the theater. Two hours later, I walked out of the theater after it was over, my mind steadily piecing itself back together. I was still in this dazed state when I approached the stairwell, demanding my descent to return home. I exaggerate not when I tell you that I stumbled those first few steps, nearly keeling over a few times. When I finished my descent (unharmed), it was then that I realized the excellence of The Lighthouse: it alone had taken a physical toll on me, and I cannot give a higher compliment.

From the dense fog of the sea arrives Ephraim (Robert Pattinson) and Thomas (Willem Dafoe), the next two wickies to tend to the lighthouse for the next four weeks. Ephraim is new to the job, a quiet man with a mysterious past, and he will be supervised by Thomas, the rambunctious veteran with a penchant for vulgarity, heavy drinking, and seaside superstition. He aggressively guards lamp duties, leaving the back-breaking manual labor to Ephraim. It’s grueling for Ephraim, but those four weeks go by with some tension, but was overall relatively painless, but things take a scary turn at the end of those four weeks: their replacements never show up. With no outside contact and a big storm brewing, the tightrope begins dangerously tightening on a mutually dependent yet strained relationship.

The Lighthouse is the second feature from Robert Eggers, and this is no sophomore slump. As evident in his previous feature, The Witch, Eggers clearly has a passion for the history of New England, which carries over to The Lighthouse. We are not given a specific year that the film takes place, but every aspect of the terrific production design tells us what time period this takes place in – without leaving the confines of the lighthouse, mind you.

The Lighthouse traps the viewer into its world. Its setting is so precisely imagined that it becomes nothing short of palpable, so much so that we can practically smell this place, let alone feel the grit and grime that encapsulates it, but a solitary setting with only two characters is a risky move for a filmmaker. Luckily, The Lighthouse is perfectly paced. Yes, the burn is slow – real slow – but just when the film begins losing your attention, it knows precisely when to make its next move and re-engage you.

Over time, we can even feel the walls closing in tighter and tighter, and that's due in great part to the film's narrow aspect ratio. The film appears disturbingly narrow up there on the movie screen, creating a boxy look. As ugly as it may be to endure the film, it is gorgeous to look at. With its photography and lighting, The Lighthouse creates a beautifully bleak palette of grey shades. While black & white has become a cliché in the independent film scene, this is undoubtedly one of the best-looking movies of the year.

But a key to The Lighthouse's madness is its sound design. Whether it be water dripping, a seagull chirping, or the lighthouse's ominous siren, film is never quiet as those very sounds drone on and on and on. Loud enough that they irk you, maybe even instigating an eye twitch here and there, but the sounds never call too much attention to themselves.

Much has been said about Dafoe and Pattinson, the very anchors of The Lighthouse. Believe the hype. While complimenting each other in their stark contrasts of personality (they know exactly how to push each other’s buttons), the two truly transform themselves into unhinged wickies of historical New England, adding to the film’s authenticity. Pattinson continues a promising ascension from his embarrassing start with Twilight to that of a prominent and respectable actor, but the stealing the spotlight is Dafoe, in perhaps his best performance since The Last Temptation of Christ. I was worried that the film might go too far with his crudeness, but Dafoe toes the line perfectly, always respecting exactly what kind of film this is.

The Lighthouse’s scenario with the personality of its characters make the film work well enough on a surface level, but there’s enough vagueness that it is indeed the kind of movie that rewards application of a deeper meaning to it. I admit that I’m still wrapping my head around the film, let alone figuring out what it meant to me, but it’s the kind of wonderful art movie that can be interpreted in countless different ways: existential pessimism? Political allegory? Two generations at war with each other? The possibilities are truly endless, and I expect a flood of analysis videos on YouTube upon the film’s home video release. Refreshingly, though, The Lighthouse is never on the nose or overbearing with whatever meaning may or may not live within – the fact that I’m still juggling what it may have all meant says a lot.

I cannot think of a more agonizing wait I’ve endured for a movie than The Lighthouse. The gritty black and white, the hauntingly beautiful photography, the solitary setting with a minimal cast, and the symbolic potential of a lighthouse gave promise for the exact kind of arthouse movie experience I long for, so much so that I became all the more paranoid that the movie would be ruined due to my own high expectations. Well, the wait is over, and The Lighthouse still came out swinging as a cinematic experience of the purest sense, utilizing every element the form has to offer. What we got from that is a true original that will go down as one of the year’s best and most memorable films.

FILM REVIEW: Joker (2019)

Directed by Todd Phillips

* * ½

Perhaps Joker will be the most polarizing movie of 2019, with reviews either being completely in its favor or against it – I’m not sure I’ve seen any middle-ground reviews yet. For me, it is neither masterfully good nor glaringly bad, and it’s especially frustrating in the case of Joker because there are a number of ideas that are brilliant if implemented well. When the film works, it is an atmospheric and truly captivating slow burn of one man’s boiling descent into madness in a world gone down the drain. When the film doesn’t work, though, it is misdirected and forced social commentary that is just a tad too proud of itself.

“Is it just me, or is it getting crazier out there?” asks the troubled Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) to his psychiatrist, and indeed these are tough times Gotham City – the city is buried in filth as a result of an ongoing garbage strike as it approaches a tense mayoral election. During the day, Fleck commutes as a clown-for-hire, attempting everything in his power to bring laughter and joy to those around him, only to be shunned and heckled. At home, he cares for his ailing and unstable mother (Frances Conroy), taking solace in TV talk show hosted by comedian Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro). Fleck reaches his boiling point after a bad day when he is attacked by three yuppies on a subway – the result is three young men killed by a man in clown makeup. However, Fleck sparks an uprising amongst the economically downtrodden – the clowns – further fueling the ticking time bomb that is Gotham City. For Fleck, who is now a hero to some, this proves to be an opportunity to bring meaning and purpose into his tragic life.

Though I’m not a big comic book enthusiast, I’ve always been partial to the Batman franchise. With Joker, I feel like I got the best of both worlds. Allow me to expand: the film confidently walks the line between a self-contained psychological drama and a supervillain origin story. Joker never crosses this line, albeit with maybe one or two exceptions when the film ties into the rest of the Batman mythos, which I personally liked. Other than those select moments, Joker can be appreciated just as well as a portrayal of psychological breakdown and urban decay, reminiscent of the likes of Taxi Driver.

Joker is rich in atmosphere. With the sidewalks littered with garbage bags, the walls plastered with graffiti and worn & torn flyers, and the manhole covers emitting a steady flow of noxious steam, the smells and textures of Gotham City become palpable for the viewer. This rotting corpse of a city is further complimented by Hildur Guonadottir’s score. Though the dramatic underscoring at climactic moments is mood-killing, the music is otherwise reminiscent of the apocalyptic strings and death-march percussion of Godspeed You! Black Emperor, further adding to Gotham’s tragedy.

At the core of Joker is none other than Joaquin Phoenix, who has steadily emerged as one of the very best actors working today. Channeling sympathetic awkwardness, Phoenix carries the entire weight of the film and gives the role his all. Though Joker is undoubtedly going to be an iconic addition to his track record, I wouldn’t go so far to say this is one of his best roles. There are some overbearingly hammy moments, but I credit this less to Phoenix than the direction. There were some bad choices on the part of director Phillips, frequently overplaying Fleck’s uncontrollable laughter and strange dances, moments that could have worked if not done to death.

I wish my criticisms ended there, but we’re just getting started. Joker is simultaneously overwritten and underdeveloped. Though the main circumstance for Fleck’s ultimate descent is his own mental instability, there are a series of extenuating circumstances that amplify his outrage: his alienation from his workplace, his mother’s mental instability, his aspirations to be a stand-up comedian, his infatuation with a neighboring single mother, being humiliated on TV by Murray Franklin, and so on. This is already more than enough, but it’s even more irritating that none of these subplots are fully developed and are just kind of thrown into the mix, feeling more like padding than anything else.

Some elements of Joker I can only describe as irresponsible, it’s first offense being its attempts at comic relief. While Joker is more concerned with being a drama, it can’t resist pandering to audiences. Comic relief is one thing, but to not only be so tonally out-of-place with it, doing it so distastefully is unforgivable – keep an eye out for a scene involving two former coworkers visiting a completely unhinged Fleck late in the film. I was aghast in just how inappropriate this was.

And then there’s the climax, where Joker is not only laughably self-congratulating and forceful in its commentary (complete with a “We life in a society” speech) but the film begins to treat Fletch more as a hero rather than an unhinged loner. There’s nothing wrong with depicting bad people in a sympathetic light, but it is important to keep a healthy arm’s distance. Joker depicts the election subplot in an us vs. them light (the politicians aren’t exactly sweethearts in this film), and to see Fletch rise up as the face of resistance against these allegedly heartless politicians comes off as very irresponsible and, frankly, kind of disconcerting (the current political climate makes this ring a lot louder).

I’m torn between Joker. There were brilliant ideas and the execution was solid, but what I didn’t like glared so brightly I can’t completely approve of the overall movie, but there was very little I outright hated, so I don’t completely disapprove the film either. Regardless, in an era bloated with comic book films featuring clear-cut heroes & villains, to so closely examine, scrutinize, and understand the human being behind one of those villains is an audacious move. For that, I greatly respect Joker.