The Lighthouse (2019)

“What, you’re fond of me lobster, ain’t ye?” Few films are as hypnotic, unsettling, and mesmerizing as Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse — a psychological and mythic descent into madness, isolation, and masculine obsession. Set on a remote New England island in the 1890s, the film follows Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe), a grizzled lighthouse keeper, and Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson), his new assistant. What begins as routine work quickly devolves into a hallucinatory struggle for dominance, sanity, and the light itself.

Eggers shoots in grainy black and white with a boxed 1.19:1 aspect ratio, trapping the viewer in the same suffocating claustrophobia as the characters. The creaking wood, pounding waves, and blaring foghorn become instruments in a symphony of slow madness. Every shadow and gust of wind feels alive — as if the island itself is conspiring against them.

Both actors deliver masterful performances. Dafoe’s salty sea-dog tirades are biblical in power, a man welded to his post by superstition and salt. Pattinson matches him beat for beat, descending from quiet restraint into animalistic mania. Their dynamic oscillates between grotesque comedy and primal terror — like Melville rewritten by Lovecraft.

The film teeters between psychological horror and mythic allegory. You can read it as a portrait of cabin fever, a metaphor for repression and power, or even as a retelling of the Greek myth of Prometheus, with the forbidden light symbolizing divine knowledge and punishment.

Eggers refuses to explain. Instead, he immerses you in madness — sea curses, sirens, and hallucinations swirl together until the line between man and monster is obliterated. The Lighthouse doesn’t comfort or conclude; it drowns you in ambiguity, and that’s precisely its brilliance.

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4.5/5)