Kirese Narinesingh reviews Robert Eggers’ acclaimed new film. 

This review contains minor spoilers.

At one point in The Lighthouse, Robert Pattinson’s forlorn, spiritually exhausted character finally kills a bothersome seagull in an outburst of fury and violence, smashing it against the ground vigorously until nothing remains but its feathers and a broken body. The scene leaves the audience visually arrested, unable to move; a type of paralysis only achieved by the work of a director who knows what true horror is, and whose films actively reinvent the genre.

The Lighthouse takes place in 19th-century Maine, set against a harsh landscape of fog and interminable waves that crash onto the lighthouse’s rocks. The endless stream of noise deeply perturbs Pattinson’s Ephraim, while Willem Defoe’s rugged veteran lighthouse keeper, Thomas Wake, is humorously unaffected. Wake seems to have walked straight out of Moby Dick, possessing the nonsensical speech and ridiculous antics of a nineteenth century seaman. The dynamic first appears as no more than “gloomy, quiet youngster meets swashbuckling pirate,” but slowly develops into much more, as the unlikely pair are fated to spend four weeks together in isolation. The film’s premise immediately evokes Bergman’s Persona, with its similar feature of two protagonists on a deserted landscape, one of who becomes increasingly neurotic.

Director Robert Eggers seems to realize this particular situation can go anyway he wants; all creative directions are explored, culminating in a genre-defying blend of horror, comedy and psychological drama. 

The film slowly devolves into a dance of unadulterated madness. As both characters learn to coexist, with Ephraim admittedly bearing the brunt of this encounter—he is forced to put up with Wake’s endless stream of farting—they seem to grow increasingly mad. Ephraim’s madness is more pronounced, as he spends his days tormented by a certain seagull, constantly sexually frustrated and masturbating to a small relic of a mermaid. The pitiful performance is masterfully executed, with Pattinson managing to hold his own against an actor of Willem Defoe’s stature.

Defoe’s character Wake, however, may be the key to the film’s madness; he certainly incites it.  It’s not that evident at first (or maybe it is, in retrospect) that he might be slightly off, but this slowly changes. Defoe plays the role brilliantly, crafting a madness comprised of bursts of clarity amidst the insanity. He ironically warns Ephraim of the dangers of teetering madness, encouraging him to drink to stave it off, yet simultaneously imposes one unbreakable rule that causes the tension to turn into madness: the lamp at the top of the lighthouse is off-limits. It seems such a trivial thing, but for Ephraim, the lamp becomes a feverish, infectious obsession that Wake passes on to his apprentice. Eggers’ most interesting scenes come forth in these interactions, where the madness of each man seems to intersect and merge, their circumstances producing depravity, dramatic outbursts, and creative insults laced with deep frustration.

Can you blame them for going mad? They’re the only two real characters in the whole movie.  Yet it still begs the question of what exactly causes this madness to escalate—is it the barren landscape of the lighthouse, with its burning light and deafening foghorn, or the intense claustrophobia? The film is shot in black and white, allowing Eggers to ironically expand his palette by playing with and revitalizing the nuances of early horror cinema. Similar to films like Persona and The Innocents, the director uses the subtle greyness to explore a descent into the abyss of psycho-sexual neuroses.

Can we consider this a horror film? If so, this is Robert Eggers’ second foray into the genre. His first film, The Witch, was just as grounded in authenticity, with characters left to their own devices. But this film is evidently a different beast. The source of horror is left completely unseen and only hinted at throughout the film: is it the ominous, ubiquitous seagull, or the dream/nightmare of the mermaid, who tantalizingly and mockingly haunts Pattinson’s sexuality?

The Lighthouse has all the exciting suspense and whiplash thrills of horror, but I am still hesitant at the idea of firmly rooting it within the genre. The film feels like more than conventional horror, comprising a mixture of drama and psychological thrills, its protagonists proving more terrifying than any external force. There is no true supernatural entity; only two lonely men on a deserted island left to their own devices.

Once again, I watched Robert Eggers not only exceed but obliterate the expectations that come with making and releasing a horror film, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

The Lighthouse will be released in the United Kingdom on 31 January 2020 and is also showing at CINECITY 2019 in Brighton this November. Check out the trailer below: 

Kirese Narinesingh reviews Jordan Peele’s anticipated follow-up to Get Out. 

If Get Out was a dip in the water for Jordan Peele, he has now dived in. Stunningly showing off his skills, he seems to go even bigger than before – as if he’s aware of the traditional “sophomore slump” of directors. More likely, what we see is an artist in development, experimenting with his vast, kaleidoscopic ideas. He’s also backed by a talented cast and a genuinely fascinating story, in which he seems to allow himself even more creative and imaginative scope. Unlike Get Out, Us is solidly fixed within the horror genre, but this should not imply that the film is in any way restricted to its conventions. It’s as if Peele is putting a mirror to our faces, and our expectations of horror, and saying: “Is this what you really want?”

The plot itself is uncanny. Peele plays on the theme of doubling; the title card quickly introduces the idea of another world, another self, beneath the ostensible idyllic “real” one by reminding us that there are numerous tunnels beneath the surface of America, simply left alone and ignored. The proceeding action is similar. It is like an excavation of the hidden and the ignored socio-political problems always lurking beneath the surface. Adelaide (Lupita Nyong’o), returns with her husband (Winston Duke) and her children to the beachfront she visited as a child. It is partly told in flashbacks, recalling the memories of Adelaide confronting her doppelgänger. At the same place that haunts her memories, the family is presently affronted by their own duplicates, dressed in red and brandishing scissors, which already tells you how bizarre the rest of the movie will be.

Oddly enough the bizarre quality is what makes the film so entertaining. There is this unsettling feeling of satisfaction at watching the violence, because it is so artfully made, and (of course) the because of the musical accompaniments of “Fuck the Police” and “Good Vibrations” that mesh so well with scenes of gore. The performance of the cast is especially noteworthy – Lupita Nyong’o should never be overlooked. She glides through both roles as Adelaide and doppelgänger so seamlessly; as Adelaide, she is a traumatised, almost stiff. As her double, she is as nimble as a ballerina, with a perfectly haunting stare. Winston Duke is also impressively convincing as the stereotypical “Dad” figure, preventing the tone from being too dramatic and breaking tension with his comedic input.

The film is like a troubled image, because what Peele really does is show the cracks in the mirror. If you’re completely confused by what I mean, that’s kind of the brilliance of the movie: it says so much all at once, about society, inequality, and the psyche, that it’s almost like Peele dissected the meaning of horror and gave us something even more troubling and deeply disturbing. It is suspenseful, but interlaced with the comic – after all, true horror is absurd. Us also has a most chilling twist – but even if you read this, you probably won’t be prepared for what Peele has saved to shock us.

Jordan Peele is setting himself up to be one of the greats. He almost reminds me of Argento or Hitchcock, for his sheer potential to be brilliantly different, and his daring style that sets him apart from the mundane, by-the-book storytelling we’re so accustomed to. You can see how meticulous Peele is in his direction – it’s almost like watching a ballet. Every step is manoeuvred gracefully and deliberately, but Peele is never rigid. He’s a skilled technician experimenting with new movements that could honestly go either way – a misstep or just the right beat. And most of the time, he succeeds. I talk a lot about Peele here, but credit must go where it is due. It is one hell of a movie.

Us is currently out in cinemas. Check out the trailer below: