Showing posts with label Robert Pattinson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Pattinson. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 27, 2020

13 Nights of Shocktober: The Lighthouse

by A.J.

This is my favorite time of year, second only to Christmas. Autumn has arrived, the weather is cooling down, and October becomes the month-long celebration of scary movies called Shocktober. So, in the days leading up Halloween I’ll be posting some horror movie recommendations to help you celebrate Shocktober.

Night 9: Shelter in Place Night II 
“I seen ye sparring with a gull. Best leave ‘em be. Bad luck to kill a seabird.”
The Lighthouse
Does this scenario feel familiar? Due to dangerous conditions you have been forced to remain in one location for an indefinite period of time? In this time of self-isolation and shelter-in-place, the premise of the 2019 genre defying film The Lighthouse may seem familiar. Maybe too familiar.
Horror, like comedy, is subjective and difficult to execute. One can be as unsettling as the other, and they can, perhaps often, go hand in hand. This is certainly true of the surreal psychological horror The Lighthouse, a film that is perplexing, unsettling, and thoroughly entertaining. Like with director Robert Eggers’s moody and chilling debut feature, The Witch, a standout of recent horror movies, you could make a good argument that The Lighthouse is not strictly a horror movie but more of a cerebral drama with some horror elements. Its inability to be classified is part of what makes this movie special. The Lighthouse is an intriguing blend of strange visuals, psychological uncertainty, and genuine humor all anchored by two incredible performances from Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson.
The Lighthouse isn’t so much a character study as a situation study. The plot is so simple it is practically nonexistent. Two late 19th (or early 20th) century lighthouse keepers become stranded on a tiny, rocky island during a prolonged storm. The younger of the two men is Winslow (Robert Pattinson), the new assistant to the salty and cantankerous veteran keeper, Thomas (Willem Dafoe). Thomas gruffly orders Winslow around and has him do all the menial chores like polishing brass, shoveling coal, and cleaning their sleeping area. They are supposed to take turns tending to the light but Thomas insists that only he will watch the light. Their beds are on opposite sides of a tiny room and there is no outhouse, only two pots near their beds. There is no privacy unless the other is working their shift.
From the start, The Lighthouse takes on an eerie and ominous tone. Winslow begins having dreams of finding a dead body on the shore and visions of a mermaid. We learn that his predecessor went mad talking about sirens and mermaids and believed there was some enchantment in the light. Sneaking out one night, he sees Thomas standing naked in a trance in front of the bright, glowing light. The answers to what is really going on and why are either in plain sight or nowhere to be found. We learn that Winslow stole the identity of another man and Thomas lied about how he hurt his leg, yet neither seems unreliable or untrustworthy. The screenplay by Robert and Max Eggers is clever to get ahead of potential explanations and audience theories. We learn that Winslow used to work in timber in Canada and left after an accident. When Thomas tells Winslow that he might still be in Canada having a hallucination as he is dying of exposure, that idea as a plausible explanation seems to be extinguished.
Winslow’s dreams/hallucinations are filled with strange, creepy imagery made all the more striking by the brilliant Oscar nominated black and white cinematography of Jarin Blaschke. The film is shot in the 4:3 aspect ratio giving it the boxy window look of a silent movie. The sound design mixes the sounds of the sea along with the unnatural low bellow of the foghorn is as unsettling, if not more so, as any of the strange visions.
What really makes the film worth watching are the brilliant, powerhouse performances by Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson. Dafoe delivers one of the best and strongest performances of his long and great career; his role here ranks with his work in Platoon and Shadow of the Vampire. He looks like Van Gogh’s postman portrait come to life and speaks and acts like an old sea captain. Both he and Pattinson look believable as people from a bygone era. Pattinson’s character is the one that may or may not be going insane, but his break with reality is slow and subtle. Even in his wilder moments Pattinson never feels over the top. You might describe Dafoe’s performance as over the top, but it never feels indulgent.
If Hell is other people, this movie is a window into that Hell. Winslow and Thomas begin as strangers, don’t much care for the other, then hate each other, then respect each other, then hate each other, then open up to each other, then hate each other. The humor, and there is plenty of it, is broad and awkward. “Let Neptune strike ye dead, Winslow!” Thomas shouts after Winslow says he doesn’t like Thomas’s cooking. Dafoe plays this scene with such hurt and anger you don’t know whether to laugh or be awkwardly silent. One morning Winslow, disoriented from a hangover, throws the chamber pots into the wind. When he returns, Thomas tells him casually, “you smell like shit.” They drink together, and then they drink more, and when they run out of alcohol, they drink the kerosene for the light. You watch these two men descend into madness or be trapped in Hell, and it is incredibly entertaining thanks to the actors.
If you have ever wondered what The Shining would be like with more laughs, I highly recommend The Lighthouse. This is a movie, like The Shining and Apocalypse Now, that is an all-enveloping experience. You might be unsure of what is real and what is a dream, but at a certain point it doesn’t matter because you’re stuck there with the characters. What does the final image mean? I have no idea, but anything else, any kind of explanation, just would not be right.


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Maps to the Stars: Review

by A.J.

David Cronenberg’s latest film pairs well with his previous film, Cosmopolis. Both are steely portraits of wealthy, detached characters. Both have a polished, glamorous look. Both feature Robert Pattinson in a limousine. Both are obviously the work of a serious and skilled filmmaker, and both films, while interesting, fall short of being a fulfilling experience.

Maps to the Stars is not quite the black comedy/Hollywood satire certain critics and advertisements have made it out to be. It shows us a hyperbolically dark Hollywood that only exists in nightmares. Sure, Hollywood is rife with poorly hidden narcissism and depravity, but it is still functional. Julianne Moore gives an excellent performance that borders on, but never spills into, parody as needy, middle-aged movie star Havana Segrand, who is desperate to star in the remake of the movie that won her actress mother an Academy Award. John Cusack and Olivia Williams are the parents of the self-absorbed, mean spirited Benjie, who is fresh out of rehab and has a major movie franchise riding on his teenage shoulders. But the clear stand out in this ensemble is the incredibly talented Mia Wasikowska as Agatha, who wears long gloves to cover burns and speaks so softly of big things ("I’m friends with Carrie Fisher") that we are inclined not to believe her, even though we feel like we probably should. The movie brings all of these characters to a disturbing, if not predicable, intersection.

Maps to the Stars fails at being a satire because neither Cronenberg’s direction nor Bruce Wagner’s screenplay make any moral judgments of the characters or their actions. Cronenberg’s style for this movie is to be observational and neutral. The most interesting scenes of Maps to the Stars involve the “ghosts” that appear bathed in cool, dreamlike light to certain characters reminding them of past misdeeds. It is unclear if these characters actually see ghosts or if they are hallucinating, bringing an eerie chill to an already dark story. The tone for the entire movie is of a bad dream teetering on becoming a nightmare. There are good performances -- a great one from Mia Wasikowska -- beautifully shot scenes of Los Angeles, and interesting themes that bubble just below the surface, but unfortunately do not rise much further. Maps to the Stars seeks to be more than exploitative sleaze sprinkled with tongue-in-cheek humor, but ultimately falls short of being anything other than an interesting retread of scenes and ideas from other movies about the dark side of the rich and famous. I am a big fan of David Cronenberg and I believe that he is a master filmmaker. What better proof is there than delivering a first rate second-tier movie?