The Lighthouse was a perfectly dark and psychologically weird trip for a rainy November evening. At times I wondered if the two characters were meant to be read as individuals or halves of a broken, repetitive single entity.
Black and White throughout holds the starkness, while the screen limit increases the sense of visual depth, as though there is a bit more distance than the camera would ordinarily impart. I loved these choices. Dialogue light in general, the visuals
are the story. But there are moments when Defoe delivers a soliloquy worthy of any King Lear. Simply gorgeous to behold.
Twisty without any answers, the end feels like a perfect note of finality.
Side note: The glasses have made all the difference! I can see movies again, and it was great to be back in the Grandin Theatre.
