drqshadow-reviews

In the late nineteenth century, Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson are stranded on a secluded lighthouse island. Their shift is scheduled for four weeks, but then ugly weather intervenes and patience runs thin. As do inhibitions, wits, stories and supplies of alcohol. While they're fairly well-behaved for their scheduled stay, the drinking gets out of control during the pair's interminable wait for relief. That leads to arguments, fights, songs, speeches, twisted hallucinations and a general sense of unsteady mania. Imagine Eraserhead were penned by Herman Melville.

Writer/director Robert Eggers uses every tool in his box to emphasize the tandem's turmoil and loss of reason amidst trying circumstances. His choice of an extremely narrow, boxy aspect ratio makes the screen feel crowded and claustrophobic. Sharp, high-contrast photography matches the actors' dark demeanor and allows the fabulous camerawork and visual artistry to sweep us away. Intense moods and thick, liquor-bleached hallucinations pepper the narrative, bending reality until it's almost indistinguishable from delusion. If you look deeply enough, or know the stories well enough, you'll find a wealth of mythological references to reinforce The Lighthouse's messaging. It's a complex work, a deep one, that takes no half-measures. At times, it can be intimidating, dominating, smothering, but that's kind of the point. The guys up on the screen are feeling the same way and reacting in kind. With the assistance of some seriously mood-altering intoxicants.

Dafoe crushes his role as a ranting, raving, whip-cracking old graybeard, while Pattinson meets him in the middle as the rankled apprentice whose will is tested and ultimately loses his grip on reality. They're both excellent performances, rousing portrayals of lunatics at the end of their ropes, but Dafoe is downright magnetic. I dare you to tear your eyes away from his harrowing, unblinking two-minute monologue, the impetus of a wild, violent climax. The pair's thick accents, uncertain language and slurred speech may render some dialogue unintelligible, but we get enough hints from their expressions and body language to figure it out for ourselves. Not like they're talking a lot of sense by that point anyway.

A tough watch, a rich watch, an enlightening watch, and not a watch I'm in a great hurry to repeat.

Frank Capra had been perfecting this formula for more than a decade before It's a Wonderful Life. Earnest, uplifting stories that emphasize a few recurring points: the importance of family and community, the scummy presence of bad actors at the top of the food chain and the imperative for the former to oppose the latter at every opportunity. Don't settle for the fatcat's scraps, in other words, and don't let him box you into living, acting or doing business the way he deems most appropriate. Mr. Deeds Goes to Town brought us the same type of naïve protagonist, thrown into deep financial waters against his will. You Can't Take it With You portrayed a similar big-bucks property grab and popular backlash. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington showed us the power of one staunch, convincing voice against corruption. All three featured a plucky, likable cast with quaint little quirks and a stern sense of resolve.

We get all of the above, plus a heavy dose of snowy holiday feelings and a loose Dickensian adaptation, in It's a Wonderful Life. George Bailey (James Stewart) is an admirable young man, the rare banker-with-a-heart, who takes a personal interest in the character of his little town. Despite private hardships and economic downturns, he maintains a steady ship, convincing neighbors to chip in, do their part and strive together for a better tomorrow. His is a wonderfully optimistic ideal, especially in uncertain political or economic times. See the best in people and they'll also see it in themselves. Do the opposite and, well... you know the rest. There's a visible dichotomy between his crew, who believe that a rising tide lifts all boats, and that of the embittered opposition, threatened by the possibility of the next guy getting a better deal. They're both anxious, worried about the future, but one side builds and sacrifices while the other hoards and divides. Some disputes are timeless.

So is the concept of a well-intentioned doormat. Poor George is so caught up in the idea of improving his neighbors' lives that he neglects his own. When a run of bad luck calls his precarious position into doubt, he responds like I suspect most would. He bares his frustrated side, his resentful side, his human side. Nobody's perfect, after all, and George has his share of faults. I love that this film takes the time to demonstrate those, to rebuff the model of a perfect man and note the cracks in his facade. I'm less impressed by how easily that dilemma is resolved. The happy ending vibes are lathered on awfully thick and the heavy-handed religious metaphors may as well have been wedged in with a crowbar. Light and dreamy, the climax stands in stark contrast to the vivid, realistic moral fiber of the first two acts. I didn't want to see George lose everything here, but Capra and company put in the work to get us this far. Why the easy exit?

That's a minor gripe, anyway, and one I know I don't share with most viewers. And I'll admit, the sudden rush of optimism plays well with the expected seasonal emotions. Despite the tagged-on feeling of that home stretch, I can recognize that the good of the preceding two hours far outweighs my own private niggles. A great picture, and a justified holiday classic, that lands a step or two below the director's other cornerstones.

A scant, observational documentary about various breeds of insect and the unusual ways they go about their business. Produced in tandem by several international film companies, Microcosmos skirts the language barrier by opting for almost no narration - just a short, poetic introduction and a bookended farewell blurb - which leaves plenty of room for the audience to add their own. That's the way I took it, watching on the couch with family over the Thanksgiving holiday and marveling at how little we know about the tiny worlds beneath our gaze. It's excellent curiosity fodder / conversation starter.

I don't need my hand held for this kind of material. Limited-narrative films like Baraka and Koyaanisqatsi are on my all-timer list. I've happily devoured a majority of David Attenborough's catalog, including at least a dozen viewings of Planet Earth. By comparison, Microcosmos is like aimlessly leafing through a glossy nature magazine. Its sharp, detailed visuals are mesmerizing, but that's pretty much all it has to offer. There's no segue between subjects or loosely-overlapped chapters, no knowledge or general enlightenment beyond what we can see and surmise for ourselves. In the blink of an eye, it'll absently bounce from watching a freshly-born butterfly dry its wings to tailing a tumbling dung beetle through the desert. No rhyme, no reason, just pure fickle distraction.

This makes for very light, relaxed (if vacant) viewing. Hey gang, let's go stare at the pretty pictures for a while. Even with the sometimes-ugly subject matter, it's good for at least that much. Extreme close-ups and careful time-lapses speckle the screen; expert photography that nears the level of those top-notch docus I mentioned above. You'll get a great idea of what it looks like when a wasp larva seals itself up before undergoing its metamorphosis, but not how or why that change occurs. It just does.