THE LIGHTHOUSE Explained: The Mythology behind the Mystery

In this opening sequence, which serves as the prologue to the film and prompts the viewer to ask questions, Robert Eggers signals the key themes of The Lighthouse. We are in for harsh weather conditions, submission to the sea’s power, and tense relations between the lighthouse keepers.

Just like in his previous film The Witch: A New-England Folktale (2015), set in the 17th century, the action in Eggers’ latest work is also set in the past. Initially, it was meant to be an adaptation of The LightHouse, Edgar Allan Poe‘s unfinished 1849 novel. Ultimately, the primary inspiration became the real-life event known as The Smalls Lighthouse Tragedy. In 1801, two Welsh lighthouse keepers, both named Thomas, were trapped for months due to a storm. After one of them died, the other descended into madness.

In the screenplay, written in collaboration with his brother Max, Robert Eggers emphasized that the film’s frames, with an almost square 1.19:1 aspect ratio, should be in black and white. On set, lenses from the interwar period were used, giving the carefully composed shots by Jarin Blaschke a visual resemblance to films by Georg Wilhelm Pabst or Fritz Lang. Comparisons to the German Expressionist fantasy genre, characterized by an atmosphere of mystery and madness, hallucinations, and nightmares, are not without merit. The mounting tension is further heightened by an outstanding score from Mark Korven, which features brass instruments and a glass harmonica, alongside the eerie sound of a foghorn. Eggers was intent on referencing the history of cinema, hence the inspiration from Bernard Herrmann, who composed music for such classics as Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane (1941) and Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960). Most notably, Eggers focused on using horns and pan flutes, evoking sounds reminiscent of the sea and music from ancient Greece.

This mixture of the director’s influences also manifests itself on a narrative level. Male rivalry, rooted in sailors’ superstitions and the reinterpretation of mythological motifs, is as prominent here as it is in Sigmund Freud’s dream theories. These seemingly disparate elements form a rich and open-ended story about two men, cut off from the world and forced to rely on one another within a claustrophobic setting.

Upon arriving on the island, the older and more experienced Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe) quickly establishes dominance over his younger colleague by claiming the exclusive right to tend to the lighthouse’s light. Thomas Howard (Robert Pattinson), the story’s focalizer, is left with repair work, cleaning the cistern, and stoking the furnace—tasks that prove grueling in the harsh weather conditions, with Wake often undermining their effectiveness out of spite. Howard’s frustration builds, compounded by haunting nightmares that intensify after he brutally kills a seagull.

Interestingly, these nightmares are rarely clearly distinguished from reality; the boundary between the two blurs seamlessly. It is often only the subsequent scene that suggests we were witnessing the protagonist’s imagination. In one such dream, the man ascends the lighthouse, where the flickering light, whispers, and moaning, sticky ooze dripping from the ceiling, and the writhing tail of some slimy, thick creature create a disturbing metaphor for the tortured state of his mind. These images align with H.P. Lovecraft‘s concept of cosmic horror, rooted in fear that transcends rational explanation.

These visions reflect the protagonist’s desires and fears. The floating corpse references his failure to assist his former superior, a sign of guilt over fleeing and assuming the identity of the deceased Ephraim Winslow. The siren, on the other hand, is connected to a figurine the protagonist secretly masturbates to. In cultural terms, a siren—half woman, half fish—symbolizes fertility, sensuality, seduction, and the power of water, which contrasts with the male element of fire. In Greek mythology, sirens were believed to be dangerous and cunning, luring sailors with their beautiful songs only to drown them and drain their blood. Gaining access to the top of the lighthouse becomes Howard’s growing obsession. The light radiating from it symbolizes, among other things, eternity, immateriality, happiness, revelation, creative power, and wisdom. Howard’s subconscious, intense desire is thus cognitive in nature, taking the form of a metaphor for humanity’s pursuit of the ideal, immortality, and the discovery of life and death’s mysteries. The fantastical addition of dreams in this context foreshadows the direction of the plot—signaling Howard’s gradual loss of rational judgment and his suspicions about Wake.

Wake’s moody temperament only adds to the psychological strain on the younger Thomas. Interestingly, the Eggers brothers subtly weave homoerotic undertones into the turbulent relationship between the characters, skillfully integrating them into the toxically masculine, testosterone-fueled rivalry. Wake is furious when Howard tries to force his way into the lighthouse—a symbol of truth-seeking, spiritual light, and the immortality of the soul. Wake’s stance reflects both a selfish desire to keep the secret knowledge for himself and a duty to protect it from an unworthy Howard. For the novice lighthouse keeper, it becomes clear that the older man’s near-sexual obsession with the lighthouse is a sign of madness. Similarly, Howard’s obsessive visions point to his own instability. Neither man is a reliable protagonist.

The sailor deliberately convinces his colleague that more time has passed since they missed their return transport than is true, and he also denies statements he previously made. These cracks in the reliability of the narrative evoke films from the mind-game genre, particularly popular at the turn of the millennium. According to Thomas Elsaesser, such films are characterized by: a lack of psychologically credible motivation for the protagonist, the suspension of causality, a blurring of the distinction between objective and subjective reality, the protagonist creating an imaginary companion, and the character’s doubts about questions like, Who am I, and what is the reality around me?

In line with this interpretation, which also finds justification from a Jungian perspective, the revelation that both men share the same name suggests that Howard and Wake are the same person, trapped in an endless cycle in which they confront their past. The characters might represent different aspects of a single personality: Wake would symbolize the id, giving in to primal instincts, while Howard represents the ego, aware of social norms and trying to maintain humanity. This hypothesis is supported by the likely breaking of the lumberjack’s leg during a fall, which would equalize him with the sailor in terms of impaired mobility.

An equally plausible reading, and perhaps the most crucial for interpreting the entire film, relates to mythology. Wake mentions two mythological figures. Proteus, the son of the Greek sea god Poseidon and the nymph Nereid, was typically portrayed as a surly old man living on the island of Pharos. He had the gift of prophecy and was known for his great strength and ability to change shapes. Prometheus, the son of the Titan Iapetus and the goddess Themis, symbolized rebellion against the old order and the fight for progress. According to myth, he stole fire from Olympus and gave it to humanity, which spurred them toward conscious life: creating tools, cooking food, and warming themselves. As punishment, he was chained to a rock at the top of the Caucasus Mountains, where an eagle would tear out a piece of his liver every day. Although these two figures never met within a single myth, their paths metaphorically cross in the Eggers brothers’ film. Wake-Proteus is the older, gruff man living on an island, whose prophetic abilities are revealed when he foretells Howard’s future. During their confrontation, Wake transforms, becoming Winslow, a siren, and Poseidon in turn. Thomas Howard, meanwhile, corresponds to Prometheus. After killing Wake, the lumberjack ascends the lighthouse, but he is unprepared for the power of its light. The brilliance overwhelms him, driving him into ecstasy before it burns out his eyes.

In the final shot, inspired by the painting Prometheus by Belgian symbolist Jean Delville, Howard exists outside the constraints of time and space, beyond the world depicted in The Lighthouse. This technique may signify the endless repetition of the cycle of events. The Eggers brothers reinterpret the myth somewhat, casting Prometheus as a man unworthy of accessing the truth guarded by the lighthouse—a thief punished for his brazen attempt to possess a power he does not deserve. A biblical reading could also be plausible: Wake might represent God or Satan, testing Howard with the forbidden fruit. However, the most profound interpretation lies in the mythological context, giving the intimate story a universal and cosmic dimension. The greatness of The Lighthouse is evident in the multitude of possible interpretations, none of which exclude the others. As Robert Eggers said, Nothing good can happen when two men are trapped in a giant phallus.

Written by Joanna Krygier