Starring Willem Dafoe. Rated 14A

Powerful images and even more potent acting are the hallmarks of The Lighthouse, a film that otherwise strains to illuminate, well, something or other.

Robert Pattinson plays an 1890s New Englander called Ephraim Winslow, an ex-lumberjack who signs on for four weeks of lighthouse-keeping duties, which turn out to be far heavier than he had imagined. Hauling coal, swabbing the floors, and cleaning out a huge cistern are relatively easy compared to accommodating the whims of Thomas Wake, the veteran “wickie” played by Willem Dafoe.

An ex–sea captain with a bum leg and a pirate’s Cornish accent, Wake has the wild hair and long beard of a biblical patriarch. Indeed, he favours epigrammatic recollections such as “Aye, and the seas were so rageful, nothing could launch nor land.” He’s also given to unforgettable curses, including a Promethean rant that proves especially prophetic.

References to Greek mythology, Moby Dick, old-school horror, and silent cinema come fast and thick, courtesy of director Robert Eggers, a veteran production designer who wrote this with his brother Max. His followup to The Witch likewise deals in demonic possession, although the culprit here seems to be testosterone, amped up by isolation. The film’s square format and high-contrast black-and-white look, beautifully shot by Jarin Blaschke, heighten a sense of stern dislocation and put further pressure on the two leads to deliver the drama, plus a surprising amount of waggish humour.

Pattinson certainly looks the part of a man haunted by crimes both past and potential. Unfortunately, his Bostonish accent wavers like a mermaid’s tail—and yes, this is a movie in which dangerous sirens appear.

The absence of women, and of any other speaking roles (not counting seagull squawks), allows this to be a Battle of the Actors Workshop Veterans, with Dafoe the obvious victor. Their confined face-offs grow somewhat repetitive, though, especially once a box of grog is uncovered. But there’s enough salty wit to suggest a level of profundity that always seems just beyond the light’s reach.