Willem Dafoe is perhaps the most diverse mainstream American actor alive, being able to pull his weight in summer blockbusters as well as smaller, indie faire with equal measure. Even as he hams it up, his magnetism is unwavering. Robert Pattinson, on the other hand, does not have the same charisma. The pretty-boy from the Stephanie Meyer vampire romances has partaken one what can only be described as a vanity project.

The Lighthouse has all the trappings of an art school student film. Unconventional aspect ratio, singular setting, unintelligible dialogue, and yes, copious amounts of sex and violence. The film apparently draws inspiration from Hemingway and Edgar Allen Poe stories, although it reminds one of a particular short by science fiction author Ray Bradbury: "The Foghorn" - similarly about two men working in a lighthouse who unintentionally attract a large sea monster (which later became the basis for 1953's "The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms"). Perhaps this Eggers fellow would have been better served adapting that story instead, with a tangible antagonist. What we get here is your typical psychological exploration of the monster inside us all, slowly being driven insane on a barren rocky island, as our protagonist grappled with a dark secret, with the light in the lighthouse meant to symbolize... something about the human condition. Perhaps the ending was an allusion to the Greek myth of Prometheus, although it is all very open-ended that you could read anything into it. A film about a man's internal struggle, but nothing much in the way of big ideas.

I must commend the writers for giving the actors what appears to be authentic 19th century New England dialects to work with, but it was disconcerting the director did not have more faith in scaring his audience than using obligatory loud sound effects (an obnoxious piercing cry of a siren or the irritating blare of a fog horn) to make them uneasy. Never mind the blood, gore, and nudity. Subtlety is not Eggers' forte.

One's time would be better spent watching the works of David Lynch or Lars Von Trier if they're in the mood for surreal, postmodern deconstructions of cinematic expressionism. Save this one for die-hard Dafoe fans.