“I’m Beginning to See the Light” has nothing to do with the classic song of that title, all about the joy of falling in love. On the contrary, it is a film that begins with the tragic loss of loved ones and then goes on in a dreamlike tone to explore the anguish of the survivor. What does relate to the title, though, is the literal use of light throughout, from the spotlight on Ezra (Jack Huston), as he performs in a tiny jazz club in the movie’s first scene, to the place he stays after the accident that kills his wife and daughter, a lighthouse.
Ezra is an acclaimed jazz trumpeter, which means he has fans but no money. As he sings another classic from the American Songbook, “Just One of Those Things,” his wife (Jamie Chung as Sarah) and daughter (Athena Pia as Eloise) are smiling at him from the audience. Sarah is eager to get home and put Eloise to bed, but Ezra stops to sign a few autographs. One fan does not have a pen, so he “signs” invisibly with his finger.
As they finally leave, the huge poster with Ezra’s face is being torn down. Sarah is tired and worried. She tells Ezra that no one listens to jazz anymore. “I can’t do anything else,” he says. And then, they are hit by a truck carrying a large Fresnel lens, on its way to be delivered to a lighthouse.
If we were supposed to take this movie literally, the metaphors would feel unforgivably heavy-handed. But if we think of it as a poetic, impressionistic meditation on life, death, love, art, and, yes, light, with excellent performances from the entire cast, we can be invited into its world.
Ezra is still in the hospital when he learns that his wife and daughter did not survive. Huston is an actor of exceptional sensitivity, who can do more with his eyes than many performers with pages of dialogue. He is in every way the heart of the film. His physicality also tells us everything that is going on with Ezra, from his performance on stage as the film begins to the way his shoulders indicate anxiety as he tries to seem at ease with the nightclub owner, to the way he walks as he leaves the hospital, one foot in a boot, one arm in a cast.
When he tries to return to his apartment, he cannot bear to enter the space he shared with his wife and daughter. He sees a sign pointing to the lighthouse, and he walks there, finding the replacement lens being installed by a talkative workman who mistakes him for the lighthouse operator. It would be an overstatement to say that Ezra decides to stay there. It is more that in a dazed state of overwhelming grief he wanders until he comes to a stop.
There is too much light (light again) coming in through the windows, so he blocks one with the record album covers he finds in the lighthouse. He also decides to repair his trumpet, which was battered in the accident. I did warn you about the metaphors.
Lighthouses are tall and isolated. They are intended to save lives of sailors, but Ezra finds that this one attracts people who want to commit suicide. His own thoughts of suicide shift when he sees the body of a woman who jumped from the lighthouse, and then when he stops a man who is about to jump. He is another musician, devastated because his girlfriend left him. His name is Sam, played by the very charismatic Brandon T. Jackson. Sam and Ezra become friends. Both are drawn to Hannah, the woman (Abbie Cornish) who did not have a pen at Ezra’s performance, who shows up in two different contexts, providing help, food, and affection. A burly man with a beard keeps trying to break in (Mark Boone Junior). He delivers a strange near-apocalyptic monologue.
There is a twist at the end, though those who have been paying close attention will not be surprised. This is not so much a narrative as an exploration, a meditation, a jazz riff, a mood piece, and a myth, and best seen in that, well, light.
