Written and Amir Faress

Directed by Amir Faress and Gregory Lee Kenyon

Review by Dominic Corr

The solitary incandescent bulb glowing on a deserted stage has long symbolised theatrical superstition, and for many, it was a symbol of hope for those theatre’s dark during COVID; but in Amir Faress and Gregory Lee Kenyon’s atmospheric thriller Ghost Light, that lonely beacon illuminates a labyrinth of bitter legal disputes and creeping psychological unease. Centred around an actress locked in a high-stakes battle over the ownership rights of her beloved historic playhouse, the feature crafts a moody intersection between corporate exploitation and haunted spaces. Faress, directing from a script co-penned with Kenyon, deliberately leans into a measured, slow-burn rhythm, treating the empty auditorium, velvet-draped boxes, and shadowy corridors not merely as a static backdrop, but as an oppressive entity charged with unspoken dread.

At the core of this unfolding turmoil is Marion Neal, portrayed by Lisa Blake Richards with a weathered, tenacious gravitas. Richards anchors the narrative splendidly, capturing the frantic vulnerability of a woman watching her creative sanctuary slip away while physical reality begins to warp around her. Yet, while this central performance radiates authentic desperation, the screenplay frequently stumbles under the weight of its own narrative ambitions. As the plot spirals outward into an increasingly convoluted web of interwoven conspiracies and hidden agendas, the tight, claustrophobic tension diffuses, leaving the courtroom drama feeling overstuffed and occasionally disconnected from its supernatural undercurrents.

The supporting players do admirable work attempting to anchor these rocky tonal shifts. Maria Margot brings an intriguing, watchful presence as Julie Wades, while Cindy Dolenc as Kelly Haig and Laur Allen as Leah Watts inject shifting layers of suspicion into the wider ensemble dynamic. Every performer clearly understands the thriller mechanics at play, grounding the escalating paranoia even when the dialogue leans toward expositional heavy-handedness. However, because the narrative divides its focus across multiple conflicting agendas, none of the supporting characters receive the room required to fully develop beyond functional plot devices.

Visually and aurally, the film compensates for its narrative wobbly spots with striking technical polish. The cinematography exploits the architectural geometry of the theatre – empty seats, shrouded balconies, and cavernous backstage passages—to foster a constant, skin-prickling sense of being watched. Paired with a brooding, subterranean soundscape, these stylistic choices successfully conjure the eerie chill of classic ghost stories without relying on cheap jump scares.

Ultimately, Ghost Light remains an intriguing, albeit uneven, cinematic excursion into the shadows behind the velvet curtain. It possesses enough atmospheric grit and committed central performances to reward patient genre enthusiasts, even if its sprawling conspiracies prevent it from achieving true haunting resonance. As the final notes fade and the stage is left shivering in the dark, the film leaves behind the unsettling reminder that some spectres are entirely of our own making.

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