Tribeca Review: Beacon is Claustrophobic and Intriguing

Beacon plants its flag on a lonely outcrop somewhere off Newfoundland and dares you to decide whether isolation is sanctuary or snare. Unfolding almost entirely within a lighthouse compound—windows rattling, sea spray clawing at stone—Roxy Shih’s latest feature leans into the storied “single-setting” tradition yet sidesteps cliché by tightening its screws with patience, not jump-cuts.

Our entry point is Emily (Julia Goldani Telles), a solo circumnavigator chasing family legend. One rogue squall later, her yacht is splinters and she’s hauled ashore by Ismael (Demián Bichir), the soft-spoken keeper of this maritime outpost. At first, the setup feels almost wholesome: Ismael brews tea, hands over the only firearm for “peace of mind,” and bunkers himself in the tower so Emily can have the house. Too polite? Probably—and that hairline crack is where suspicion seeps.

Working from Julio Rojas’ script, Shih lets dread accumulate in the quiet margins. Lamps hiss, floorboards creak, and Daphne Qin Wu’s camera lingers on damp grays that bleed the warmth from every frame. Production designer Justin Reu outfits the station like a relic of rusted gears and weather-beaten timber—less a refuge than a living riddle.

What carries the film, though, are two performances calibrated like opposing magnets. Telles gives Emily a wary intelligence; even bandaged and limping, she’s constantly mapping exits with her eyes. Bichir, meanwhile, radiates a gentleness that could flip, at any moment, into something darker. Their rapport is all micro-gestures: a hand hovering too long, a smile that never reaches the eyes.

Halfway through, the narrative line swivels. The question is no longer “Can Emily trust Ismael?” but “Can anyone trust Emily?” New shards of backstory cast both castaways in murkier light, turning the viewer into an investigator without reliable witnesses. It’s a clever gambit—the plot gains complexity even as our emotional footing erodes.

That pivot is both asset and liability. On one hand, the ambiguity is delicious; on the other, distance creeps in once we lose a clear anchor for empathy. The atmosphere stays taut, yet the pulse is a shade slower because our allegiance is in flux.

Still, Shih steers to a finale that refuses tidy bow-tying. The last frames are less an answer than an aftertaste—briny, unsettling, hard to shake. For all its minor stumbles, Beacon succeeds where many “contained thrillers” stumble: it remembers that four walls (or one craggy island) are only claustrophobic if the characters inside them can’t escape themselves.