At Eternity's Gate
Julian Schnabel’s At Eternity’s Gate is one of my favorite films. Not one I revisit often, or even think about all that regularly—but when I do, it blasts itself into my consciousness with a fervor that is unshakable. It’s less a film than a reckoning. For anyone in the business of making things—of translating interior chaos into something tangible—this one cuts deep.
It’s a quiet, aching meditation on isolation and the brutal courage it takes to keep creating when the world treats your vision like a disease. Schnabel doesn’t romanticize Vincent van Gogh; he lets the ache of the man rise naturally. And Willem Dafoe—Jesus. He doesn’t perform Van Gogh so much as dissolve into him. The fragility, the flickers of joy, the full-body loneliness—it’s all there, raw and unvarnished. There’s a gentleness in his portrayal that makes the cruelty around him hit harder.
The melancholy runs through every frame, but so does something else—something flickering and defiant. Even in the film’s hardest moments, in the scenes that are awkward or quietly humiliating, there’s this pulse of hope, of resilience. The struggle isn’t background noise—it’s the entire point. And still, Van Gogh paints. Still, he sees beauty and tries to pin it to the page.
Benoît Delhomme’s cinematography might be one of the greatest visual achievements I’ve seen. It doesn’t just show us the world Van Gogh painted—it invites us into the way he saw it. The camera jitters, floats, fixates, loses focus—always searching, always just slightly off from comfort. It’s intimate without being precious, expressive without ever feeling like a trick. It never once talks down to the audience or tries to impress us. It just is—earnest, vulnerable, and unwavering in its perspective.
Van Gogh’s art is beautiful, yes—but it’s inseparable from the biography behind it: a life shaped by loneliness, rejection, and the desperate need to be seen. This film doesn’t flinch from that. It shows us not just the product of his vision, but the cost of carrying it. It’s not easy to watch, but it’s honest—and in that honesty, there's something transcendent.
I’m thankful this film exists. It reminds you that art isn’t always born out of clarity or peace. Sometimes, it’s clawed from the wreckage of being misunderstood.