Johannes Moe’s unsettling short Lighting up the Darkness (Lyset i mørket) is an unexpected twisted narrative exploration of the precarious, fragile boundaries of a therapeutic relationship, which turns the psychiatrist-patient dynamic on its head with devastating consequences. Moe’s technical choices enhance the film’s psychological impact, with his pivotal crescendo functioning as both a literal and metaphorical centrepiece within a disorienting emotional landscape. Through strategic ambiguity and visual poetry, Moe delivers a film that respects the complexity of mental illness while examining how our differences simultaneously define us and challenge our connections to others. As part of the Lighting up the Darkness premiere on DN today, we invited to Moe speak to us about how his story had to change after what began as an artistic exploration became a real life reflection of systemic mental health failures in Denmark, introducing very subtle but effective moments of levity into this tale of dark and light and the pain of having to cut seven minutes in the editing room.
This is quite a terrifyingly different look at what is supposed to be a trusted and safe relationship. What inspired this disconcerting narrative?
The idea emerged about three years ago when I wanted to experiment with power dynamics in a dialogue scene set in a psychiatric context. But after the shooting at a shopping mall in 2022, where the perpetrator had unsuccessfully tried to get help from the psychiatric system, the story changed. Unfortunately, it now mirrored reality. Apparently, it is incredibly difficult to get mental health support – even in Denmark, where we pay a significant portion of our salaries in taxes! Writing the dialogue scenes was a challenge because I wanted to integrate a lot of facts from my research without, of course, turning it into a documentary. However, the biggest balancing act was that I really wanted the story to also be funny – which was so freaking hard with a serious and fragile subject like this after the incident in the mall.
Have you always been drawn to deeper subject explorations and what about the psychiatric setting appealed to you in the initial stages of the short?
I have always been drawn to the underlying, unspoken themes and the challenge of translating them into visual storytelling. I was particularly fascinated by the idea of shifting control to the patient, almost in a horror-like way. The characters started as somewhat stereotypical representations of a psychiatrist and a patient. Since I had never attended a psychiatric session myself, I wasn’t sure how such an interaction would unfold. That led me to research the subject thoroughly, reading books, exploring online resources, and understanding real-life practices. What surprised me was that rather than being unsettling, the process was actually quite fascinating. This ultimately changed the story significantly, as I wanted to ground it more in reality.
The comedy is very much carried by Jesper Ole Feit Andersen and his performance as Niels – were there other comedic elements you wanted to bring in as overall it strikes me as much more of a drama.
Jesper Ole does an incredible job, and he’s also just a genuinely funny and wonderful person. The film is definitely not a comedy, but I wanted to introduce moments of levity through subtle comedic looks and awkward silences. Jesper Ole captured that balance beautifully, adding a natural ease to the more tense and uncomfortable moments.
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I really love the dynamic between Niels and Walter, it feels caring but also off-kilter. How did you set up their back-and-forth scenes to convey that hesitance as well as that injection of comedy but also tragedy?
The relationship between Niels and Walter is almost like a forbidden one. Like having an affair. I wanted Walter to feel like he was missing someone in his life, and that someone became Niels. I drew inspiration from archival footage from the 1960s about schizophrenia, where patients often respond with short, deliberate answers. If a yes-or-no question is asked, they rarely elaborate unless specifically prompted. That naturally creates an awkward atmosphere. The idea was to gradually open Walter up, giving him hope for a place in Niels’ life – only for him to be betrayed by false expectations.
I drew inspiration from archival footage from the 1960s about schizophrenia, where patients often respond with short, deliberate answers.
I want to know all about the shooting and planning of the car fire scene. How did you make it so visually arresting, especially during those initial moments where the fire is licking over Emma?
Everything was shot with a Sony FX6, primarily on a 50mm lens. The car fire was the starting point of the entire film. I really wanted a burning car because I thought it was visually striking and not something you often see in a short film – simply because, well, why would you? So the fire had to hold a deeper meaning. It represents both a light in the darkness and the idea that the key to the problem in the relationship is lighting up in the darkness.
David experimented with both grand, epic music and simple, delicate compositions, and eventually, we blended the two.
The music is vital to the film’s pace and rhythm. Tell us all about working with David T. Mortensen and hitting the right tone, especially when Emma starts screaming as she is locked in the car and everything descends.
The music needed to reflect something both beautiful and tragic. I’m not entirely sure how we achieved that beauty – it just clicked in the editing room after a lot of trial and error. David experimented with both grand, epic music and simple, delicate compositions, and eventually, we blended the two. It is the most beautiful thing I have heard, and it captures exactly what I wanted to highlight with the film: that beauty can exist in darkness. And that it is precisely our differences that make us unique.
Cross-cutting between the burning car and the conversation in the forest created an intense and distorted sense of reality, which wasn’t entirely intentional at first but turned out to enhance the film’s themes.
It’s so common that you end up reshaping the film in the post process – were there any significant changes for Lighting up the Darkness at that stage?
In post-production, the film went through countless versions. In the end, we cut a whole seven minutes, and even though it hurt to remove so much (especially when you’re the one editing), it was undoubtedly the right decision. Originally, after Niels pushes Walter away, Niels was supposed to sink into the mud like quicksand, a metaphor for losing control. That entire sequence was cut because too much was happening at once. Cross-cutting between the burning car and the conversation in the forest created an intense and distorted sense of reality, which wasn’t entirely intentional at first but turned out to enhance the film’s themes. Ultimately, the incredible performances of the actors made it possible to shape that tension in the edit, with David’s score bringing out the raw emotion.
Did you want to leave a bit of mystery and keep people guessing?
I’ve always been drawn to short films with relatively open endings, and that’s something I naturally lean toward in my work. With Lighting up the Darkness, I wanted to embrace ambiguity – blurring the lines between what is real and what is not, reflecting the experience of schizophrenia.
What are you working on next?
My next project is something completely different – still a short film, but a romantic comedy about money, exploitation, and OnlyFans… as a musical. Once again, I’m collaborating with David T. Mortensen, who also composes and performs for musical theater. We’re hoping to start shooting in the fall or early 2026 at the latest.
