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To make matters worse, my wife and her entire family are big fans of stadium lighting in any situation; no catchup is complete without seeing one another’s pores.
Every visit to our place is preceded by the same series of questions: Why is it so dark in here? Why aren’t the lights on? Are they broken? Should we turn them on? We’re going to turn them on.
My brother-in-law is so offended by what he calls “our weird mood lighting” that whenever he comes over, he does an excruciating Bane impression from the Batman film The Dark Knight Rises. “I was born in the darkness, moulded by it.”
Make it stop. The Big Light is a crime against good times.Credit: Screenshot
Annoyingly, he is not far off, given that my predisposition for mood lighting is likely due to being raised in the shadows. Growing up, nothing upset my father more than lights being left on around the house, specifically The Big Light.
For those unfamiliar, The Big Light refers to the dominant overhead ceiling light in any room, specifically designed to evoke feelings of hopelessness. Should he walk into a well-lit but empty room of an evening, there would be hell to pay and a lecture to endure.
According to him, The Big Light should only be used in emergencies, like if the TV remote goes missing or someone spills a drink.
Otherwise, it should remain off in favour of a single lamp – house rules. While his concern was more about electricity bills, it instilled a generational fear of what too much light might mean for everyone’s well-being.
Eventually, this fear evolved into a more genuine belief that less is more; for vibes to go up, the lights must go down.
In fact, when considering the evidence, very few situations in life are improved by the addition of intense lighting. Dancing, eating, drinking, and having sex are all activities that thrive in low-light conditions. There is a reason that you hear a collective groan when the lights come on at a nightclub. It signals the illusion is shattered, fun times are over, and all that remains is sweat and regret.
Speaking of regret, after 20 minutes of listening to the real estate agent suggest improvements to the sad, dark apartment (Two words, my man: drop ceiling!), I resolved never to move or risk going through this again.
On the way out, we shook his hands, his eyes drifting towards the light switch. “Do you want me to flick this off?” No, it’s OK, leave it. We could all use a little more light in our lives.
Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at thomas.mitchell@smh.com.au or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell. Find out the next TV, streaming series and movies to add to your must-sees. Get The Watchlist delivered every Thursday.
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