Dark Harbor

In the grip of a relentless rainstorm, a couple barrels down a winding coastal road, desperate to board the last ferry that will whisk them to their secluded island retreat. The weather is unforgiving, the darkness thick, and the sense of urgency feels almost primal—as if the sea itself is demanding they make a choice before the night is swallowed whole.

David Weinberg is a seasoned lawyer in his fifties, accustomed to control and order, yet his temper flickers like the headlights cutting through the downpour. Beside him, Alexis is strikingly younger, her restless energy a counterpoint to David’s measured composure. Their seven‑year marriage is a study in quiet resentment and missed connections; every conversation seems to hover on the edge of a clash, and their love feels as weather‑worn as the roads they travel.

When a crumpled figure appears on the roadside, the couple’s argument is abruptly paused. The injured young man—silent, mysterious, his condition ambiguous—draws them into a decision that forces them to abandon the ferry and seek shelter in a modest motel. The act of turning away from their original plan feels both compassionate and reckless, setting a tone of uneasy responsibility that begins to reshape the dynamics between David, Alexis, and the stranger.

What follows is a slow, atmospheric unraveling of routine and desire. The storm‑laden setting amplifies a sense of isolation, while the trio’s interactions hint at hidden motives and a shifting balance of power. The film moves in a measured, tension‑laden rhythm, blending the claustrophobia of the rain‑slicked landscape with an undercurrent of uneasy attraction, leaving the audience to wonder how far the couple’s fragile marriage can stretch when confronted with an unexpected, enigmatic presence.

Last Updated: December 03, 2025 at 23:32