Aronofsky’s emotional resonance feels like a fluke as bad writing sinks The Whale
In a movie where people speak about writing and telling the truth, it’s annoyingly happy to spend too much time wading through the crap.
The Whale. // Courtesy A24
The majority of Darren Aronofksy’s career has seen him move audiences in unexpected ways. He combines larger-than-life visuals with stories about people struggling with obsession, perfection, addiction, and solving the riddles that shape human existence, and sometimes the very universe itself.
Comparatively, Aronofsky’s latest film, The Whale (adapted by Samuel D. Hunter from his play) is worlds smaller. It’s the (relatively) mundane story of a man who feels the weight of the world on his massive shoulders, and not much else. It would be an utter waste if it didn’t contain some stellar performances.
For Charlie (Brendan Fraser), an online university writing teacher, the walls of his apartment are his entire world. Part of that is because his grief from the death of his lover, Alan, has left him with nothing outside his front door he finds worth engaging with. The other unavoidable element is that Charlie weighs over 600 pounds, making mobility a struggle.
One day Charlie has a health scare that’s only slowed by a young missionary (Ty Simpkins) who happens to be passing by. When told by his caretaker Liz (Hong Chau) that he likely only has days left to live, Charlie tries to reconnect with his estranged daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink), even though his ex-wife Mary (Samantha Morton) forbids it.
Were Charlie’s weight issue a metaphor for his empathy, with the emotional weight of others manifesting as his actual weight gain, maybe The Whale might feel less exploitative. As it is, however, this is a story about a man attempting to eat his own guilt and tries to get through life with a bucket full of deep-fried positivity and empathy, even though everyone comments to his face that he’s a fat, disgusting waste of space. That’s a crude way to put it, but that’s how one-note The Whale is.
Given how flat the plot is, the acting is a saving grace. Under layers of prosthetics and immense CGI padding, Fraser gives a performance that radiates soulfulness. His big puppy dog eyes convey a wealth of pain and sadness underneath the positive exterior Charlie presents to the world. Chau as Liz is equally compelling. From the outside she has a simple role as Charlie’s only friend. As the film continues, the “why” behind her relationship to Charlie gives her weariness new meaning.
It’s not a flashy performance, and that’s what makes it work.
Other performances are solid throughout but are let down by empty material. Aronofsky is no stranger to exploring faith and religion (The Fountain, Noah, Mother!), but here has trouble weaving it naturally into the work. It doesn’t help that his perspective as a director—or Hunter’s as a writer—seem to have any bearing on the final product. There’s a general ambivalence here that leads to malaise rather than understanding.
It’s not until The Whale’s final fleeting moments that Aronofsky pulls out his sense of the fantastical. Unfortunately, it comes so late that it only adds to the maddening sense of indifference to The Whale as a whole. In a movie where people speak about writing and telling the truth, it’s annoyingly happy to spend too much time wading through the crap.
The Whale. // Courtesy A24
