The hope of repairing broken bonds, making amends, and coming to terms with heartache swirl ‘round and ‘round in The Whale, the eighth feature film from director Darren Aronofsky (Requiem For A Dream, Black Swan, Noah, Mother!). The buzz around the movie, which recently screened at the Chicago International Film Festival and has been hailed as Brendan Fraser’s career comeback, began after it hit the 79th Venice International Film Festival in September.
Then came a touch of controversy. Folks here and there expressed concerns that the film was fatphobic, noting Aronofsky’s use of a fatsuit to help Fraser embody Charlie—literally—a 600-pound gay man living in regret. It’s 2022. Reaction is bound to happen. Truth is… everybody has an opinion about something, especially after watching a movie. Yet only filmmakers truly know what it takes to make that kind of art.
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That said, go see The Whale. Not because it’s Aronofsky’s best movie. Experience the film because of Fraser. Surely, his soul-crushing performance of a reclusive, morbidly obese, English teacher—a guy who so desperately wants to reconnect with his estranged daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink)—will land him the Academy Award nomination he deserves. One can already see the Oscar audience rising to their feet, applauding Fraser. Not because he played a fat man—because he so beautifully added such depth and humanity to a troubled character that audiences rarely experience. That is The Whale’s—and Fraser’s—greatest triumph here.
Understanding The Whale
A24
The Whale is based on the off-Broadway play of the same name penned by Samuel D. Hunter, who adapted the film’s screenplay. The play garnered a bevy of attention, most noticeably for its compelling plot. It went on to win a Lucille Lortel Award, which recognizes excellence in Off-Broadway theater.
That theater vibe carries over in Aronofsky and Hunter’s film version. The scene structure brings us one character limited to several rooms in Charlie’s second-floor apartment as secondary characters come in and out. And Aronofsky’s decision to shoot in a tight 1.33 aspect ratio as opposed to widescreen tends to box everything in. Intentionally, of course. But like it or hate it, the result makes this outing feel more like a filmed play than a movie.
However, it’s effective enough in that it takes us deeply into Charlie’s world. He teaches English online—with a screen dark, so his students can’t see him. He often clings to an essay about “Moby Dick.” A food deliveryman drops off pizzas at the door. Liz (Hong Chau), a nurse, often comes by, reluctantly handing Charlie the take-out food he’s grown accustomed to consuming. Liz is Charlie’s greatest confidant, though. She understands his emotional weather and seems to know him inside and out, often challenging him. She takes his vitals, too, because things aren’t going well for Charlie. A victim to his inner torment, he’s grieving the loss of his lover Alan, who died several years back. And his severed relationship with his daughter Ellie continues to be a cause of deep regret. That double emotional whammy has thrust Charlie into feeding his emotions—pretty much—rather than dealing with them head-on.
Now, Charlie’s health is further heading south. He may not live through the week, in fact.
There’s a glimmer of hope, though: Maybe he can reunite with Ellie. Before that inevitable reunion happens, we’re introduced to Thomas (Ty Simpkins) early on, a naive missionary from the New Life church. Over the course of several scenes—and some backlash from a suspicious Liz—Thomas remains intent on helping Charlie in some way. Redeem him, perhaps. Here’s where the script leans into the idea of salvation. Not so much from a heavenly source, but from oneself. Can we, Aronofsky and Hunter seem to ask, forgive ourselves to such a degree that it washes away all—maybe some—of the shame, rage, anger, regret, and guilt we’ve been feeding ourselves?
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About The Acting and Writing
To be sure, Hunter is a creative force. After his play, he went on to serve as a writer and producer on FX’s inspired comedy-drama series Baskets. That series won accolades for its humor, depth, and vibrant actors in visceral performances. Fraser’s mind-bending turn here further shows us Hunter can showcase his characters’ humanity. Although… given the fact that we’re dealing with a film here, rather than a play, it would have been interesting if the filmmakers opened up the space a bit. For instance, we’re instructed to a degree to accept that Charlie is grieving the loss of his lover. All we see is a photo of Charlie’s beau. A flashback or two could have evoked more emotion. It would have made us care even more. The same can be said with Charlie’s past. We know nothing about him—really—other than the fact he’s now obese. If Charlie is suffering from the loss of joy, it would have been nice to experience some of that joy—however brief—in flashbacks.
Regardless, Fraser, who wears a latex suit here—some digital prosthetics were designed by Adrien Morot—loses himself in the role. It’s fascinating, really—the look in his blue eyes, his facial expressions, the guilt he appears to experience whenever he reaches for a candy bar or, worse, when he’s spiraling out of control in a haunting food binge. It’s one of those rare performances where you forget you’re watching an actor. Fraser captures all of Charlie’s nuances—from desperation to childlike wonder—in ways that are stunning.
Some other actors don’t fare that well. Ultimately, they weigh down the film—not an intentional pun. Chau shines. She’s groovy good. Simpkins does an effective job with what he’s given here. It’s Sink and, quite surprisingly, Samantha Morton (Serpent Queen) as Charlie’s ex-wife Mary, that befuddle this reviewer. It’s unclear whether Sink was given specific instructions to overreact rather than, well, “act.” The same can be said for Morton—forgive me, God, because Samantha is one of Britain’s finest actresses. One can only assume that… A) either the characters they portray have been redesigned from the original source material in such a way that they have become too jolting to be effective or… B) both actresses are acting in another movie other than the one we’re experiencing. Regardless, it’s off-putting. Yes, we get Ellie is conflicted about trusting Charlie after he broke up the family. But there’s a big difference between feeling triggered by your parent and simply uncoiling madly in every scene. Morton, who reportedly had a limited time to shoot the role, doesn’t seem to be in the same movie at all. I had visions of her in her own film, playing a single mother trying to move on with her life after her husband came out as gay and left her for a man.
That aside, The Whale should not be missed. Think of it as a film “experience”—one that will sit with you long after you leave the theater. Bottom line: Most films, like art hanging on a wall, offer something compelling, and there’s plenty to savor in The Whale, thanks to Brendan Fraser’s commanding performance.
The Whale hits theaters in December.
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