It’s been hailed as Brendan Fraser’s comeback and earned him an Oscar nom - but this movie doesn’t do enough justice to his talent. Photo / AP
It’s been hailed as Brendan Fraser’s comeback and earned him an Oscar nom - but this movie doesn’t do enough justice to his talent. Photo / AP
Review by Wenlei Ma
REVIEW:
If The Whale wasn’t responsible for Brendan Fraser’s comeback, how would we be considering Darren Aronofsky’s challenging drama?
Aronofsky has always been something of a provocateur. From addiction film Requiem for a Dream’s bleakness to biblical allegory Mother’s violence, he’s a filmmaker who was never content with a simple story.
In some ways, The Whale is one of his most accessible narratives, not draped in obscured metaphors that demand you work out “what it all means” before you can even consider its value.
In other ways, The Whale is one of his most testing works – an intimidating movie which deliberately provokes repulsion but judges you for feeling unease.
Aronofsky wants to goad audiences into thinking about their preconceptions of human value, and about those we cruelly dismiss. It’s challenging an existing orthodoxy: that obesity is entirely an issue of so-called personal responsibility rather than a complex emotional and health concern.
But it’s such a heavy-handed approach that The Whale’s extremity risks alienating the audience from the intention.
The Whale has been hailed as Brendan Fraser’s comeback. Photo / AP
What delivers The Whale from its worst impulses is Fraser’s extraordinarily compassionate performance.
As Charlie, a morbidly obese man who has hidden himself from the world, Fraser challenges the audience to perceive the character as someone with worth, and an inner life.
Charlie is a literature professor who conducts his classes over Zoom – he lies to his students and says his webcam doesn’t work. Charlie can’t move without the assistance of a walker, unable to shift his mass around his two-bedroom, second-floor apartment.
His only person-to-person contact is with his friend Liz (Hong Chau), the sister of his lover who died some years earlier. Liz is a nurse and tells Charlie that he is at risk of imminent heart failure if he doesn’t go to a hospital, but he refuses, citing his inability to pay for his healthcare.
Charlie knows he’s near the end, and desperately wants to reconnect with his estranged daughter, Ellie (Sadie Sink). At the same time, a young missionary named Thomas (Ty Simpkins) shows up his life, preaching from the same church which excommunicated Charlie’s lover for being gay.
The Whale is a relatively contained, character-driven story, taking place over a few days and all within the confines of Charlie’s apartment. That gives it a certain staginess it never quite transcends.
The emotional core of the film looks to be Charlie and Ellie’s relationship. She’s a prickly, sh*t-stirring teen teeming with resentment for the dad who abandoned her eight years earlier, while his greatest desire is to know she’ll be okay after he’s gone.
But their relationship feels very one-dimensional and lacks the nuance of Charlie and Liz’s friendship. Liz is the most distinct and well-drawn character in the ensemble.
Sadie Sink as Ellie. Photo / A24 Films
Do you judge Liz, a medical professional who should “know better”, for bringing Charlie two foot-long subs full of saturated fats? Or do you understand that human relationships have more shades than “should”?
She cares for him, she despairs for him and she’s frustrated by him. She’s also already grieving for a friend who is still here.
It’s Chau’s performance, along with Fraser and a small role by Samantha Morton, that carries The Whale. These extraordinarily empathetic portrayals contrasts with The Whale’s otherwise overwrought tone.
The scenes which challenge the most are the multiple depictions of Charlie eating, often not chewing but inhaling large amounts of nutritionally poor food. Aronofsky goes full tilt here – drawers overflowing with snacks, Charlie drooling, sweating and wheezing.
These are the scenes where it feels as if Aronofsky is provoking everyone to judge – “isn’t he disgusting?” – but only to judge the audience for reacting exactly how they’ve been manipulated into feeling. It’s kind of nasty.
That maximalist approach often unspools the compassion built up over other scenes, or in Fraser’s performance.
For a movie that aims to paint a complex picture of human value, it too often goes for the cheap kicks.
