At this year’s Venice Film Festival, Brendan Fraser received a lengthy standing ovation. His new film, The Whale, just premiered, and the festival crowd simply would not let him sit down. Their gesture moved him to tears, a signal that suggests that Fraser is “returning” to show business after a lengthy absence. Of course, he has been around for years, memorably appearing in several recent TV shows, but don’t tell that to the passionate Venice fans who love a good narrative. That kind of love fest is kind of thing that can start a backlash, and indeed beyond Venice many critics have been harsh on the film. It is a dizzying cycle to follow, but now that the film is finally reaching ordinary viewers, they will find something between both extremes. The Whale is not rapturous, nor is it a boondoggle, but rather a moving drama about how ordinary people deal with their pain.
Fraser plays Charlie, a morbidly obese man who lives alone in Idaho and makes a living by teaching composition courses online. Darren Aronofsky, who directed the film, had a fat suit specifically built for Fraser. It is convincing, suggesting an unhealthy size, while still giving the actor the full ability to use his open, expressive face. When we first see Charlie lumber from the couch to the bathroom, we sense how dangerous his weight has become, something echoed by his friend and caretaker Liz (Hong Chau), who shares his vital signs with alarm. Other visitors include Thomas (Ty Simpkins), a missionary who believes the end is nigh, and Charlie’s estranged daughter, Ellie (Sadie Sink). Liz is not shy about her prognosis: she says Charlie is dying, and the film counts off each day as he draws inexorably closer to his doom. For his part, Charlie seems relieved by the end, and yet he also wants to set things right with his daughter.
The most important thing to know about The Whale is writer Samuel D. Hunter adapted the screenplay from his own stage version. Aronofsky has made little attempt to open up the story beyond Charlie’s apartment, so the whole thing is claustrophobic. In fact, the opening scene is unabashedly stagey: Thomas barges in on Charlie, who is masturbating to porn and nearly has a heart attack until Thomas reads Charlie’s most prized possession – an essay about Moby Dick – which calms his down. This kind of opening is common to modern theater, insofar that many plays open on a vulnerable incident to plunge the audience into unreality, instead of easing them in.
In Aronofsky’s hands, this film adaptation is relatively awkward because the movie screen already creates a sense of unreality, and there is no visceral surprise to seeing actors before us. He is a skilled filmmaker, and yet he does not have an intuitive knack for directing a play. He has only so many places he can put the camera, and his instinct is to add variety in camera placement when a more distant approach, one that lets the actors do their thing with fewer cuts, may have created a greater sense of immersion. Some parts in The Whale can be awkward, which leads one to wonder how someone like Mike Nichols or Sidney Lumet could have handled the same material.
Camera placement notwithstanding, the film is bluntly effective thanks to the juxtaposition of body horror and Fraser’s performance, which mostly revolves around Charlie’s intelligence and shyness. There are some intense moments, like a bout where Charlie – all in his anger and disgust – keeps eating junk until he vomits. But mostly Charlie is quiet and desperate, the sort of man who realizes there is no hope for him and yet yearns for others to see him as more than just a fatso. That desperation is acute during the scenes with Ellie, who is in high school and treats Charlie with open contempt. Her hostility is jarring, and yet through the course of the film we come to understand it better, mostly through Charlie and Ellie litigating the past. Sink is a convincing as an angsty teenager, while as Liz, Chau is more of an audience conduit. She observes and scolds, though not too harshly, because she knows he would then withdraw.
The Whale is not subtle about its metaphors. You may recall “The Whale” is the alternate title for Moby Dick, a story about man’s quest to dominate nature, and we hear the aforementioned essay so many times it may as well have been written about Charlie. The lack of subtlety is not a criticism, and it is central to the film’s overarching themes. Every character is hurting, in one way or another, and they use their chosen vices to fill the void so they distract themselves from not feeling whole. Charlie eats, Ellie smokes pot, Thomas has God, and so on. The Whale can be relentless in its depiction of gluttony as a means of self-flagellation, an idea that builds to its final minutes that suggest transcendence is the only solution for someone constantly circling their mortality. There is no happy ending for Charlie, and in one moment where he can finally show others he’s a man who deserves dignity, perhaps that is enough.
Photo courtesy of A24
The post The Whale appeared first on Spectrum Culture.