In true Darren Aronofsky fashion, few films have generated more controversy this year than The Whale, which delivers something plenty of audiences have long wanted -a powerhouse comeback for beloved 90s icon Brendan Fraser- in a form that they probably didn’t -an adaptation of a play about a chronically obese man that has even before this movie was announced been at the centre of critical conversations around fatphobia and the depiction of obese people in media. Debates like these are typically exhausting, and some would have the verdict in on The Whale before it even saw wide release Christmas weekend. Aronofksy et al ought to have been prepared for it, the subject matter is touchy, especially around the application of a fat-suit to Fraser, and the movies’ premise is not grounded in a particularly flattering light, regardless of what the message may be. I do have a few observations around the subject as Aronofsky chooses to portray it, but it’s not what is at the root of The Whale’s shortcomings.
That said, the movie begins with Fraser’s Charlie reading aloud an essay on Moby-Dick that expresses sympathy for the white whale, clearly connecting the supposed monster of that story with himself. He’s a college English professor teaching an online course wherein he keeps his webcam off at all times. He lives alone in a decrepit apartment, is estranged from his wife and teenage daughter after having left them some years prior for a male student, and his only friendship is with his nurse Liz, played by Hong Chau, always trying to get him to the hospital against his bitter defiance.
The dingy apartment is the films’ only setting, as a handful of figures come into Charlie’s domain repeatedly over a week that begins with Charlie being assessed at severe risk of chronic heart failure. It’s quickly apparent that he is anticipating death, and is as such attempting to make some amends at last, with his daughter and with himself spiritually. Ty Simpkins plays Thomas, a New Church evangelist with the religious organization that drove Charlie’s partner to suicide, yet whose proselytizing is tolerated by Charlie for curiosity and a genuine desire for spiritual fulfillment. Meanwhile Ellie, played by Sadie Sink, having no desire for a rekindled relationship, is paid to be there, and even accounting for her justified feelings of abandonment and betrayal towards her father, is a particularly nasty and mean-spirited girl -most of the in-text fatphobia and homophobia comes courtesy of her.
The script, by the plays’ original author Samuel D. Hunter, endeavours to find dimension in these relationships and achieves it a little for Thomas, who is shown to have at least some sense of personal ethics divorced from the church he serves. But largely this fails in regards to Ellie, who is rarely allowed to exhibit the depth of vulnerability Sink is clearly aching to give her. At best, there are a few fleeting moments of consideration between her snapping evidence for blackmail or psychologically extorting Charlie or Thomas. Nothing is built to earn Charlie’s unwavering faith in her -rather everything he says or does for her is only pitiful. Neither Ellie nor Thomas feel particularly believable either, their dialogue with Charlie or each other motivated rather plainly by the needs of the scene or a theme at hand; and it makes for talking points that can seem abrupt and manufactured. Its’ exemplified notably every time Ellie is prompted by Charlie to write something in her notebook, which he unremittingly praises for its’ honesty no matter how vile; and in how she is far too quick to launch into vigorous anti-religious ranting the moment she meets Thomas.
Sink and Simpkins deliver well, but they’ve got nothing on Chau, who not only plays a more strongly defined, interesting, and likeable character, but brings a wealth of pathos to it. Liz is the only person to genuinely show concern for Charlie’s well-being, or to even care about him in general, marking her as a breath of resonant compassion amidst so much apathy or posturing. Her conversations, her pain resonate so much more palpably. Samantha Morton comes in for a single scene late in the film as Charlie’s ex-wife and displays some care as well. This was a text made for performances and the actors cast make the most of it, Chau especially. But of course we have to talk about Fraser, which means we have to talk about the elephant in the room -a near literal statement in this case.
First off, Fraser is terrific, which is no real shock. He was never in a lot of great movies during his heyday, but for what the roles required, he was always capable of meeting the demands -whether the outrageous silliness of Looney Tunes: Back in Action or the no less silly but charismatic confidence of The Mummy. In the past few years he’s proven to be a remarkable character actor with a wide range (remember No Sudden Move?); and so the depth of feeling and poignancy he brings to Charlie is expected. And it comes despite the fat suit, not because of it. In fact it is a testament to his skills that he can overcome its’ hindrance, because the suit is a monster that every moment he’s not sunk into the couch threatens to distract from everything else going on in the scene.
And that is where a fundamental problem occurs. For whatever good intentions the films’ text may have towards Charlie, it represents him aesthetically as though he were the Elephant Man. The frame treats him like a curiosity as it foregrounds his obesity, draws attention to his enormous girth, the limitations of his mobility, and the way he eats carnivorously. In just about every scene Charlies’ clothes are a mess of sweat stains and we’re privy to his nudity once so as to see the fat unencumbered. His condition is also directly tied to a lack of hygiene or cleanliness in the apartment, and by that the dank atmosphere of the whole piece. Much as the movie may discuss his sad backstory with the cult-like church, his alienation from his family, and the death of his partner, it is most tangibly the obesity that defines his tragedy. And along with it is an unmistakable air of indictment because he did it to himself. Aronofsky accentuates this by shooting the pressure of his weight harshly, and especially the scenes in which he does over-eat or when he nearly chokes on a sandwich, sure to emphasize the mess of detritus on his counter or clothes. There is little permitted the average audience member to relate to when the obesity becomes in effect the spectacle. A scene even happens where people stare gaping in awe of it. What sensitivity is conjured by Aronofsky’s camera is at best pity, at worst, well… In one scene Charlie has a rare heated exchange with Thomas whom he dares to call him “disgusting”, to which Thomas dramatically relents. The movie may dare us to share that sentiment too, validating it through Charlie’s own feelings on the matter.
There’s a way in which Charlie’s analytical intellect and love of poetry is depicted in contrast to his hulking form that evokes that tropey ‘competency as compensation for disability’. Nonetheless, Aronofsky is interested by this material, and even more so by the way it permits the religious commentary -ever a director to incorporate Biblical allusions. There’s a way to read this movie with Charlie as a Christ-figure, certainly the ending supports it, but it’s a weaker use of the faith-focused material next to the movies’ curiosity with how faith works as a motivator in variously distinct contexts. Thomas is consumed by it, Liz is highly disillusioned by it, Ellie exploits it as a weapon, and Charlie is compelled by its’ capacity for meaning. Interesting conversations do come out of this theme, but not to any transformational or all that revelatory an end; Aronofsky and Hunter in fact struggle to justify its’ vast significance for the purpose of a story like this.
Never does it do much to alleviate the dourness of the situation, and of the movie as a whole -which is pretty on brand for Aronofsky at this point. But his movies are typically more artistically interesting. I didn’t much like mother!, but there was at least something compelling enough in its’ imagery and ambition to warrant scrutiny. The Whale doesn’t demand that, even with its’ occasional bouts of existentialism. The pervading tone of misery and pity-infused empathy, exacerbated by Charlie’s depression and Ellie’s casual cruelty, makes it an unpleasant movie to watch. And there’s not substance there to bear it out. Brendan Fraser may well win an Oscar for The Whale, and that is sadly just about its’ only purpose.
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