In Darren Aronofsky’s The Whale, we are catapulted into a psychological drama and get an up close and personal view on obesity and solitary living. In a story so bleak, it’s tricky to snap your head up. With the help of the actors though, we gain back a sense of humanity.
In The Whale, Brendan Fraser is our tragic protagonist
Brendan Fraser plays Charlie, an online creative writing college professor who has more than let himself go. He’s grimy. Gross. Morbidly obese. And depressed. He’s suffering from binge-eating disorder, brought on by the loss of his partner. The camera never falters from showing never ending close ups of his body. He struggles with every step. It’s uncomfortable. At times it feels voyeuristic, like a horror inspired by Hitchcock. Here we are staring at man nearing death and we look with pity.
There’s controversy with the ethics of body prosthetics so Fraser can look 600 pounds. However, the actor can relate to the emotional and physical weight of Charlie, sharing his own struggles with weight gain and abandoning the Hollywood public eye.
After several years without Brendan Fraser on movie screens, it’s a big homecoming to see him excel. We spend a lot of time focused on Charlie’s inner turmoil. Fraser lets his thoughts transpire on his face, with a longing sadness. But the moments most delicate to me are his shimmers of happiness or passion Charlie shares. It’s all Brendan Fraser shining through.
The Whale gets stuck at times, but performances oil the film’s movement
The Whale is adapted from the play of the same name by Samuel D. Hunter. The setting feels trapped, like we can only witness the four walls of Charlie’s apartment. There’s minimal shots of the outside world. It makes sense as a set up for a stage production, where everything can take place in one location. But then maybe we’re supposed to feel suffocated just like Charlie. Years of grief and guilt have led him to a dangerous physical and mental health struggle.
With only one apartment as our view, some scenes are stale, with very little action or movement. It’s the knack of the performers to push past moments and breathe life back into an audience member like me.
Sadie Sink displays the beginnings of an illustrious career
Sadie Sink plays Ellie, a character isolated and downright full of angst and hate that she would scare off her Stranger Things character Max, who is quite standoffish and argumentative. She starts off right away spewing insults at Charlie. She’s a teenager. Her father left her when she was 8-years-old. And she’s pissed off. It’s a deadly combination as she squares off with Charlie, who just wants to spend time with her.
Sink displays troubled teen like it’s second nature for her. We earn brief moments of Ellie’s vulnerability throughout that’s soon replaced by anger. However, at the end, we see an emotional climax from Sadie Sink that encompassed me into a cathartic release.
Not one character exhibits a pure moral compass
The young man and missionary Eider Thomas (Ty Simpkins) acts as a plot device more than a person. He continues to return to Charlie’s home piquing the interest of him and his daughter Sadie. But what more is he then a symbol of the hypocrite of religion? He’s so close to understanding this hypocrisy, but alas, like real life, he’s still stuck in his ideals. However, he is a vessel to show that Ellie is not downright and evil. In her convoluted messed up way, she “saves his life.” Ellie is far from doomed.
Hong Chau evokes hope in humanity as Liz, a nurse friend of Charlie’s who comes to his need, whether it’s delivering Charlie’s food, checking his health, or lending an ear to his sorrows. She’s almost Elder Thomas’s foil. She shares her own personal distaste of the religion based on devastating moments in her life. She’s not entirely absolved of responsibility though, arguing over Charlie’s refusal to go to the hospital while simultaneously aiding his food addiction.
A brief scene between Charlie and his ex-wife Mary (Samantha Morton) proves that Charlie has made mistakes and so has she. No one is perfect, but rather they must face the painful choices they made.
Ruminating the effect of The Whale
I can’t seem to get The Whale off my mind, even weeks out of the screening. Grief has a way of taking a hold and washing over me in waves. Maybe its my own grief. My own reflection on my personal relationships. Or maybe it’s the body horror disguised as a lesson on last chances. Whatever it is, it still has me reeling. And I don’t think it will ever stop.
