Darren Aronofsky’s films are an eclectic lot, spinning wildly from studio Biblical mash-ups like Noah to the outer fringes of psychological horror in the hard-to-describe mother! The Whale is something else again. Based on Samuel D. Hunter’s play (and screenplay) about a man so obese he can barely stand up, yet so positive towards the life that is slipping away from him that his imminent death matters terribly, it grabs the viewer by the heart for two devastating hours.
Even people who are normally allergic to filmed theater will be so caught up in the physical realism of the drama, they will overlook the paucity of scenery. And there is that: the action, set entirely inside the man’s apartment, is further restricted to a few bookish rooms, augmenting empathy for his physical limitations. Not to mention a perfectly square screen ratio, which has the constant subliminal effect of compressing space for the roving handheld camerawork. And yet the film doesn’t feel actually claustrophobic.
This is certainly an award-demanding performance by Brendan Fraser, who has never had such a stage from which to project his intelligence and humanity. Wrapped head to toe in a latex prosthetic costume of flesh of impressive proportions, his dignified English teacher Charlie has the warmth and kindness of John Hurt’s Elephant Man, while his grotesque appearance repulses strangers and even his own daughter. The “explanation” for his obesity is that after the demise of his partner Alan, he let himself go – visualized in a sickening scene of binge eating, when he already knows he is one step away from a heart attack.
Alan’s sister Liz (a memorably riveting Hong Chau) is his bulwark and constant visitor. Her obvious loyalty and affection for Charlie is tempered by the tough love of a registered nurse, and she is as upset as he is to find his heartbeat failing and his blood pressure off the charts. They both know he has only days to live, especially since he refuses to go to the hospital for treatment because he has no money or health insurance and would have to go tens of thousands of dollars into debt. But this is not quite true, as we learn farther into the story in one of the many theatrical revelations that change our perception of Charlie and his difficult relationship with his 16-year-old daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink.) Red-haired and fiery, Sink renders Ellie one of the most wayward and furious offspring in recent film memory, a vindictive spitfire with zero nuances, whose own mother (Samantha Morton) calls her “evil” for her cruel social media posts.
But Charlie’s saintly patience and paternal love refuse to see the incorrigibly dark side of his daughter, whom he abandoned when he fell in love with Alan and left the family. Above all, his aching inner loneliness fixates on Ellie as the one person he has to redeem before he goes. Bribing her with the promise of a large sum of money, he convinces the princess to stop by once a day while he rewrites her English essays. Of course, this is his profession, but there is one particular essay on Moby Dick that obsesses him and that he would like to share with her. Hunter’s screenplay does a marvelous job introducing the whale meme from the start and allowing it to weave itself organically into the story as a touching literary counterpoint to Charlie’s physical plight.
But there is also a spiritual side to his entrapment in the flesh that struggles – rather unsuccessfully – to break through. As Charlie is floundering on the sofa in the beginning of a heart attack, a knock on the door brings a young man into his life. Thomas (Ty Simpkins), dressed in a suit and tie with neatly combed hair, is a Bible thumper from New Life, an end-of-time cult that reviles homosexuality and had a lot to do with Alan’s death. As it happens, Charlie’s heart attack is precipitated by watching a gay porn scene, which is still on his laptop when the boy rushes in. The recurrent appearance of this curious fellow introduces the theme of salvation and a question that eventually is spoken out loud: can anyone really save another person? Given what the film shows us, the obvious answer would be a resounding no – until the final exultant moments turn that around.
Outside of theatrical messaging, however, The Whale should work as a powerful emotional experience for most audiences, who will be entranced by Fraser’s extraordinary humanity as he struggles with the repugnant visualization of a life-threatening illness, one in which mental and corporeal elements intertwine and meld. Aronofsky is not shy about pushing his actors to the limits of sweat and pain and tears, yet it is only in the final moments that the viewer is likely to share their feelings.
What is subtle is the way Fraser gradually builds up layers in this portrait of a great soul, from the first English lesson his deep, self-confident voice imparts to his online class (his own face is invisible in a black box) to his final certainties about the Ellie’s worth and destiny.
Apart from the makeup team and prosthetic artists who deserve huge kudos for the realism of their work, the expressivity of D.P. Matthew Libathique and editor Andrew Wiseblum, who have been with the director since Black Swan, contributes substantially to the imposing physicality of the film. Rob Simonsen’s score is right on cue, fully participating in and upping the dramatic moments with its orchestral verve.
Director: Darren Aronofsky
Screenplay: Samuel D. Hunter based on his play
Cast: Brendan Fraser, Sadie Sink, Ty Simpkins, Hong Chau, Samantha Morton
Producers: Darren Aronofsky, Ari Handel, Jeremy Dawson
Cinematography: Matthew Libathique
Editing: Andrew Wiseblum
Production design: Mark Friedberg
Costume design: Danny Glicker
Music: Rob Simonsen
Production companies: Protozoa Pictures
World Sales: A24
Venue: Venice Film Festival (Competition)
In English
117 minutes
