The Whale
Darren Aronofsky directs a very special episode of My 600-Lb Life
Brendan Fraser does his best to right The Whale.
Charlie (Brendan Fraser) teaches his class from a black box. He tells his online students his camera is broken, but it isn’t. He’s disabled the camera because he worries that his morbidly obese appearance will provoke a negative reaction from them.
But Charlie’s got bigger problems.
His heart is failing, and he has perhaps a week to live. This deadline makes Charlie look back at his life and the choices he’s made. He’s determined to reach his daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink), who’s still furious at him for coming out as gay and leaving the family to be with the man he loved.
But how can one make an impact when you can’t leave the house?
Society has long made a sport of leering at fat people. From the sideshows of the Victorian era to My 600-Lb Life, people who don’t conform to the norms of society are often held up for sneering inspection. ‘At least I don’t look like that’ the punters think as they pay their fare to ogle something different.
Like Blonde, The Whale’s biggest problem is a director who mistakes cynical exploitation for inventive truth-telling. Director Darren Aronofsky has decided to slap a dingy filter on the whole sideshow spectacle and demand awards for it. Aronofsky has long been obsessed with themes of God and leering at people with troubles. His pitiless style is often excused as edgy, but with The Whale he truly reaches new heights. The results are weirdly gross and strangely boring. Aronofsky wants to exploit the bits of Charlie he finds disgusting while feeling superior to the looky-loos who would agree with him by reminding us that he also sees Charlie as a *gasp* person! It’s some revolutionary stuff from the guy who also brought us the “Baby’s First Allegory” film that was Mother!.
The issue is that Aronofsky is clearly reveling in making Charlie repulsive. He wants the audience to cringe and look away, so he can scold them for doing so. That’s why Aronofsky cranks up the soundtrack when Charlie eats, making the wet chewing noises nearly unbearable. The floorboards creak ominously as Charlie lurches through his home, Aronofsky letting the camera linger on the enormous latex suit he’s outfitted Fraser in. Everyone in the film, save for his stalwart friend Liz (Hong Chau), reacts to Charlie as if he’s a monster. Even the pizza guy flees in terror. While it certainly fits with Aronofsky’s sensibilities, it seems odd that no one in the film has ever encountered an overweight person before – even in the service industry.
The movie isn’t helped by writer Samuel D. Hunter, who adapts his play. The film compares Charlie to the white whale of Moby Dick (hence the title). Like the whale in the book, Charlie represents something different to everyone. His daughter Ellie sees him as something hateful to be abused. His friend Liz views him as a pitiful pure creature. The missionary that stops by to bother him views saving Charlie’s soul as his chance at glory.
But through it all, no one seems to know Charlie, including the movie. He begins in a literal black box and spends the movie working toward entering the light. We get drips of his story — he came out late in life and tragically lost his partner — but Charlie seems to exist as an object to take abuse. His daughter is monstrous to him and he smiles at her while telling her she’s wonderful. It’s as if Charlie’s Christlike figure exists in the film to die for our sins. Because if Aronofsky is going to accept the existence of a fat person, they’d better be Jesus.
All of this thoughtless leering and oversimplified writing is a shame because Fraser is working overtime to save The Whale from total disaster. He offers a truly heartfelt performance. His Charlie is a man desperate for validation and redemption. Even as he smiles through his daughter’s vitriol, you can see the pain in his eyes. It’s an emotional role, and one that could have been even keener had Fraser not been hampered by mountains of latex in his fat suit. Hopefully, this performance will lead to other directors offering Fraser a chance to show off his abilities in movies worth his talents.
The Whale is a bad idea done poorly. It’s an example of why directors and writers need at least some form of empathy to effectively tell a story. While it could have been the tender tale of a man who seeks connection and understanding, The Whale ends up bloated and beached, gasping for air while people point and stare.
Verdict: The Whale isn’t so much a movie as an act of masochism.
The Whale is rated R and available in theaters.
