The Whale

There's nothing subtle about The Whale, the latest work from one of the film world's foremost active auteurs, and depending on how you choose to approach the story, it can be both instantly disgusting as well as instantly intriguing in terms of the subject matter it deals with. This is of course nothing new when it comes to Aronofsky, whose previous films are known watersheds. Few other directors have the same capacity to both provoke and engage. Mother, Black Swan, The Wrestler, and Requiem for a Dream are all incredibly pale, emotionally resonant films that convey their stories through a lens of surreal melodrama. The Whale, in stark contrast, comes across as far more down-to-earth and sentimental, but also crushingly bleak in its portrayal of its central character Charlie.

In what could very well be his last days of life, we follow Charlie, a severely overweight man filled with self-pity and grief. Not only over the situation he has put himself in, but also the many events that have brought it all about. This is a man whose life has been lost to addiction and bitterness with a daughter who can no longer bear or care for him. Charlie lives a hopeless, twisting everyday life and has seemingly accepted his fate after his partner's suicide. He is simply at the end of his rope. But life has a way of surprising, and so it does in the darkest of moments. A passing Christian missionary who nearly saves his life, combined with an unexpected visit from his daughter Ellie, is the start of some kind of redemption. A second and final chance for Charlie.

Complex character drama is a theme that comes as a familiar one to those who have followed Darren Aronofsky's career. Each individual is defined by their problems, be they physical or psychological, and Aronofsky always shines with his ever-accurate fingertip insight into self-destructive personality traits. Charlie, played in outstanding fashion by Brendan Fraser, offers a remarkably nuanced portrayal with no hint of sensationalism whatsoever. More than anything else, The Whale is about human addiction and the prisons people construct for themselves on various levels. It is a very honest and stripped down production where the dark, oppressive environments around it become a reflection of the mental health of the characters and especially Charlie.

It's remarkable how well Fraser's unexpectedly warm, multifaceted performance elevates The Whale from brilliance to something exceptional, and Charlie's oversized figure stands as one of the year's most unforgettable characters. But Fraser is not alone in The Whale and both Sadie Sink as his daughter and Samantha Mortons as his alcoholic ex-wife are scene-stealers in their roles, offering much-needed contrast and immediacy. Sink's resemblance to Fraser also helps, not especially in the way the two actors convey emotion through their eyes, which are frighteningly similar. It's an incredibly clever casting that allows Sink to really show what she's made of.

Whether you as a viewer choose to sympathise with Charlie or not is highly individual and The Whale is by no means a film you would voluntarily choose to sit back and watch. For as with so many of Aronofsky's other works, the experience is a palpably difficult and uncomfortable one that challenges us to look beyond our preconceptions. It's a film of hope sprung from the darkest of places, a study of the human condition in all its guises, and a devastatingly emotional journey that leaves a enduring, deeply memorable impression even if it's not necessarily a comfortable one.