The Whale

Charlie [is] played brilliantly by Brendan Fraser...

There’s nothing consciously sinister about THE WHALE’s use of Charlie’s eating disorder (the original play was, in fact, written from experience), but Aronofsky’s adaptation is cruel, not just to Charlie’s character, but to all of them.

It’s such a heavy-handed approach that The Whale’s extremity risks alienating the audience from the intention.

The Whale is a moving, enveloping film that, while it very rarely departs from its stage origins, reaches the heights of emotional drama.

The pace is so repetitive, and Charlie’s small cast of visitors keep bursting through the front door so regularly, that his sitting room comes to resemble a bus depot at peak hour.

Ultimately, it alludes to things without adding up to much of anything. Still, the performances are all excellent, and Fraser is especially compelling, bringing a sincerity to Charlie, and an openness and gentleness.

Fraser keeps Charlie’s fully formed humanity at the forefront of The Whale, despite various filmmaking decisions that could flatten his character into a saccharine pity case.

It’s Aronofsky’s most blunt and uninspired work yet— an indulgent and strident slice of misery porn that rides a wave of unearned emotion to its underwhelming conclusion.



If I were to describe this film in one word, it would be melancholy; it is practically flawless, at least in my opinion, and conveys the notion that people are inherently kind...

If you didn’t know that The Whale was based on a play, you’d work it out pretty quickly... The immediate distance that this initially creates soon evaporates, however, in no small part thanks to Fraser’s all-in performance.