THE WHALE Review

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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 hardto-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 awarddemanding 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.

In a career-best performance, Brendan Fraser turns Darren Aronofsky’s apartment-bound drama about an unhappy English teacher crippled by obesity and his daughter’s distance into a classic piece of filmmaking whose emotions are truly immense.