“Do you ever get the feeling that people are incapable of not caring”

The king has returned.

Moving, difficult, and deeply affecting; Brendan Fraser is a sight to behold in Darren Aronofsky's 2022 drama, The Whale. A story about love and the ability to see beauty in even the most ugly of places, Fraser’s brilliant performance is both a love letter to his fans and a strong showing of empathy and acceptance for himself. When the world beats you down and even the unknown forces that pull its strings seem to be against you, there are always two ways out: You can either firmly believe in the good and the beauty of those around you, or you can lash out and try to keep everything so far away that it can never hurt you again.

Which would you choose?

In The Whale we follow Charlie as he struggles with years of self-neglect and isolation that have left him in a nearly immobile state. He’s dying, he knows it, and all he wants to do is reconnect with his estranged daughter; to help her understand that things are not as bad as they may seem. Life is hard and people are harder, but that only makes our defiance of the odds that much more meaningful. The film is challenging, frightening, upsetting, and maybe a little busier than it needed to be; but it is a profoundly reflective journey through what it means to be alive in a world that only values what you provide, instead of who you are.

Lead by the already mentioned Brendan Fraser in a role that speaks to a much deeper calamity than that of this filmed work of fiction, The Whale is one of those films that [for lack of an avoidable pun] is significantly heavier than the sum of its parts. It’s a little uneven at times, featuring some characters that add runtime more than they do depth, some performances that feel like they belong on a stage rather than a film, and a few strange plot choices that drag on longer than they should or don’t feature in ways impactful enough for their wider meanings. That being said, The Whale wraps its tail around you and drags you down to the darkest depths of the ocean, simply to blow you sky high with appreciation, love, and beauty by the end.

Adapted from a play, Whale’s cinematography and set design are clever at their weakest and brilliant on average. As those spaces fill with the tragic hope of Fraser’s performance, we are constantly led and corralled by a score from Rob Simonsen that I am absolutely flabbergasted is not nominated for an Oscar. While I don’t think this film is as intensely devastating as 2017’s A Ghost Story, what it has to say about inner beauty and the power of leading an honest existence is certainly profound nonetheless.

Guilt is a powerful motive and a frightening weapon. There are things we cannot let go because, without them, we either cease to be who we are or the people we have wronged, or left, or loved, or lost… simply cease to be entirely. People make mistakes. And, though those mistakes can be hurtful, sometimes the only way to move on… is to leave. Though… more often, the best way to move on, is to forgive, and embrace, and love; despite the hurt and the loss and the anger.

“You are the best thing that I’ve ever done.”