The Whale – 2.5/5
We judge fat people because it distracts us from our own lives? Okay. They have a hole that no amount of food can fill, and they, in turn, satiate our own hunger for the same. But to get there, we pass slowly—trudgingly—through this maudlin one-room stage. It's uninventive. It's poorly acted. It's Brendan Fraser in a fat suit. It's Hallmark optimism in the face of an uncompromising, unapproachable hunger. Give me something more substantial, says the hole in the center of existence. Feed me. Charlie wants to see one right thing in his life, so puts all his weight on an irredeemable piece of shit. But I'm honestly not sure if we're really supposed to see the good in her? I am unclear. I feel like Aronofsky wants me to see through the sweat and the fat and the black stains growing on their back, and I can swim just about halfway, seeing an outline in the mist on the hungry sea — is that a shadow of the behemoth coming up for air, or just another in a long line of delusions? Thin line between that and hope, I guess. Charlie is Ahab, not the whale.
Ugh, fuck, did I just rationalize my way into realizing what this movie is really about? Fuuuuuuuck.
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Update, from a day later. I do think that I cracked it with that last little bit. Aronofsky's an interesting filmmaker, and credit is due him that he'd make something more than what's on the surface. And so I'm at a crossroads: I did not enjoy my experience of watching The Whale. But in writing my way towards an evaluation, I've written my way towards a reason to re-evaluate. I don't think I'll watch the movie again any time soon, but I have reason now to, someday, give it another chance through another lens. The father, delusional towards what his daughter is. The daughter, delusional towards her chances in life. The mother, and also the enabler, delusional to their parts to play. And the zealot, delusional towards his prince from on high. All of them little Ahabs chasing their own whale of a tale.
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