I hate tear jerkers, not because I'm so manly (I hate football too)- but because I don't appreciate the attempt at being so obviously manipulated, emotionally or otherwise. And everyone in The Whale, and I mean everyone, has the reddest, teariest eyes in all Hollywood, all deep within the weight of their own personal suffering. That said, this is one of the best flicks I've seen in a long, long time...
Brendan Fraser plays Charlie, a morbidly obese, failed father struggling for redemption while slowly but proactively committing suicide. We're thrust into his claustrophobic world and never leave it for the entirety of the movie- and we are never bored. The movie does an incredible job of recreating a home dominated by one's chronic illness: the age long grime and creases in the furnishings, the monocolor gloom- you can smell the staleness of the air...
Eventually, it becomes clear why Charlie's devoted nurse and friend (Hong Chau- the stem maitre d' in The Menu) is so forgiving and understanding; he has a face (oh, what a face!) that simply defies animosity, and a personality to match- despite his major fuck up(s), like neglecting his relationship with his daughter (Sadie Sink- a major acting tour de force in her own right).
It's amazing how a whole lifetime of hurt and experience can be encapsulated into one small apartment already bursting at the seams from its one occupant, all in one week's time, but Darren Aronofsky achieves just that.
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