Every few years, there is a film that comes along that is so striking and ambitious, the process of leaving the cinema is nearly impossible, whether it be the result of awe-inspired wonder, or the abundance of emotions that wash over the viewer. The Whale was a very difficult film to walk away from – as those credits rolled, I found myself firmly planted in my seat, aghast and inspired by the humanistic spectacle I had just witnessed. This is a film designed to stir the discourse, and from its first moment it is courting controversy, which isn’t made any easier by the forthright depiction of a subject that still remains quite difficult to discuss. Darren Aronofsky’s adaptation of Samuel D. Hunter’s fascinating stageplay of the same title is quite an achievement, and a film that has evoked so many passionate responses on both sides of the extreme, it seems to have been constructed specifically to provoke a particular reaction, whether positive or negative. The story of a morbidly obese English teacher realizing that he is living on borrowed time, and choosing to spend whatever days (or even hours) he has left showing his appreciation to those who have stood by him over the years, as well as reconnecting with the people with whom he had lost contact, including his ex-wife and daughter, is essentially one that is intentional in its forthright commitment to a major issue, and one that is not afraid of taking a few chances, knowing that the reward will be far more impactful than the mixed emotions we may encounter while watching it. It is a peculiar story for a director like Aronofsky to tackle, since he is someone who is more interested in taking bold swings with his films – but when you look just beneath the surface, you can easily see the elements that attracted him to this material, and the resulting film may not be one of his most traditionally ambitious films (although considering his previous film was mother!, it’s easy to understand why he chose something more subdued), but it has many of the bespoke qualities that we have come to appreciate about Aronofsky, who proves to be one of the most unexpectedly brilliant investigators of the human condition, with The Whale joining The Wrestler as his most poignant examination of the lives of those who exist on the outskirts, and the various challenges they encounter, whether it is in terms of their identity or social situation, all of which is woven beautifully into this harrowing but deeply moving psychological drama.

There was immediate controversy when The Whale was announced, and perhaps it may be inappropriate to use this turn of phrase in this context, but it is important to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Representation matters more than many would care to admit – and while we have seen many exceptionally insightful works that tackle issues such as race, gender and sexuality, there has been a shortage of stories told about those who are from other marginalized communities. In this instance, we find ourselves confronted with Charlie, a man who has put himself in a position where he is beyond the point of salvation, at least physically – after the death of his partner, he begins to engage in the perilous act of binge eating as a means to comfort himself, which has been shown to be one of the leading causes of obesity amongst adults. Immediately, we can understand the apprehension many had about this film, since the subject matter is extremely controversial. Yet, we have to wonder whether this reluctance stems less from the topic itself is potentially dangerous, and more from the fact that there is a taboo that surrounds obesity, where it is not something that should be viewed favourably in any way, and where efforts to create a comparison between representation of size, which is often viewed as being the result of poor decisions, and stories that examine subjects like race and sexuality (which are indelible markers that one simply cannot change), are not welcome. However, The Whale defies these criticisms, and delivers an achingly beautiful story about a man who has been driven to the point where he can no longer function in society, since there is a stigma attached to weight that is impossible to shed, especially for those who exist on either side of the extreme (and which this film does investigate quite thoroughly), and has been forced to shut himself away from public view. It’s a challenging subject, and one that required a masterful hand behind the camera – and the collaboration between Aronofsky and his longtime cinematographer Matthew Libatique, was important in bringing this story to life, since it is often quite difficult to take a play (especially one set in a single location), and make it not only appear cinematic, but have an artistic resonance, which comes through in both the narrative and its visual execution, which work in tandem in the construction of this powerful adaptation of Hunter’s play.

One of the merits that helps The Whale define itself is its refusal to beat around the bush. Any film that looks at a marginalized community is bound to be most effective when it isn’t hiding behind euphemisms and implications. Aronofsky makes sure that this adaptation doesn’t lose the thornier elements of the original play, which can sometimes border on quite challenging in how it depicts obesity. This manifests mostly in the use of direct language – the physical appearance of the main character is important, but so is the way his condition is described. There is a complete lack of substitute terms like “big-boned” and “famine resistant”, which are gentler terms often used to soften the blow in moments when the subject is brought up, which is usually more incidental. The Whale is a film about being overweight, and it uses such terms, and its ability to utilize terms like “fat” and “dangerously obese”, which are normally viewed as almost pejorative, words that are spoken either in hushed tones to avoid offence, or by those who want to intentionally hurt those who suffer from this condition. Yet, a marginalized community can only start to find acceptance when these terms, which are objective statements that have been reconfigured to wield far more power than they should, become part of the vernacular. This film is certainly doing its best to normalize these discussions, at least in terms of using the right vocabulary and not beating around the bush, which is all too common, and a major reason why weight is still viewed as a subject that can never be given the proper attention, usually being viewed as the punchline to a bad joke, or as a way to represent the undesirables of society. This point in particular is specifically why The Whale strikes such a chord – anyone who has ever struggled with issues surrounding weight will understand what is being examined in this film, with the frequent glances one receives (whether of surprise or disgust, sometimes even outright amusement), consolidating the feeling of social alienation and physical repulsion that follows those who suffer from this disease, whether as a result of an eating disorder or genetic issues that could cause massive deviations from the supposed “ideal” weight. The film is admirable in its efforts to shed light on this issue without needing to resort to the same trite conventions that normally follow the subject, and for that alone, it deserves to be celebrated and acknowledged as a truly effective work.

The character of Charlie is extremely tricky, and the right actor needed to be cast in the role. Logically, choosing someone to play this role would be a challenge – there are unfortunately very few actors of Charlie’s size that are working, or would even be willing to play a role that is quite this brutal, but we have thankfully moved past the era where slim, svelte actors get the opportunity to showcase their ability to appear unattractive by donning a fatsuit, which often does more work than the actual performance itself. Brendan Fraser may not have been the first choice for the role, since his career went into decline as a result of various factors that were beyond his control – but yet, seeing him play this part, we not only understand why he was chosen, but also wonder why it took over thirty years in the film industry for him to get a role worthy of his talents. Unfortunately, no one can remain a matinee idol for their entire life, and with the personal issues that he has faced, we all likely thought that we had seen the last of Fraser as an actor, at least in roles that are built around him. The Whale single-handedly changes that, and while the concept of a comeback is hopelessly taut by this point (since anyone getting a second wind in their career is said to be having one, even if they were gainfully employed and had a steady stream of projects),  I believe that Fraser’s narrative is one of the best examples of how a single role, which was somehow seen as a risk at the time in which he was cast, can change one’s trajectory and give us an entirely new perspective on the character. Fraser is extraordinary in this film – he so deftly navigates the challenges that surround the character, and turns in a performance so powerful, it feels like we are watching someone rediscover their entire identity through this depiction of a man who has been driven to the point of self-destruction, but yet still exemplifies the very best that humanity has to offer through his empathy and undying positivity. Fraser works with the prosthetics used to turn him into Charlie, rather than being subservient to them, and even though the transformation is quite drastic, we never entirely lose him, which is important, considering how much of this film is dependent on the character’s undying belief that, even after being labelled as some grotesque figure, that there is still a human beneath that exterior, which is so beautifully extracted throughout Fraser’s performance, as well as the performances by Hong Chau, Sadie Sink and Samantha Morton, who are invaluable additions to this beautiful and challenging drama, helping guide us through the world as seen through the eyes of someone who has been rejected from it, based purely on his appearance, rather than the quality of the person within.

The most unfortunate aspect of the discourse that surrounds The Whale is that the conversations acknowledge the overall narrative being about the last week in the life of a morbidly obese man as he gets his affairs in order and says goodbye to his loved ones – but then it stops, being centred almost entirely on his appearance, which is precisely the issue the film is actively rebelling against, and therefore only focusing on this point is missing the purpose of the film entirely. The Whale is not an elegy in favour of showing that fat people deserve love and respect – it certainly does contain that point, but not as some revelatory moment of dramatic tension, but as an objective statement that is not subjected to any form of debate. Instead, this film is a profoundly moving manifesto in favour of universal kindness, and the importance of finding that spark of humanity that we all possess, but which some are more adept at hiding than others. There is so much more to The Whale than just discussions of weight and the impact it has on someone, whether physically or psychologically, and for every harrowing moment in which we witness Charlie engaging in binge eating, there is a scene of pure, unbridled compassion in which we witness his extraordinary humanity in such a distinctly powerful and unflinchingly honest form. This is where the rest of the performances are at their most impactful – we assume that the supporting cast are just there to be figures with whom Charlie can interact, their purpose supposedly being audience surrogates placed in the film in order to give us insights into the experiences of the main character. However, we soon learn that The Whale is as much about Liz, Ellie, Mary and Thomas as it is about Charlie – they are all outsiders, each one having their own insecurities and existential quandaries, only having the benefit of hiding them within, rather than having it manifest physically. Despite his size and the complications that come with it, Charlie is not any less human than them, and his optimism and genuine belief in the human race (which has been condensed into the simple but impactful statement of “people are amazing”) makes him a figure of extraordinary complexity, a representative of the resilience that comes with facing life’s challenges, and the kindness that is seemingly fleeting, but so vitally important to the functioning our world.

Ultimately, the conversation that surrounds this film is going to align with the emotional content of the story, which has accurately been conveyed as being extremely overwrought, a legitimate criticism that can’t be defended so much as it can be explained as being a necessary choice. There was quite simply no way to tell this story without resorting to some extreme emotion – a more lighthearted affair with trivialize the harsh truths that underpin the story, and a more cynical approach would lack empathy and compassion, which are as important to the film’s identity as the most fundamental aspects of the plot. It may not be Aronofsky’s most traditionally audacious film, but it doesn’t mean it was an easy project to direct, since he had to trade in visual complexity in favour of a slightly more intimate story that is expansive in certain metaphysical elements. The fact of the matter is that The Whale is an extraordinarily difficult film to sit through, especially for those of us who have struggled with issues surrounding physical appearance (and anyone who has experienced weight problems will encounter some of those same difficult sensations reflected throughout this story) – and Aronofsky doesn’t make it any easier for us, based on how he frames Charlie as someone who has put himself in this position. The film holds him accountable for his actions, but never uses this as an excuse to deride him for his choices, an important distinction that many cynics tend to overlook or just ignore, but which is essential to the overall experience of this film. The level of emotion present here can make The Whale feel confrontational and agonizing – but a film like this is not supposed to make you feel comfortable, since it is addressing issues that are far more important than tender-hearted explanations of the motivations behind these characters. There are some moments where this film feels deeply unsettling – the first time we see Charlie’s entire body is meant to shock us, but not in a way that we feel a sense of repulsion or disgust. Instead, it is a surprising moment that elicits a visceral reaction, which is quickly counteracted by the compassionate depiction of this man, who may seem like a sluggard worthy of our ire, but who possesses so much honesty and vulnerability, our initial reaction of shock eventually turns into sincere sympathy, maintaining that level of intensity, but just being far more understanding of this character and his situation. There are certain instances when overwrought, intense emotions are appropriate, and with a film like The Whale, I’d argue that they are entirely necessary, since without such a strong response, the viewer would never be able to unearth the true meaning of this film.

There is a version of The Whale that is not nearly as compassionate as this, and instead views the character of Charlie as some monstrosity, someone who deserves to be subjected to ridicule and scorn, especially since his appearance is the result of his own choices – and the expectation was that Aronofsky would veer towards the realm of body horror, which is a fair assumption considering his penchant for pushing boundaries, as well as the industry’s relationship with representing obesity on film. However, what we received instead was a beautiful, poetic and deeply moving depiction of one man’s journey of self-realization, where he finally surrenders to the fact that he cannot hide from his problems any longer. Unfortunately, Charlie’s death sentence is announced from the first scene of the film, with the following two hours just being a long march to his eventual demise, and everything we witness just being his attempts to make sure that he departs the world knowing that he made some difference, even if only a small one. The reality is that Charlie is not particularly special, and there is nothing about him that is all that remarkable. There are many people that suffer from morbid obesity, to the point where their lives are in constant peril as a result of their poor health and the dangers that come with being that size – but that doesn’t make them any less important, despite the stigma that surrounds weight and eating disorders. Yet, there is so much more being said here, which is often shown in the more quiet moments, when the true humanity of this film is on display. It’s a challenging film, and its emotions are far too strong to ignore, to the point where some may understandably struggle to endure it, since it is intentionally provocative and very harsh about certain subjects. Yet, there is a beauty that underpins it, which is delivered in the small but meaningful moments that populate this film, and which make it such an astonishing achievement. It will take some time to gauge whether or not this was a watershed moment for representation, or just an isolated piece of emotionally-charge storytelling – but the immediate reaction proves that this is going to be the subject of a significant amount of discourse. However, the message will always remain the same – regardless of who we are, our appearance or identity, we all deserve love and respect, and with some work, we might be able to live in a world where physical appearance doesn’t mean nearly as much as those qualities that are within us, which are ultimately far more important and valuable, and worthy of celebrating more than anything else.