Growing up, I was a huge Brendan Fraser fan. “Journey to the Center of the Earth” (Brevig, 2008), “Inkheart” (Softley, 2008), “Bedazzled” (Ramis, 2000), “The Mummy” (Sommers, 1999)—you name it, I’ve probably seen it. As I’m sure you might guess, I was delighted to hear that Fraser, after an almost decade-long Hollywood hiatus, was to be the star of a new film production. I waited patiently for months on end, reading articles about the standing ovation Fraser received at the premiere of the film for his moving performance. Finally, I got the chance to see it. I grabbed my friend Cooper, and we trucked it to the American Theatre on Park Street. Aside from us, there were only two other people in the theater.

If you haven’t guessed by now, the film I’m referring to is “The Whale” (Aronofsky, 2022). The narrative follows Charlie (Fraser), an English professor who teaches from home whilst battling a slew of severe mental health issues. Charlie is revealed to have left his wife and young daughter eight years previously to elope with his most recent partner, who passed away several years after the formation of their relationship. After his partner’s death, Charlie uses eating to cope with the loss. The negative impacts of Charlie’s depression and eating disorder reach their peak at the start of “The Whale” when Charlie’s nurse friend Liz (Hong Chau) diagnoses him with congestive heart failure. Refusing to visit a hospital, Charlie decides to make the most of the time he has left (Liz gives him a week) and attempts to reconnect with his troubled daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink).

My thoughts on this film are complicated. The acting was superb—Fraser, Sink, and Chau especially deserve acclaim for their respective performances. The production itself was nothing revolutionary, and in fact less artistic and/or imaginative than some of Aronofsky’s other films (take “Black Swan” [2010] for example,) but what was interesting was that the entirety of the film takes place in Charlie’s apartment, reflecting Charlie’s own experience (as he is physically unable to leave his abode) and hinting at the cumulative effect it may have had on his depression.

On the other hand, I had more gripes with “The Whale” than I was expecting to. “The Whale” is mostly “misery porn,” in which the filmmaker decided to deliberately linger on the depravity, abuse, and sufferings of the protagonist. It was unnecessarily crude and didn’t do much to push the narrative forward. Instead of providing a positive representation of victims of depression and eating disorders, it made a spectacle of Charlie as a character—something for the audience to gawk at. Just like anyone, Charlie is a human being with genuine flaws, and it would’ve been more effective for them to portray him as such, rather than use him as a vehicle for pity and self-flagellation.

All in all? I think you should see it. The acting alone was enough to save the film for me. But while you watch, be sure to keep in mind that much of the content (and the way it is portrayed) is equal parts gratuitous and ineffective.