“All men are born with halters around their neck” – Herman Melville, Moby Dick.
Obvious comparisons between Brendan Fraiser’s lead performance in The Whale as Charlie and the White Whale at the heart of the Herman Melville classic Moby Dick will be expected, but not accurate. Charlie is Captain Ahab, pushing through the storm of life with the desire to do just one thing right with it in his final days. His failings and shortcomings are the rejections of responsibility in the face of deep and moving love for those he has wronged. To feel that exposure to tenderness and warmth is to feel completely removed from the real world. Walking on air does not cut it, a love for those that do not reciprocate it is a gut-wrenching experience that Darren Aronofsky understands here. That happens to Charlie, which Fraser brings to life in Aronofsky’s adaptation of The Whale, by playwright Samuel D. Hunter.
The halter around the neck of Charlie is shown rather obviously in the first few moments of The Whale. He and his friend Liz (Hong Chau) know he is to die. Soon. He has several loose ends to tie. The halter around his neck comes in the form of dark humour at his condition, darker thoughts on the relationship between religion and love. Can one survive without the other? Can either even exist in the life of someone abandoned by himself and his loved ones? It cannot be overstated just how phenomenal Fraser is in The Whale. His embodiment of unyielding love is touching and the impact of its loss is heart-breaking, truly. A tearjerker to say the least. Sitting on the steps of a bar in Lido, wiping tears from the eyes as they seep out thinking of just how rewarding, how beyond the pale, Fraser really is. An enchanting performance, easy to say the best of his career, easier to say the best of the year.
But that passionate lead role comes with great help from those that surround Fraser. They come and go from Charlie’s life with sympathy, fury and regret. A daughter, Ellie (Sadie Sink), makes it clear she does not reciprocate his feelings of love and is in it for the money. Even Liz has her limit. A strange, door-knocking Mormon has his say too. The tender displays of friendship between Liz and Charlie are built on guilt from former engagements, back when Ahab was unlocked from his self-made prison. Charlie eats, wheezes and masturbates his way through the final days of living, looking to unlock that door of emotions that may present him clarity. Aronofsky’s touchingly guided direction is mesmerising in that and the genuine importance of understanding the difference of emotions that pour toward Charlie is a sincere accomplishment. His actions may be pathetic, and he may be perceived as such by the estranged family and few friends he has left over, but it is the outpouring of sorrow and grief from beyond the screen that is unavoidable.
The Whale is a touching masterclass that absorbs Fraser’s return to the big screen with passion and love. A special feature, made stronger by the earth-shattering performance at the heart of it. “I am sick of people telling me I have promise,” is one lingering thought of honesty that ripples through the final moments of this Aronofsky masterclass. Do great minds get sick of their promise? Fraser is a great mind. Aronofsky is too. Seeing their pairing in this intimate, one-room setting is as good as it gets for the psychological drama. To do something good. That is a simplistic goal. Charlie hopes for just one good thing. Fraser has provided plenty of good things throughout his tenured career, and his return to the screen has provided just one more. A special, special good thing. This is Fraser’s White Whale, and his return to lead roles under Aronofsky is as powerful a force of nature as people were hoping for.
“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.” – Herman Melville, Moby Dick.
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