orking for Oakley University as an online-only literature teacher, Charlie (Brendan Fraser) remains unseen by his students, as he hides behind the lie that his webcam is broken. The truth, however, is that he’s hundreds of pounds overweight – so much so that he can barely move, relegated mostly to a couple of rooms through the use of a walker, and entirely confined to his apartment. His medical conditions are innumerable and he’s perpetually on the verge of choking to death or having a heart attack or simply succumbing to his unmanageable heft. Yet he won’t seek professional help. “I don’t go to hospitals!”

“I always wheeze, Liz.” The initial visuals are devastatingly powerful; without knowing much at all about the man, viewers are persuaded to judge him nonetheless through his physical ailments and his pitiful bulk; the first time he rises from the couch is something of a jaw-dropping shocker. He’s also immediately sympathetic, considering that his mobility limitations are utterly lamentable. His friend and nurse, Liz (Hong Chau), comes alive from an opposite avenue: through dialogue, as she interrogates Charlie on his health and curses him for causing her so much grief. Despite her curtness, she’s essentially patience incarnate.

There are other characters here too, each one contributing sensational sequences of emotion – from Charlie’s estranged 17-year-old daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink), to his ex-wife Mary (Samantha Morton), to an intrusive bible-peddler (Ty Simpkins), to a nosy pizza delivery man (Sathya Sridharan). But Fraser is a force to be reckoned with, figuratively and literally taking on the role of the whale from “Moby Dick,” changing the course of the lives with which he briefly interacts, and remaining unavoidable in virtually every frame. Whereas much of the supporting cast imparts poignancy through conversations (and arguments), Fraser reveals a wealth of information through expressions alone; his eyes relate his sorrow and regret, surrounded by so much excessive flesh – itself a marvel of prosthetics and makeup effects.

“Maybe we can get to know each other.” It seems as if all of Charlie’s decisions are bad. And with the addition of the repulsiveness of his morbid obesity, director Darren Aronofsky (working from a screenplay by Samuel D. Hunter, who adapted his own play) conducts a test of the audience, seeing if they can unearth the humanity in the character, even as he gives up on himself, on the verge of perishing at any minute, surrendering catastrophically to a depression that continues to physically transform him. Can he save someone else when he’s unwilling to save himself? With this notion comes plenty of intriguing contrasts, from a caretaker who smokes, to a missionary who jumps to conclusions about deviant sex, to a teenager who desperately wants to connect to others yet pushes them away as a method of bonding, to a mother who wants to help her child but can’t stop herself from speaking with a harshness that suggests otherwise. It’s all something of a rollercoaster of alternating acerbity and tenderness as Aronofsky toys with the threshold of forgivable mistakes (perhaps like Melville delaying his sad story with time-consuming descriptions of whales and technical aspects of living on the sea, if only to momentarily stall inevitable tragedies to come).

“The Whale” is quite the experiment in misery porn; it’s hard to watch yet impossible to turn away from. Equal parts heartbreaking, frustrating, disturbing, and mesmerizing, it’s a monumental character study of so many damaged souls, struggling to find meaning or salvation. And it even boasts a few twists and turns, realistically capturing the horror and compassion in Charlie’s slow self-destruction. Riveting from beginning to end, regardless of the potency of the wretchedness on display, this is a must-see film, with Fraser’s most gut-wrenching performance. “I’m not interested in being saved.”

– Mike Massie