"The Whale" and the problem with authenticity

(Warning: Spoilers throughout)

Director Darren Aronofsky’s latest film The Whale has had a strange life. When it was first released in the Fall, there were stories of long standing ovations for star Brendon Fraser’s performance as a morbidly obese writing instructor named Charlie. It seemed a lock to be the darling of the Academy Awards—and like catnip for liberal media outlets, who pine for underrepresented groups to have their, um, big moment on screen. This seemed to do that for the obese community (I believe their preferred nomenclature is “bigger-bodied persons.”)

While Fraser was nominated for Best Actor recently, the film has seemingly become more known for the backlash it has generated—liberal media outlets started calling it things like “fatphobic” and a “cruel spectacle.” Fraser’s costar Hong Chau (who was nominated for Best Supporting Actress for her role in the film) says that “Sensitivity was always on our minds.” And Aronofsky even consulted with an advocacy group called Obesity Action Coalition for guidance on how best to represent the condition. But it still wasn’t enough for leftists who were eager to be outraged.

But that to me is less interesting than the real message of the film, which has less to do with fatness than with Charlie’s true passion in life—authenticity. The film is an extremely effective critique of authenticity, which is the wellspring of liberal ideology—be yourself!

Charlie embodies authenticity (but also at the same time lives in a lie—he teaches college writing classes on Zoom, but claims his camera is broken because he is too ashamed to reveal his appearance to his students). Charlie was married with a daughter, but he ended up leaving his family to start a relationship with a man. He embraced his authentic sexuality and risked everything for it. That ended up not working out—his lover committed suicide, and so Charlie was left with nothing. That is when his dangerous overreating began. So he has nothing except food and the gay porn he watches on his laptop while he struggles to masturbate without having a heart attack. This is what true authenticity is—indulging in endless consumption and hedonism, and having it ultimately destroy you. Authenticity is always discussed as some empowering ideal, but its reality is often grim—this film dives into that with a fearlessness that has not been dared before.

Apart from his Zoom lessons, his caregiver Liz (Hong Chau), his estranged wife and daughter, and a mysterious door to door evangelist who keeps showing up, Charlie has no contact with anyone. Except, that is, the pizza delivery guy who brings him two large pizzas seemingly every night. Whenever the delivery guy brings a pizza, he tries to make some kind of connection through the door with Charlie, but Charlie just tells him to take the money from the mailbox and leave the pizzas on the stoop. Eventually the delivery guy introduces himself as Dan, and Charlie has a few pleasantries for him through the closed door. There is something of a brewing authentic connection. Towards the end of the film, Dan hangs around outside Charlie’s door to see him emerge and take the pizzas inside. This is a moment of authenticity—the two finally see each other—but Dan is horrified at Charlie’s appearance, and races off immediately. Authenticity is once again overrated—it just reveals ugliness. Authenticity might feel good but viewed from the outside it is often grotesque and incomprehensible.

In his teaching, Charlie tries to get his students to write honestly and authentically. This goes against the standard college writing instructor perspective, which is all about instilling objectivity into students. Charlie loves it when his students write things like “I am sick of hearing about how much potential I have” and “I am coming to accept that my life will not be very special or exciting.” Those are not the kinds of things that college students are trained to think about their future—which is precisely why Charlie likes it. It comes from an authentic place—but not necessarily a useful one. Though honest and accurate, what good do such thoughts really achieve for one’s life? Eventually he sends an email to his class imploring them to “write something fucking honest!” Some of the students appreciate this message, but some are shocked, and he ends up getting fired for his impassioned plea for authenticity. Authenticity doesn’t get you very far, and doesn’t have a real place in the world. And what’s more, the world doesn’t actually like it, despite the good reputation it has. Charlie is pure authenticity, and it has gotten him just about the worst life conceivably possible.

Charlie’s relationship with his estranged daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink) forms the core of the film, and it’s all about authenticity as well. Ellie is brutally honest, making cutting comments about everyone and everything at all times. This has left her fairly isolated and she is frequently in trouble at school. She uses words like “f*ggot” and “r*tard” freely. Charlie, of course, thinks she is amazing for how unfiltered she is. He loves her authenticity. But his love of authenticity again blinds him to how awful and unremarkable she is. Being as mean as possible at all times is not amazing—it’s easy and common.

When she comes to visit one day early in the film, she berates him for being so fat, and demands that he walk across the room without the use of his walker. He tries, but he falls—his bones can’t support his enormous weight. He fails in his attempt to be physically authentic—to walk without any artificial support.

The one thing Charlie has in the world that he truly loves is an essay that Ellie wrote about Moby Dick when she was in 8th grade. He has the evangelist read it to him early in the film when he thinks he is dying, because he views it as the most authentic thing in the world. The essay has a section that goes something like “The boring parts that are just descriptions of whales are the saddest for me, because it was the author trying to distract himself from how sad he was.” In other words, Ellie is saying that Herman Melville only delved into cetology (the science of whales) so much in his novel because he was sad and lonely. Charlie loves this so much, because it is pulling back the curtain and seeing what is really going on with Melville.

Ellie only agrees to visit Charlie because he pays her to, and because he offers to do her homework for her. He loves her Moby Dick essay so much that he submits it on Ellie’s behalf for one of her high school English classes, and she gets a failing grade. The essay isn’t actually any good, but for Charlie that doesn’t matter—because it’s authentic.

At the end of the film, he asks Ellie to read her essay for him, and, sensing his authentic passion, she agrees. He loves the authenticity so much that it inspires him to finally stand up and walk across the room without his walker. The effort of doing this is what finally kills him.

Authenticity itself is what kills him—the feeling of authenticity he gets from hearing Ellie’s essay, and the attempt to achieve physical authenticity, to walk under his own support without any artificial help. He succeeds in doing this for a moment, but at the cost of his life.

Charlie is a man who pursued authenticity no matter where it led, and it cost him everything—his family, his career, and ultimately his life. That is the truly controversial thing about The Whale—not its alleged “fatphobia.” The film is dangerous to the liberal worldview, which values authenticity above all else, but in a deeper, more radical way than the outraged liberals even know.