Darren Aronofsky
The Whale

WITH SPOILERS

"I gave my pain the shape of overused words that I promise myself never to utter again."

Among the many adjectives used to describe The Whale, one that particularly struck me and that, after viewing it, I find very fitting is "devastating." An adjective not often used and well suited to a movie that, indeed, deserves a special definition, given how equally special the sensations it evokes are. Sensations comparable to a whirlwind of pain of rare intensity, which is in the essence of Aronofsky's poetic. And here a premise is needed, leading to the subsequent and more complex reflections on this film and the American director in general.

"Either you love him or you hate him" is one of those typical clichés that mean nothing. In the case of Aronofsky, however, this saying works well, as Aronofsky is one of the most polarizing auteurs of the last two decades and more, and that's because the director of already extremely controversial and debatable works like Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan has always sought a powerful type of emotion, frequently crossing the delicate and invisible line between drama and cheap blow. Between true emotion and repulsion and pathos, between what is permissible or what would be better left out of the frame. Between brutal honesty - evoked by the protagonist himself, who evidently becomes Aronofsky's alter-ego/conduit in this - and what spills over into blackmail and the explicit pornography of pain.

If on one hand, this shows great consistency, courage, and a sense of the tragic, on another, it risks appearing as an easy shortcut to reach the viewer's gut rather than the heart; leading also to a more difficult critical and detached analysis of what has been seen, precisely because one is touched to the core and emotionally shaken. Unlike films that pluck certain strings more subtly and less immediately. But even in evoking emotions strongly and directly, it takes talent and skill, which Aronofsky certainly possesses. Indeed, in this, he is undoubtedly a Master.
And finally, as mentioned, analyzing his works involves several deep and necessary reflections on the sense of his cinema and precisely on what and how much can be represented or not.

Aronofsky is not alone, of course. Other great contemporary filmmakers have often pushed beyond this hypothetical and theoretical limit: von Trier, Iñárritu, Wenders. Not to mention a film like Rosi's Fuocoammare. The debate remains open: where does realism end and indulgence begin? What is right to show?

Lord kill the pain, don't want to ask you again
Lord let it rain, don't want to ask you again

The Whale is disturbing for many reasons. Foremost because it fundamentally stages a two-hour-long suicide, with a slow approach to a finale made clear from the outset and hard to misunderstand: the time frame explicitly gives the idea of a countdown and tells us we will witness the protagonist's last week of life. It's not a thriller; therefore, this is not what matters. What matters instead is how we will arrive at the inevitable and announced moment: and here begins the descent into the abyss of pain. The agony of seeing a profoundly good-hearted man trying to reconcile with his daughter and giving a last, desperate meaning to his life. Reflecting of course on the reasons that led him to this physical self-destruction and subsequent self-isolation from the world.

The film thus speaks of depression, suicide, religion, love. So much is at stake that Aronofsky is undoubtedly skilled at handling it without, thankfully (as well as a bit of pity), succumbing to the extension of duration, a current trend that makes every film last 150 minutes or more.

The Whale, within Aronofsky's filmography, is closely related to what remains his masterpiece: The Wrestler. In both films, the focus is self-destruction, the complex relationship to be restored with a daughter (the Golden Lion-winning 2008 film showcased the great talent of a wonderful Evan Rachel Wood, and The Whale features Sadie Sink, one of the stars of Stranger Things), and especially the focus on a central protagonist, grappling with all his dramas and demons. In both films, Aronofsky doesn’t choose conventional star actors. He doesn't call DiCaprio, Phoenix, or Casey Affleck, for example (an intentional reference considering another powerful film like Manchester by the Sea). Instead, he chooses two Hollywood outcasts, Mickey Rourke and Brendan Fraser, and makes them play themselves. In an exaggerated manner, of course. But that remains the essence, the motivation for the choice. And we return to the essential question: how far is it permissible to go?

It must be said that with mother!, Aronofsky experimented with a different path, creating an extremely ambitious, personal, fascinating, allegorical, and cryptic work. Which indeed was not well-received. Now it’s as if he's returned to his comfort zone of "pure" human tragedy. Raw, straightforward, simple as a story but incredibly challenging to process.

If one is particularly sensitive, in fact, a work like The Whale can deeply affect and leave one stunned. It requires a cautious approach, and even then, absorbing the blow can be hard.

The theatrical nature of the subject emerges perfectly from Aronofsky's typical claustrophobic style, and the choice of the 1:33 format is perfectly functional in constructing an intimate story, depicting a small world near its end. Bringing to mind the apocalyptic themes of the previously mentioned mother!.

There are many moving moments, and the finale is, in this sense and beyond, absolutely unbearable.

Aronofsky is either loved or hated, as I said at the beginning, but one can simultaneously love and hate him, even within the same film. I believe The Whale is the most extreme among recent film experiences and undoubtedly the most extreme in his filmography.

The parallel between the protagonist and Captain Ahab from Moby Dick is of enormous relevance and impact: like the awareness that nothing can give meaning to suffering. Nothing except the manifestation of love: what can lead to ascension. The only thing.

"Do you ever feel like people are incapable of not loving? People are wonderful."

In this, there is perhaps the most beautiful and moving declaration of love towards humanity seen in a film in a very long time.

The Whale possesses all the virtues and flaws of Aronofsky's cinema, but it is undoubtedly an experience impossible to forget.

So, what is Aronofsky's cinema? It is raw, aching flesh. It still has much to offer, remaining controversial and criticizable, detestable, unpleasant but always, in any case, harrowing. Immensely poignant.

It is impossible even to think about rating this experience.