Although "The Whale" at first looks kinder, it seems to be asking us to wallow in Brendan Fraser's decline. It places the camera in front of him and makes him appear to weigh 600 pounds. By the end of the movie, we're supposed to feel sorry for him or at the very least sympathize with his physical and emotional plight. Nevertheless, in actuality, the atmosphere is one of sick curiosity for this enormous man. As he tries to stand up from the couch, he accidentally knocks over an end table. He also shoves candy bars into his mouth while searching for "congestive heart failure" on Google.

Aronofsky doesn't seem to be concerned in understanding these inclinations and indulgences as much as he is in pointing and staring at them while working from Samuel D. Hunter's script, which is based on Hunter's stage play. His portrayal of Charlie's loneliness in his filthy Idaho apartment features a sequence in which he almost has a heart attack while masturbating to porn. It is both shocking and embarrassing. Yet as Charlie becomes more and more of a martyr. There is a startling shift in the tone, turning it sentimental.

Within the boundaries of this strategy, Fraser gives the character greater warmth and humanity. Charlie, a college writing professor who teaches his pupils online from behind the security of a black square, speaks first when we hear his voice. And it has such a warm, resonant voice that is full of grace and comedy. Although Fraser has been absent for some time, his contradictions—the contrast between his commanding physical presence and mischievous spirit—have always made him a compelling film presence. The subtleties he is able to portray goes a long way toward making "The Whale" bearable. He does so much with his eyes here to give us a glimpse into Charlie's kind but wounded soul.

Yet he's also forced to work with a screenplay that expresses every emotion in clumsy, groan-inducing ways. When Charlie is at his most helpless and terrified, he calms himself by reading or repeating a student's cherished essay on Moby Dick. This partially lends the movie its title and will become more and more significant. He stands up, shirtless, and lumbers across the living room, down the hall, and toward the bedroom. He has a walker as he depicts the elusive white whale of Herman Melville's story. You're supposed to be in awe of the skilled prosthetic and makeup work on the show right now. But, your reaction is more likely to be to scoff at the writing.

He says in a painfully clear, "He thinks his life would be better if he can only kill this whale. But, in reality, it won't benefit him at all. He continues, "This book made me reflect on my own life," as if we couldn't figure it out for ourselves.

A few visitors, including Liz, a lifelong friend, and Hong Chau, who serves as his nurse, break up his days of solitude. She adds a vital spark to these otherwise dull proceedings because she is both incredibly loving and no-nonsense. It's terrible how consistently gloomy and dimly Matthew Libatique, Aronofsky's talented longtime cinematographer, lighted Charlie's flat to represent his misery.

The Whale is now streaming on Amazon Prime.