Some quality movies seemed destined for greatness from the get-go. How could combining Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart into one comedy, for instance, not result in a masterpiece like The Philadelphia Story? Lynne Ramsay’s insightful and harrowing sensibilities, meanwhile, were perfect for adapting the Jonathan Ames novella You Were Never Really Here.
The Life of Chuck is not one of those features. From afar, this Mike Flanagan directorial effort has a lot of conceptual warning signs. For one thing, it’s based on a Stephen King novella (contained within his 2020 text If It Bleeds) that isn’t significantly acclaimed. More importantly, if you took various pages from Flanagan’s Chuck script out of context, it would come off like a parody of the filmmaker’s love for characters' monologuing. Surely, this title will have all the thematic heft and impact of Matt Damon bellowing “It’s a good dream! And it’s got cool animals in it!” in We Bought a Zoo.
In execution, though, The Life of Chuck is far from a treacly cataclysm. On the contrary, Flanagan’s concocted something special that moved me profoundly. I have no clue if Chuck’s various unorthodox and unabashedly tender-hearted tendencies will work for everyone. However, if a movie gets me crying so much, it’s doing something very right.
The Life of Chuck consists of three segments, each carrying a unique tone. The first follows High School teacher Marty Anderson (Chiwetel Ejiofor) navigating an apocalyptic world parallel to our own. Anderson's trying to carry on with parent-teacher conferences and inspiring his students, yet California is crumbling, volcanoes are going off in Germany, and food supplies are running scarce. All the while, this billboard reading "Charles Krantz: 39 Great Years! Thanks, Chuck!" is everywhere. Who is this accountant named Chuck (Tom Hiddleston)? Why is he getting so much attention in the end times?
Flanagan’s expertise as an artist has been in horror. Whether it’s vampires on an island community, sinister mirrors, or returning to the Overlook Hotel, Flanagan has specialized in giving people the willies. Projects like Doctor Sleep and Midnight Mass, though, wrung ominous tones out of people living with unbearable trauma rather than body parts getting constantly sliced off. That talent's amplified Life of Chuck's opening segment. The world is going down the tubes oh so slowly. That allows actors like Ejiofor, Karne Gillan (playing Anderson’s ex-wife), Carl Lumbly (as a thoughtful funeral home director), and David Dastmalchian (in a fantastic cameo as a parent of one of Anderson’s students) to wax poetic on how doom and gloom influences their psyches.
A constant eerie ambiance permeates the whole segment and that only becomes more tangible as the story progresses. However, Flanagan’s primary focus is on examining what individual people prioritize in hardship. When you know death is coming, what do you do? Do you lament the loss of adult video websites? Do you run away with an old flame? Do you cling to the words of Carl Sagan? Fascinatingly exploring these varied responses to Armageddon allows several talented actors (including the always welcome Matthew Lillard) to shine. Flanagan even happily indulges in inexplicable dreamlike imagery (such as a little girl rollerblading at night or the inescapable manifestations of Chuck’s billboard) that fit the chaotic nature of planetary collapse. The unthinkable is happening, so why not indulge in strikingly heightened atmospheric digressions?
In keeping pace with the unexpectedness of Life of Chuck’s non-linear story structure, permit me a quick personal anecdote. Two days after my Chuck screening, I was at a homegrown Pride event in Dallas. To say it was glorious was an understatement. You’ve never felt joy until you’ve been a lesbian in a predominately lesbian/sapphic space where people are doing crafts, preparing for drag performances, and bopping their heads to Charli XCX tunes. Hanging with some of my best friends, a sense of euphoria coursed through my veins I’d rarely felt in my life.
It’s hard to believe that, just a little over a week earlier, I was sitting in my apartment alone, melancholy gripping my soul. Catastrophizing thoughts seeped into my brain once more and, as in so many past days, I again felt powerless against my depression. How could these instances of joy and sadness exist in the same existence, let alone within ten days of each other?
That’s the brutal reality of life. It oscillates wildly, often within the very same day. The Life of Chuck’s varying tones across its three segments skillfully reflect that. While the first segment feels like a precursor to The Road, the second sees Flanagan channeling his Gene Kelly as an adult Chuck starts tapping his toes into a public to a drum-playing busker. Brighter lighting, a wider aspect ratio, and more vibrant production design colors are embraced in this stretch of the story.
Finally, Chuck’s third story follows Chuck as an 11-year-old (played by Benjamin Pajak) living with his grandmother Sarah (Mia Sara) and grandfather Albie (Mark Hamill). Here, a variety of tones surfaces. Joyful coming-of-age moments (like Chuck bonding with Sarah over musical movies) are mixed with searing glimpses of harsh reality, such as adolescent Chuck constantly grappling with death.
All along the way, Flanagan radiates confidence both as a writer and director. When he’s shooting a big second segment dance scene involving Chuck and Janice Halliday (Annalise Basso), he and cinematographer Eben Bolter keep the camerawork lively and crisp. Few things are as glorious in cinema as talented folks tapping their toes. That passion for cinema dancing is lovingly reflected in Flanagan’s uber-sincere approach to this scene. It’s all so unabashedly heartfelt (not to mention a great showcase for Hiddleston and Basso’s physical talents) that it’s bound to win over the most cynical viewers.
Flanagan’s confident filmmaking also seeps into the execution of key monologues in the later stories, including lengthy dialogue from Albie. Any of this elderly man’s speeches to Chuck, particularly his talking about the beauty of numbers, occur without any accompanying score from The Newton Brothers. It’s a subtle but important detail that really makes these monologues click together. There is no orchestral accompaniment in Albie’s raw soliloquies on life, indicating to audiences how they should feel about these words. After all, young Chuck won’t fully understand his responses (if he ever does) to these speeches until eons down the road. Eschewing scores for these scenes lets the strong performances sing and reinforces how significant moments in your life don’t register as stirring in the moment.
This level of craftsmanship means The Life of Chuck isn’t just an often-profound reflection on existence. Flanagan’s conviction also leads to terrifically humorous and entertaining moments. In the second segment, for instance, unpolished outbursts from Basso’s Halliday consistently interrupting Nick Offerman's narration is a terrific touch. Meanwhile, a third story joke about a boy trying to sneak out of Miss Rohrbacher's (Samantha Sloyan) dance class occurs in an extended wide shot really accentuating this tremendous gag’s impact. The timing of a joke about Chuck and Sarah watching a bunch of old movie musicals, including All That Jazz, is also splendid.
These lighter moments and purely joyful set pieces (like that big mid-movie dance number) soar so well that they make Chuck’s more melancholy or introspective segments hit like a ton of bricks. Within the latter sequence, it’s the tiny details that make all the difference, like the backstory of a teacher who moved 11-year-old Chuck. Offerman’s narration observes that Miss Richards (Kate Siegel) is "not long for the world of public education" because of her chipper, optimistic, yet non-disciplinary teaching approach. This is not a figure who will become a future icon in this school, let alone someone with a national following. She is an ordinary soul like you and me.
Just like us, though, Miss Richards can still leave an impact on the people around her. Her one-on-one explanation of the "I am large, I contain multitudes" line from Walt Whitman's Song of Myself poem is a formative moment for young Chuck. Siegel’s heartfelt, inviting line deliveries make it clear why this new take on interiority would resonate with the youngster. A title like Forrest Gump measures a man’s worth throughout his life through how many presidents or famous musicians he rubs shoulders with. The Life of Chuck, meanwhile, movingly provides an ode to the most random, inexplicable souls leaving impressions on our hearts. Important connections and reminders of why life’s worth living exist anywhere. In reinforcing that truth, The Life of Chuck kept making me verklempt as often as it allows performers like Hamill, Siegel, Dastmalchian, and Lumbly to deliver stupendous supporting turns.
There’s a version of The Life of Chuck that’s too syrupy for its own good. Luckily, it’s not the one playing in theaters right now. Flanagan’s adaptation of this Stephen King novella is a tremendously moving exercise effortlessly blending the influences of classic cinema (yay for the recurring Gene Kelly shout-outs!), dreamlike logic, and brutal reality.
Returning to that Whitman poem Chuck keeps emphasizing, "Do I contradict myself?/Very well then I contradict myself." Human beings themselves are paradoxes. That’s what makes Flanagan’s embracing of opposing tonal and aesthetic The Life of Chuck impulses so inspired. This execution captures how the universes that are our lives are doomed to burn out. Yet they’re also always expanding, always glistening. Within our universes, places as mundane as a bread aisle in a local grocery store or a street corner can become unspeakably important. Joy, tragedy, and every other emotion live shoulder-to-shoulder at all times. It’s not easy to navigate this complex, conflicting reality. But it is often a beautiful thing. The Life of Chuck is that kind of beautiful.