LIGHT SPOILERS: The structure of the movie but no plot spoilers.
The Life of Chuck’s description is immediately eye-catching. Based on a novella by Stephen King, directed and adapted for the screen by known horror filmmaker Mike Flanagan, yet it has been described as life-affirming and feel-good. That contradiction made it a must-watch for me. However, after watching the movie, the contradiction may be its most significant flaw.
The movie follows the life of Chuck Krantz, from his childhood to his death, but in a non-linear fashion. Part 3— which actually begins the film— takes place during his final days as the world is crumbling. We actually see very little of Chuck, as the story is structured like a death-dream featuring people and places Chuck encountered in his life. This concept is based on something Chuck’s teacher says in the later parts. While explaining the Walt Whitman quote, “I am large. I contain multitudes,” she says that each person contains an entire world within their mind encompassing all the people, places, and experiences they have encountered. The world of Part 3 seems to be Chuck’s whole world. It dies as he dies.
Part 2 takes place when Chuck is an adult and is essentially a spontaneous musical dance number. This is the shortest part, and it serves as a palate cleanser from the darker Part 3.
Part 1 follows Chuck’s childhood from the death of his parents at age seven until he goes to college. The focal points are his relationship with his grandparents, learning to dance, and a family secret that his grandfather guards with fear.
These parts are connected by Chuck but also by a kind of “easter eggs.” In Part 3, we meet all the people and places that have shaped Chuck’s life, and in the subsequent parts, we see how they fit into his life. Even some of the dialogue from Part 3 is repeated in Part 2 and 1.
While these connections create some cohesion, the movie’s format cannot escape an unnatural, stilted quality. Since The Life of Chuck tries to balance its hopeful elements with more anxiety-inducing ones, it struggles to maintain a consistent tone. It is certainly not a horror movie, but its supernatural elements are not well blended with the more straightforward, coming-of-age plot lines. The result is a creative but somewhat muddled experiment.
The narration throughout does not help create cohesion either. The voice of Nick Offerman occasionally appears to foreshadow or explain events, but this often disrupts any consistency. It also treats the audience as if they need everything explained instead of letting us discover or question things on our own. For such an experimental design, the movie is easy to figure out, and the narration is mainly to blame.
The Life of Chuck has a large cast of characters without a particular “star,” but Chiwetel Ejiofor steals the camera in Part 3 as the teacher, Marty Anderson. His soft, contemplative portrayal as the world is crumbling around him provides the perfect perspective for the audience. We see him experience confusion, anger, grief, terror, and love in a profoundly human fashion. Honestly, I empathized with his character so much that I wanted Part 3 to continue.
The other star performance was by Benjamin Pajak as 10-year-old Chuck. He evokes a full circle of emotions with unbelievable tenderness, particularly for an actor so young. Tom Hiddleston, as the adult Chuck, is primarily in the background, but he and Janice Halliday perform an electric dance number in Part 2. Hiddleston, in particular, lights up the screen with his playfulness and joy, delivering precisely what the audience needs.
The Life of Chuck is hard to describe. There were moments when I felt more moved than I have since seeing Nickel Boys, but there was always something to take me out of that feeling. However, any filmmaker taking this much of a creative risk deserves credit for putting it on the screen. For that reason, I am incredibly glad this movie exists.
I recommend The Life of Chuck for fans of Stephen King, experimental storytelling, and those who enjoy pondering life’s big questions.