‘The Life of Chuck’ Is a Glossy and Frustrating Exercise in Style Over Substance

‘The Life of Chuck’ Is a Glossy and Frustrating Exercise in Style Over Substance

By Alex McPherson

Overflowing with self-importance that threatens to drown out its several competent elements, director Mike Flanagan’s “The Life of Chuck” is neither as profound nor as poignant as it thinks it is — a film so carefully-composed that genuine, earned emotion is ultimately left as an afterthought.

Based on the Steven King novella of the same name, Flanagan’s latest begins with the horror-inflected Act 3: the end of the universe as we know it. Chunks of California are breaking off into the ocean, Florida is underwater, fires engulf the Midwest, and the Internet is out. Posters and advertisements are plastered everywhere thanking a sharply-dressed Chuck Krantz (Tom Hiddleston) for “39 great years!” Nobody has a clue who Chuck is. 

We follow Marty Anderson (a typically soulful Chiwetel Ejiofor), a devoted but increasingly exhausted middle school social studies teacher and fan of Carl Sagan. Marty is a cool-headed, empathetic person unwilling to accept that it’s the actual “end of the world.”

At parent-teacher conferences — as attendance continues to decline in school — he helps console anxious parents who aren’t sure what to do amid it all; one of them (David Dastmalchian) bemoans the loss of PornHub. Humanity, more generally, seems to be on a slow walk towards Armageddon, with the majority resigned to their fate.

Marty reconnects with his ex-wife, Felicia Gordon (Karen Gillan), an overworked ER nurse whose department has become known as “The Suicide Squad.” Marty and Felicia see a last chance to bond before the universe is snuffed out; not even Marty’s hopeful view of Sagan’s cosmic calendar can dissuade him from preparing for The End.

Mia Sara, Mark Hamill and Cody Flanagan.

Jump to Act 2. Adult Chuck is a jaded accountant on a business trip in downtown Boston. While walking down a bustling street, Chuck sees a talented but underappreciated busker (real-life drummer Taylor Gordon a.k.a. The Pocket Queen) and gets to dancing — Chuck has quite the moves. 

A crowd gathers to watch and gawk at Chuck/Hiddleston, including Janice (Annalise Basso), a woman whose boyfriend broke up with her moments earlier through text. She starts dancing with Chuck, and, for a brief time, they’re both able to escape their demons and live in the moment.

Afterwards, Chuck looks wistfully off into the distance, reminiscing about his life and, as narration from Nick Offerman reminds us, his fleeting remaining time alive.

Act 1 takes us back to Chuck’s childhood — he’s portrayed by Cody Flanagan, Benjamin Pajak, and Jacob Tremblay. Chuck experiences family tragedy and life’s ups-and-downs with his grandparents Albie and Sarah (Mia Sara and Mark Hamill).

Benjamin Pajak as schoolboy Chuck.

He also discovers his love of dance while grappling with a rushed transition into adulthood, becoming fascinated with the strange “ghost” in the locked room upstairs that deeply frightens Albie.

Needless to say, there’s a lot going on in these three chapters, but, at the same, there’s not much to chew on. Individual scenes and performances break through the prevailing schmaltz, but for a story ostensibly about the importance of spontaneity and of living in the moment, “The Life of Chuck” paints a canvas both messy and overwrought, remaining thoroughly full of itself from start to finish. Several characters like to spout a phrase coined by Walt Whitman: “I contain multitudes” — the same, it must be noted, does not apply to this film.

It starts off strongly enough, though. Flanagan’s roots as a horror director shine through in Act 3 — establishing an eerie tone from the get-go with darkly comedic dialogue and an atmosphere of existential malaise and hopelessness. It’s a bit hokey, sure, but intriguing, with its end-of-the-world happenings not seeming all that implausible.

The conclusion is surprisingly dark, too, especially given distributor Neon’s saccharine marketing campaign. Flanagan’s directing is precise, carefully-composed, and efficient, knowing how to play us for sudden jolts of fear and bursts of unexpected (R-rated) humor.

There’s also real truth to how “The Life of Chuck” depicts humanity’s fatigue and fatalism given today’s horrors off-screen. If only the film committed more to the mystery: Acts 1 and 2 excise most of the story’s compellingly dark and off-kilter threads to embrace sentimentality and ponderous storytelling.

Jacob Tremblay as older teenage Chuck.

Indeed, much like Chuck and Janice’s exuberant dancing — which Flanagan and cinematographer Eben Bolter present with toe-tapping, quick-cut pizazz — the rest of “The Life of Chuck” feels too precious, too precisely-tailored to tug at the heart strings, and oddly-structured, content to explain rather than let viewers put the pieces together themselves.

And, in the end, “The Life of Chuck” is far from revelatory in its views on “the universe contained within us all,” leaning into directorial showmanship to conventional ends.  

Hallmark-card-worthy sentiments are rendered in faux-Spielbergian fashion, with hints of supernatural suspense, supported by a warmly inspirational score from The Newton Brothers and an ensemble that breathes warmth, if not necessarily depth, to characters slotting into Flanagan’s film like cogs in a well-oiled machine. 

Narration from Nick Offerman — presumably reading direct passages of King’s text — interrupts scenes to explain characters’ thoughts and navigate the story’s various time jumps. While this choice helps create a storybook feel, it’s limiting, given the story’s segmented structure (focusing on “big moments” in Chuck’s life).

Nuance is swapped for clarity and brevity — cutting out seemingly crucial connective tissue between Acts 1 and 2 — plus a near-worshipping of King’s source material: a short story expanded to feature length.

Hiddleston is great as usual, albeit not given all that much screen time, adding a sense of mournful reflection to Chuck’s later years as he’s made aware of the small joys in life once again. The younger actors portraying Chuck in Act 1 effectively convey both Chuck’s youthful naivete and gradual coming-of-age.

Sara and Hamill give the film’s most convincing, lived-in performances, with Hamill in particular getting the chance to engage in some Oscar-friendly speechifying, as the alcoholic, superstitious Albie counters young Chuck’s idealism around dance/the arts with a more pragmatic view on what lies ahead.

This excellent ensemble — including other notable turns from Matthew Lillard, Carl Lumbly, and Samantha Sloyan — coupled with Flanagan’s meticulous style of framing and sharp (but not organic) dialogue boosts the film above mediocrity. So long as one doesn’t think too hard about its existential musings, “The Life of Chuck” goes down easy enough.

But despite a compellingly unusual beginning and a handful of well-crafted sequences scattered throughout, it never fully takes flight. At the end of the day, it’s all trying too hard: irritatingly manufactured and only fitfully involving.

“The Life of Chuck” is a 2024 science fiction-fantasy-drama directed by Mike Flanagan and starring Tom Hiddleston, Mark Hamill, Mia Sara, Benjamin Pasak, Jacob Tremblay, Cody Flanagan, Karen Gillan, Chiwetel Ejiofor, and Matthew Lillard. Its run time is 1 hour, 51 minutes, and it is rated R for language. It opened in theatres June 6. Alex’s Grade: C+.

“The Wild Robot” Is a Dazzling, Affecting Adventure

“The Wild Robot” Is a Dazzling, Affecting Adventure

A visual feast with a soulful narrative to back it up, director Chris Sanders’ “The Wild Robot” is a rousing, if not completely unmitigated, success for mainstream animation.

Based on the book by Peter Brown, Sanders’ film takes place in a perhaps-not-so-distant future affected by environmental catastrophe, where artificial intelligence robots (created by a company called “Universal Dynamics”) assist humans with day-to-day tasks within the sleek cityscapes that remain. During a typhoon, one of Universal Dynamics’ cargo ships crashes on a remote island, dumping out its robotic occupant, ROZZUM-7134 (voiced by Lupita Nyong’o) in a strange land. “Roz,” as she’s later called, is a robot with a sleek, long-armed, vaguely ominous design who is immediately viewed as a “monster” by the island’s exclusively non-human inhabitants. After translating the local animals’ languages, she clumsily advertises her services to any and every critter she lays eyes on, who don’t take kindly to her outreach. Chaos ensues.

After a harrowing encounter with a bear (voiced by Mark Hamill) in which Roz tumbles from a cliffside, she ends up destroying a goose nest, killing the parent and cracking the unhatched eggs, except for one — bearing the wide-eyed, cute-as-a-button gosling who is later named Brightbill (first voiced by Boone Storm, then by Kit Connor). Brightbill imprints on her, seeing Roz as his mother. Brightbill also, conveniently, destroys Roz’s emergency transponder, which is the only ticket back home to the safety of sterilized automation.

Unsure what to do with this unfamiliar being following her around, Roz eventually bumps into a family of hilariously morbid possums, whose mother (Catherine O’Hara) “tasks” Roz with parenting Brightbill. Thus, Roz takes on her most challenging objective yet — helped along by a mischievous yet sympathetic fox named Fink (Pedro Pascal) — of teaching Brightbill to learn to feed himself, swim, and fly, in preparation for southbound migration come Winter. As time passes, Roz also develops a love for Brightbill that grows beyond her programming. She turns into an increasingly sentient being, powered by her previously-repressed heart, and ultimately brings her newfound family together to fight for their survival in a (sometimes) unforgiving world.

Indeed, “The Wild Robot” — reportedly the last in-house animated production from Dreamworks Studios — maintains an emotional purity that’s a breath of fresh air in our current times. Starting small and adding layer upon layer, Sanders’ film weaves numerous themes — the joys and travails of parenting, the search for purpose in an unfamiliar world, the rewards of breaking from tradition to follow one’s own path, and cooperation as an essential tool for survival — into a (mostly) cohesive whole, complemented by breathtaking animation and a stellar voice cast.

It’s difficult to do justice to the painterly, vibrantly alive animation on display here — eschewing naturalism for a more impressionistic, storybook quality that resembles hand-crafted concept art brought to life. Crisp sunsets blanket tree-covered skylines in warm hues, fog drenches imposing cliffsides kissed by turbulent (immaculately well-animated) waters, and multicolored butterflies wrap around tree trunks, unleashing vibrant splashes of fluttering wings upon takeoff. The visuals pair beautifully with Kris Bowers’ score, which lends a fitting sense of grandiosity to the well-choreographed set-pieces.

Character designs, rough around the edges in the best way possible, eschew photorealism for emotion and narrative symbolism: Roz’s appearance evolves as she evolves, becoming scratched and stained as a new life opens before her, gradually operating by her own designs rather than what’s been preordained for her. The various critters that surround her, both big and small, are bursting with personality, voiced by an exceptional cast that doesn’t throw in big names just for the sake of it. Each of these characters inhabits the same environment, side-by-side but in their own little worlds, not yet realizing that working together determines their survival.

As Roz raises the young Brightbill in her own unconventional ways — her robotic behaviors and inputs are mirrored by Brightbill, which “other” him from his peers — “The Wild Robot” overcomes its predictability with heart and charm to spare. Sanders and Brown’s screenplay buffets its occasionally heavy-handed messaging and slapstick humor with a sense of melancholy, and finally, of hope in the power of kindness, understanding, and community.

Nyong’o poignantly conveys Roz’s changing thoughts and mounting existential panic, lending emotional heft to Roz’s internal and external changes. “The Wild Robot” is ultimately Roz’s story, not Brightbill’s, zeroing in on the sacrifices of raising a child, the anxiety of releasing that child into the world, and embracing a new “home” far separated from her corporate, dystopian beginnings. It’s frustrating that the film’s uneven pacing doesn’t quite do justice to Roz’s arc, not fully allowing pivotal scenes in the latter half space to breathe and becoming schematic as a result.

Connor tugs heart-strings as the unconventional yet resilient Brightbill struggles to fit in and, over time, recognizes the deep love that his surrogate mother has for him. Pascal is nearly unrecognizable as the rascally, surprisingly complex Fink who’s looking for his own sense of belonging. Matt Berry is wryly funny as Paddler the beaver, while Bill Nighy as an elder goose named Longbill, is typically dignified but saddled with the screenplay’s more explanatory (a.k.a. eye-rolling) dialogue.

The finale — chaotic, action-packed, and delivering emotional moments that are easy to see coming — is too tidy and beholden to modern sensibilities, neglecting the film’s otherwise graceful attention to world-building and character development. It also requires a distracting suspension of disbelief in the denouement. 

Still, the otherwise exceptional storytelling on display overshadows most hiccups down the road. There’s real merit to Sanders’ direct call for unity going into an uncertain future. It’s the kind of soulful, all-ages experience we need more of right now, one that pairs spectacular visuals with a heartfelt story to match.

“The Wild Robot” is a 2024 animated family comedy-drama-science fiction film directed by Chris Sanders and stars Lupita Nyong’o, Pedro Pascal, Kit Connor, Boone Storm, Matt Berry, Bill Nighy, and Mark Hamill. It is rated PG for action/peril and thematic elements, and its runtime is 1 hour, 42 minutes. It opened in theaters September 27. Alex’s Grade: B+.