In our day-to-day lives, we’re constantly bombarded by negatives, suffering through what Buffy Summers calls the “hard and bright and violent.” There’s always something taking away from our sense of self, something nibbling away at what we, as humans, seem to have forgotten: that we have the opportunity to be wonderful. As I get older, I realize that my time to be wonderful is short and running out by the second. But tonight? My heart is full of immense satisfaction and gratitude.This is what Mike Flanagan’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novella The Life of Chuck does.
Flanagan, known for his unique takes on horror, uses that same passion to tell the story of the mundane elevated into the extraordinary. What could be more mundane than an examination of the life of an accountant? That is who the titular Chuck (Tom Hiddleston) is, some complete rando who, as we see, has lived a fairly regular existence. In the immortal words of King Ad Rock, MCA, and Mike D, “That’s it, that’s all, that’s all there is.” Those looking for thrills and chills would do well to apply elsewhere, as there’s nothing out of this world that happens, and there’s nothing shown that hasn’t happened to any one of us.
Well, excepting the usual twist that King uses to showcase our humanity in an alarming light and the film’s curious three-act structure. Adhering to King’s construct, the film runs in reverse chronological order, beginning with the calamity of all calamities: the end of the universe. A volcano in a very unexpected place has erupted; parts of California have broken off due to earthquakes; massive sinkholes and floods kill thousands; television broadcasts suddenly cut to the “Experiencing Technical Difficulties” card; and, worst of all, a very popular internet site has gone down–along with the rest of the internet. Through the eyes of teacher Marty (Chiwetel Ejiofor), we take a slow walk through these events, amid which his ex-wife Felicia (Karen Gillan) has chosen to reconnect with him.
It’s upheaval on a minimalist scale, being shown to us through the last news broadcasts on television and radio; otherwise, Marty’s small town just looks like it’s normal. Or it would, if it weren’t for the abandoned cars, the graffiti that reads “Buskers Forever,” and a billboard that says, “Thanks, Chuck!” with a picture of Chuck grinning and holding up a coffee cup. These sporadic appearances — seen on the aforementioned billboard, heard in radio ads, and witnessed in other places — are a harbinger of more than just climate change, as Marty says. He couldn’t be more right if he tried; when taken in the context of a conversation with Felicia, we’re witnessing a representation of something much larger.
With the exception of a late revelation, this is as out-there as The Life of Chuck gets, and it’s a metaphor for our own lives. We’re pelted with disaster after disaster, bad news on top of bad news. But the second and third acts do exactly the reverse of this, which is where Flanagan and King work their magic, showing us the little things that make life LIFE in all-caps. At the thousand-foot view, The Life of Chuck is about the one moment every human has at some point; in King’s inimitable fashion, this moment gives the spark that turns this story into a blaze. In turn, we see the randomness of life and the meticulously planned, the sweet and the bitter, the harshness of what time takes from us and the beauty that life gives us.
The balance.
Viewed in concert with the following chapters, the first act is explained with dawning clarity, aided by the film’s physical framing. (No, your eyes aren’t fooling you.) Flanagan gradually hands out bits and pieces that give us a reason to tilt our heads to the side and furrow our brows as our brains start to realize what we’re watching. And when we grasp what we’re watching–it may be as easy as seeing someone we might have seen somewhere else–we suddenly see the whole. The moment you understand what you’re watching is the turning point of your viewing experience, and it suddenly throws everything into sharp relief, making complete sense of what’s come before and adding significant weight as the film moves forward. Like I said, this film is about a singular moment common to every human. The finale lays it out in complete terms, coming to a halt shortly after, which also gives depth to the film’s final frame that stays under the credit roll. It’s a beautiful way to end the movie, and when taken along with the opening act of the film, we can see why Flanagan chooses to close the film in this manner.
Don’t look for horror here; likewise, don’t look for fireworks or brash theatrics. Instead, look for what ties us together as humans. The chance encounters. The moments where we act upon our memories of joy and love. The things that draw us together instead of setting us apart. King’s story is a celebration of life, and Flanagan has brought it into ruthlessly beautiful existence, asking us to join him in embracing these moments with all the strength we have in ourselves.
A standout example of this is in a sequence where Chuck happens upon Taylor (Taylor Gordon, credited as The Pocket Queen), a street drummer hoping for tips in her upturned hat. Here, this impeccably-dressed and upright man suddenly succumbs to Taylor’s beats, a dichotomy that would cause most to question his sanity. Instead, it turns into a joyous showstopper, starting with Nick Offerman’s narration describing the events that brought Taylor, Chuck, and passerby Janice (Annalise Basso) to this street corner, only to create a memorable confluence of sound and motion for themselves and those around them. Cares are thrown to the wind in this utterly rapturous sequence. There’s no cynicism, no pretense; there’s only the now, and what a celebration it is.
Offerman’s voiceover becomes its own character, not just serving to color in what’s left to our imagination and providing a layer of humor while he lets us in on the things left unsaid. He joins an ensemble that includes actors encompassing Flanagan’s previous directorial efforts: Jacob Tremblay (Doctor Sleep), Karen Gillan (Oculus), Mark Hamill (The Fall of the House of Usher), Annalise Basso (Ouija: Origin of Evil), Carl Lumbly (Doctor Sleep), Samantha Sloyan (a linchpin of all of Flanagan’s Netflix series), Heather Langenkamp (The Midnight Club), Rahul Kohli (The Haunting of Bly Manor), Carla Gugino (The Haunting of Hill House), Kate Siegel (Midnight Mass), and others. Flanagan has assembled a cast stacked with the people who have helped him etch his stories into our consciousness, a sweet homage to these actors and a terrific way to cement the film’s themes.
The Life of Chuck is no more than taking stock of what makes us who we are. But even if its three acts were told chronologically, we’d still be left with a powerful recounting of someone’s journey from adolescence to adulthood and beyond. Master storyteller Stephen King has given another master storyteller, Mike Flanagan, the blueprints for telling this tale that exposes how much more we are bound together as humans than anything else. The term “life-affirming” has been overused to the point of parody, but there is no better way to describe what these two have cooked up for us. What this film has given me is indescribable; all I feel is thankful for having experienced it.
