Profound on every possible level, to the point that the thematic and literary layers here come off as technical compared to the subject himself. Charlie is both existentially distinct and addressable, and symbolically true and relatable as he serves as a mirror into just how deep down the rabbit hole suffering can take us if we let it. The heartbreaking realism of this dual purpose is, I think, the fundamental way in which The Whale honors its central text and establishes itself as a generational work of art. There are some moments along the way of expository acting from the surrounding cast that feel a little bit like watching someone leave their Cheeto bag on the floor of the Louvre, but that comes with the bleak Hudson upstate territory so it is what it is.
