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Streaming Shuffle

The Life of Chuck

"I will live my life until my life runs out."

After I watched The Life of Chuck, I noticed the Kanopy page for it directing me towards Collateral Beauty, a movie I have hated, sight unseen, ever since it came out. I mostly liked The Life of Chuck, though. Still, I could see how the two could ostensibly fit in the same category—sentimental glurge, prejudicially. Which made me wonder: what’s the difference between glurge I like and glurge I don’t? What do I think The Life of Chuck does right?

It does, for the record, do plenty wrong. It cannot get out of its own way to save its life, constantly nudging you to look over there and notice that. Nick Offerman’s voiceover, though occasionally brilliant, crowds in too often and characterizes the action too aggressively. Big, triumphant emotional scenes go down a little too smoothly, without the friction that might make them feel more real. Nothing here is necessarily all that profound or all that new, and the newer part is spelled out too obviously, with the script not letting go of your hand.

But on to the good:

Mike Flanagan and his recurring casting directors—Anne McCarthy, Morgan Robbins, and Kellie Roy—have a gift for choosing people I want to see on my screen.1 We have a banger cast here, from Tom Hiddleston as the titular Chuck to Chiwetel Ejiofor, Karen Gillan, Mark Hamill, Carl Lumbly, Matthew Lillard, Rahul Kohli, David Dastmalchian, Harvey Guillén, and on and on. These are not always superbly developed roles—Lumbly, Lillard, and Dastmalchian probably do the best at making their smaller parts eye-catching and memorable—but they’re occupied by endearing presences who are good at conveying sincere emotion.

If you’re me—a Stephen King fan and so-called Constant Reader—the film, a faithful adaptation of King’s novella, also has a congenial voice. King’s sensibility has been part of my life for decades at this point, and I have a lot of affection for it. I suspect you’d have to, to enjoy this, because Flanagan makes bits of it feel an awful lot like an illustrated audiobook.

The film also, and perhaps unsurprisingly, considering its source material, doesn’t shy away from darkness and pain. When a young Chuck’s family is briskly disposed of in a few lines of voiceover narration—“Chuck was looking forward to having a baby sister. Of course, he was also looking forward to having parents, but none of that worked out, thanks to a patch of well-hidden ice on an I-95 overpass”—my wife pointed out that the film’s blurb had called it “life-affirming,” which felt bitterly funny after a line like that. I said—and I think this is key for me—that you need this for it to feel honestly life-affirming, that otherwise it’s just affirming a shiny, happy version of life no one actually has.

It’s easy to find value in happiness. The Life of Chuck at least tries to go beyond that, to look on a world that includes catastrophic entropy, brain tumors, loss, blinding pain, bittersweet regrets, lost dreams, and the innocent hurt we do to people we only want the best for as well as persistent love, moving reunions, courage, connections between strangers, and dance. It helps that it doesn’t go overboard on the despair, either: as the Offerman excerpt hopefully indicates, it can be unsentimental even about its sentiment. It sometimes lingers, but it rarely wallows.

But the best part of The Life of Chuck comes in the Hiddleston dance scene that’s the film’s emotional core. An accountant—already dying, though he doesn’t yet know it—hears a busker (Taylor Gordon) drumming a little beat for him, and he starts to dance. It becomes a crowd scene that’s maybe a little overplayed, with a whole enthusiastic circle gathered around him as he dances: first alone, and then with a young woman (Annalise Basso) who’s just been dumped. Overplayed or not, though, there’s a genuine sense of joy to Hiddleston here as he lets Chuck shake loose, openly reveling in something you can tell he hasn’t done in far too long.

What really makes the scene for me, though, is the wordless rapport that develops between Chuck and Taylor, the drummer. The film makes time to show tiny looks passing between them, little pauses of near-spontaneous collaboration, negotiations in glances: if I do this, will you do this? Should I pause to give you a break here? Do you want to get ready for this part? It feels miraculous but also human, and when Chuck finally finishes his dance and directs the applause back to his partner and to Taylor, it’s everything the film is saying—every loss is a kind of mini-apocalypse, life is suffused with wonder, and we all carry everyone we know with us—in loving miniature. I too have strangers who became a meaningful part of my life, even for only a few seconds. It’s nice to see art recognize that they matter.

The Life of Chuck is streaming on Kanopy.

  1. Flanagan has his faults, but anyone who has the good sense to put Carla Gugino and Bruce Greenwood in multiple projects is all right in my book. ↩︎