REVIEW. In THE LIFE OF CHUCK, Life's a Bitch, Then You Die...Only Backwards.

[Life is] full of loneliness and misery and suffering and unhappiness,

and it's all over much too quickly. - Woody Allen, Manhattan (1979)

Well, that's essentially how I feel about The Life of Chuck: it's a melancholy tale filled with tragedy, loneliness, isolation and death...and the credits role before we can fully appreciate all of writer-director Mike Flanagan's riff on a short story of the same name by Stephen King. Instead, we get an uneven, sometimes painfully slow and pedantic, treatise on life, global warming, international politics, and the fate of the universe.

Is this the end of the world as we know it and, if so, is Chuck, as one character queries, the "Oz of the Apocalypse"? And who is this guy named Chuck anyway?

Told in reverse order in three acts, with "Act Three: Thanks Chuck," kicking off the narrative, we watch as, amidst a growing number of international catastrophes rocking the world - an earthquake severs most of California from the Continental US; a flood destroys London; the worldwide internet collapses - the picture of an accountant named Charles "Chuck" Krantz (Tom Hiddleston) starts popping up everywhere, with messages of "thanks and gratitude for thirty-nine great years."

But just who is this Chuck and what did he do for almost four decades? Is he retiring? No one seems to know, though Flanagan spends almost the entire first half of the movie ruminating on Chuck's omnipresent presence. Following high school teacher Marty Anderson (Chiwetel Ejiofor) as he managers traffic jams, power outtages, and frantic phone calls from his ex-wife Karen (Felicity Gordon), who is convinced that the end of the world is at hand, but it's unclear how/if he's connected to Chuck. We know the suicide and marriage rates are climbing. Surely, a sign of Biblical calamity.

Everyone Marty encounters is looking for answers regarding the recent series of disasters, but their understandable fears are not presented or developed in any sort of compelling way. Flanagan lets Marty's conversations with local friends and residents go on far too long, creating a kind of tedium around what should have been an intriguing and curious discovery about the future of humankind... and Chuck. There's no momentum here. Just endless, meaningless chats.

At this point, I'll admit I almost got up and left. The movie's plot was meandering and limp and, despite Ejiofor's evocative countenance and reassuring demeanor in the face of crisis, I didn't know if I wanted to invest more time in what seemed like an unpromising outcome. Amidst the glib, preachy prounouncements about how industrialization has polluted "Mother Earth," and platitudes about how we all need to find someone rather than be alone, I started reaching for the button to toggle my seat forward. That's when Act Three ended abruptly with a sudden fade-to-black.

As "Act Two: Buskers Forever" appeared underscored (again) by the image of what would become a shooting star, I decided to wait a bit and see if things got better. They did, though not in ways that completely redeemed the debacle of Act Three. But there were a few shining moments.

The movie's second and last (though first) acts provide more information about the elusive everyman Chuck and his ordinary life. We learn that his parents (and unborn sister) were killed in an automobile accident when he was seven, that he was raised by his paternal grandparents, and that he found joy when his Bubbe (Mia Sara) inspired in him a love of dance. Their scenes in the kitchen as she teaches a pre-pubescent Chuck (a very impressive Benjamin Pajak) various dance steps are heartwarming and genuine. I wish there had been more time spent on this relationship.

Albie Krantz, Chuck's Zayde, (Mark Hamill), carries the grief over losing his only son differently: deeply embittered, he drinks too much and seems angry at life. In spite of the challenges he has faced, including his proclivity toward the supernatural that includes repeated warnings to Chuck that he never enter the haunted cupola upstairs, Zayde loves Chuck and encourages his grandson's interest in mathematics. In one memorable scene, Zayde explains how studying mathematics is an art, how it is intrinsically connected to everything, especially Chuck's love of dance. Actor Hamill, now in his seventies and most famous for his iconic role as Luke Skywalker in the Star Wars franchise, offers a finely nuanced turn here as Zayde, an affectionate curmudgeon whose concern for his family, especially his grandson, is sometimes overshadowed by his precognitive abilities, a gift that takes on an ominous foreboding when he explains the predictive power of mathematics. His failure to make a final argument in favor of studying math means he is unable to share his joy with Chuck the way Bubbe does, although we do learn that adult Chuck did become an accountant, a somewhat joyless one who holds onto fond memories of dancing with his Bubbe.

If Flanagan could have captured more of the magic found the scenes of Chuck's childhood earlier in the narrative (re: Act Three), The Life of Chuck might have made a stronger case for its major theme: that life - no matter how long may be - is fleeting, and we must find joy in daily pleasures like an unexpected opportunity to dance or the beauty of a perfect spring morning.

For me, the pivotal scene in The Life of Chuck, the one that made it worth my time and made me think about the movie afterward, is the one between sixth-grade Chuck (Pajak) and his teacher Miss Richards (Kate Siegel). On the last day of school, trying to read from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself," Miss Richards, described in voiceover as a kind of "hippie idealist," finds her students, save Chuck, unruly and disinterested, eager for summer vacation to begin. But Chuck lingers after class, asking her what Whitman's line, "I contain multitudes" means.

In a scene reminiscent of Robin Williams' in 1989's Dead Poets Society, where he coaxes a reluctant Ethan Hawke to compose an impromptu poem (Whitman serves as inspiration there, too), we observe Miss Richards' gentle explanation to Chuck's query, encouraging him to discover the meaning of Whitman's metaphor: that each of us holds all the people, ideas and events - real and imagined - in our life memory and, in that way, we expand ourselves and our existence. It's a phrase that will stay with Chuck forever, in ways that later prove both prophetic and poignant.

This very moving scene between teacher and student reminded me of something my dissertation advisor told me when I was beginning to write my doctoral thesis and facing alone the ubiquitous "blank page" or, in my case, a black computer screen. He told me to remember that, whenever I begin any writing project, all those who have influenced me - authors, historians, professors, colleagues, family and friends - are all in the room with me, in my head and in my heart, guiding me if I open myself up to their support. In that way, he concluded, I'd never be alone.

I've carried that message with me ever since, and every time I've begun to compose anything - an academic monograph, a history lecture, a letter of recommendation or greeting card message, even (and especially) this blog - the image of being surrounded by all those who have influenced me always comes back like a warm and reassuring embrace.

I am also of the belief that short stories can made really good movies, with Stephen King's "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption" arguably one of best examples of that notion, because there are more opportunities for character development and creative interpretation than a novel where plot complexities are often compressed to ensure a manageable running time. Tolstoy's War and Peace told in just over three hours? It's been done (in 1956) with a running time of 208 minutes, an all-star cast, and is considered a fine classic film, but I'm not convinced it captures the depth or character nuances found in the novel.

The downside of adapting short stories to the silver screen is that, often times, short stories are more abstract, lacking the detail necessary to craft a coherent narrative, and The Life of Chuck falters a bit in making some of those connections between Act Three and Act One. My literture professor husband and I have been debating the meaning of the long Act Three set-up for two days now. I won't divulge the details, as I think the viewer needs to decide how the two do - or don't - fit together. Maybe our differences are a good thing as they suggest the movie merits post-viewing dialogue. Since I'm the blogger, I'll reiterate my sesnse that some may find the first/last act disconnects more frustrating than satisfying.

For my husband, the movie was just one long depressing tale with little relief from one tragedy or disappointment after another. For me, the overlong set-up, coupled with the lack of backstory meant a less emotional pay-off in the end. There were moments of joy, scenes I will remember with the kind of wistfulness that happens when you're older and thinking about life and the things (and people) who have mattered most, and how they've shaped who you are. Chuck's Bubbe was a combination of my Dad my aunt Helen, whose warm smiles and gentle encouragement helped me gain confidence and discover my own moments of joy.

The late film critic Gene Siskel once said that a good movie has three great scenes. If that standard holds, then The Life of Chuck is definitely a good movie. A great film, Siskel went on to describe, also has three great scenes...and no bad ones. By that measure, Chuck doesn't quite add up, but that doesn't mean it's not worth seeing (if not in the theater, then later this year when it moves to streaming). Not sure if Hamill's performance will be remembered in the supporting category later this season, but his work here, along wis ith Pajak's young Chuck and Hiddleston's adult Chuck, is commendable. So far, the lacklustre box office (around $5M globally to date) will likely push Chuck to streaming sooner rather than later.

Too bad. Part of the problem gaining a wider audience might be the movie's trailer, which is kind of misleading as it promises to show the "life-affirming" story of an ordinary man. What you might expect based on the preview is not what you get in the film, which is darker and less uplifting than the teaser suggests. The Life of Chuck premiered at last year's Toronto International Film Festival and won the People's Choice Award, notably for what one critic called Flanagan's ability to find "warmth in melancholy."

I would agree with that assessment, though, like life, Flanagan's ability to capture moments where the heartbreaking intersects with the heartwarming are fleeting. In the end, whether you enjoy The Life of Chuck will likely depend on your own perspectives of life: how you value it, how you spend your time (and with whom), and whether you are able to open yourself to joy and follow your bliss. In that respect, Chuck's life equation - and how well he lived life to the fullest - didn't always add up for me, though it did give me something to think about.

After all, I, too, contain multitudes.

How about you?

*******

The Life of Chuck is now playing in theaters, though showings here in Chicago have been cut in half since last week. I suspect it will be leaving theaters soon, so catch it while you can.