How often do you think about the death of our own small world, and the death of the entire universe, approaching one day in the distant future. Or not so distant, if you’re living during Mike Flanagan’sThe Life of Chuck.
This is a film seemingly about one man, but in reality, it isn’t just about Chuck; it’s about the universe he creates, and the people within it. It’s about the jigsaw pieces that form our soul – phrases picked up from family, dances taught in our youth, our mind with its dreams that never really change throughout our lives. A tale of family, futures, and endings.
Dividing a film into segments is always exciting to me, and telling it in reverse more so. The Life Of Chuck is composed of three ‘acts’, beginning in Act 3, followed by Act 2, and ending on Act 1. This format provides a sense of tension, a desire for answers, and also helps pace the film so as not to overwhelm the watcher. We are drip-fed information, gradually uncovering how the Chuck in Act 3 came to be. By effectively reverse-engineering this character, the film shines a light on the way childhood shapes us. We have to go right back to the beginning to understand ourselves at the end.
During the first segment (Act 3), the titular character mainly appears only through images; this creates an air of anticipation around the elusive Chuck. It also plants him as a central figure within the entire ‘universe’ of Act 3, nobody, including the audience, able to escape from his eyes. This beginning segment felt entirely different to the following two acts, which I say as a compliment; the apocalyptic nightmare slots into the wider narrative by establishing some level of connection between Chuck and this fading universe. It hints at a wider meaning surrounding Chuck’s invasion into the narrative of Act 3.
It also provides a tragically beautiful glimpse of the ending of the world. We see ourselves in civilian reactions, see our world as theirs, and view it all through the lens of Chuck. The shot of the teacher sat in the garden, watching the stars disappear, was my favourite moment from the whole film. The pure beauty and terror and magic of that image will stay with me.
Positioned in the middle, Act 2 was the shortest, and arguably simplest, section. The main narrative centred on a single dance sequence in a single location. By remaining mostly in one place, in a setting where everything seemed almost too neat and simple, the act felt slightly like a play. It had hints of ‘Truman Show’ esque voyeurism, yet this only added to the concept that Chuck was the central protagonist in his own universe. To him, this moment was everything.
This is also the segment that best utilised the films narrative style. Based on the Stephen King novella, a narrator was used throughout as a link to the original source material, and to present the film in a more novel-like way. The tale was told in a fashion that felt very much like a storybook, audibly described to the viewer, as opposed to just witnessed on screen. This unseen voice added to the concept of creating your own internal world; what we saw was explained, and created, by an unknown figure, similar to Chuck creating a world in his subconscious narrated by his internal thoughts. This was cleverly used during a moment with the character Janice Halliday. Whilst she walks, the narrator states words she then interjects to say herself, creating a true story-book dialogue of back-and-forth between omniscient observer, and the novel’s character.
The third section (Act 1) was the one that really built Chuck’s character. Though it might have been nice to have learnt more about the adult Chuck, watching him grow helped to establish the older figure seen, no matter for how little time. His story comes full circle, until we as an audience start to realise the answer to the question ‘Why did he stop and dance?’. The queries raised in previous scenes are resolved in our image of Chuck’s youth, such as his Grandmas hand actions, and his love of dance in comparison to his career. Tension between Chuck and his grandpa creates fear for the unopened door, and the more we learn, the more we understand, as Chuck does, the Grandfathers insistence that he never sees. The tearful hug they share on the stairs highlights the tragedies that have befallen them. But it is also healing – the love in the house is always made clear, and having to forge a world from sadness indicates why Chuck’s dreams grow so big.
Act 1 also serves to make clear the theory suggested by that first glimpse of Chuck in Act 3, a premise that ties together the whole film into the emotional, personal bundle that it becomes.
Overall, The Life of Chuck surprised me with how much I enjoyed it. I wasn’t expecting to get so invested in the mysteries of the room upstairs, feel so much pride in young Chuck at the school dance, or get as existential and emotional by the end. The final shot of this film left me with an empty space in my heart and mind, that lies waiting for a universe of my own creation to fill it in.
Posted 04/09/2025