The Life Of Chuck: We Contain Multitudes

The Life of Chuck

Director: Mike Flanagan

Writer: Mike Flanagan, Adapted from a Novella by Stephen King

Cast: Tom Hiddleston, Jacob Tremblay, Benjamin Pajak

39 Great Years.

Thanks Chuck.

The billboard with Chuck Krantz sits proudly on top of the bank, noticed by Marty Anderson (Chiwetel Ejiofor) as he’s stuck in traffic. There is no internet, the television service has gone out, phone signals are lost, California is under water, sinkholes are opening all over and still, humanity persists. He’s on his way to the school, a teacher who is conducting parent-teacher conferences, but the parents don’t want to talk about that. They want to talk about the world.

A short story told in reverse in three acts, narrated by Nick Offerman, each tale beautifully portrayed from the inside out, and nobody can unfold a narrative like Flanagan.

The Life of Chuck is a thoughtful, darling, poignant film about one man’s life, and the impact he not only had on people, but that on what was had on him as well. The first act, near cosmic in nature, is a wonderful story of the collapse of a world, and humanity dying with the stages of grief we would all have to go through if that were to be our reality. The decline in Earth’s stability, explained with math, but love persists through it—love between two neighbours sitting on the hood of a car having a profound talk, where Matthew Lillard’s eyes welling up will bring you to tears. A story of two nurses (Karen Gillan, Rahul Kohli) who are fighting to save people who don’t want to live through this, a story of love found again, because when it is all over, who will you want by your side?

The second act is our first version of Chuck, in his 38th year, dancing on a promenade, full of life, with the charisma that only Tom Hiddleston has. He dances to the beat of the drum with a semi-heartbroken woman he calls little sister. The third act flashes back to him as a child, his parents and unborn sister have just passed in a car accident, and he lives with his grandparents, remarkably played by Mark Hamill and Mia Sara.

Dance with me little brother.

Here, played by Benjamin Pajak and Jacob Trembley, is where Chuck learns his love of dance, understands his math skills, gets life lessons no child deserves, and experiences a bit of magic that only Flanagan could bring to life.

Dance with me little sister.

Eben Bolter does a lovely job of the cinematography in the first act, creating a realistic world set in a near-magical setting. The Newton Brothers once again outdid themselves with their score, with moments so uplifting they will make your eyes well up and appreciate the life we are given, even if just for a moment. Stand out choreography, beautiful writing, a striking, poignant monologue delivered by Kate Seigal (and for those of us who have seen Mike Flanagan’s Netflix adaptations, we know Kate can deliver a touching speech like no other.) that lit up the eyes of young Chuck and showed us just in that moment, in those close shots how once persons words and belief in you can impact and determine your entire outlook on life.

We contain multitudes.

I have a tattoo on my left collarbone that says “What’s past is prologue.” I’ve had it since I was a teenager, 18 years old and allowed to get ink on my skin, to me it meant that all the stories in my life have built together and has created my own universe, my own novel in which every piece of everything I have been through, every word spoken to me, every thing I have seen has united into who I am as a person, and to see this same concept adapted in film, a universe in the mind touched me in ways I cannot even bring to words properly. This film won’t sneak up on you, but it will embrace you. It’s a hug, a cuddle, a reasoning that all will be okay even when it won’t be, even when in front of you seems hopeless.

The Life of Chuck is not about death. It’s about life—lived forward, understood backward. It’s about the people who shape us, the memories we carry like talismans, and the brief, burning beauty of simply being. Flanagan has crafted something rare: a cinematic eulogy that celebrates joy just as much as sorrow, that looks the inevitable in the eye and smiles anyway. This isn’t just one of the year’s best films—it’s one of its most human.

"I am going to live this life until there's no life left to live. I am wonderful. I deserve to be wonderful. I contain multitudes."

4.5/5