(NOTE: In the interest of full disclosure and subjective honesty, let it be known that this film was watched, and written about, from the perspective of a mourning animal lover, one who lost his cat of nearly a decade to old age within a week’s time. We can only be so objective sometimes, and I like to own up to that fact. Now, on with the show.)
In the summer of 2001, a strange visitor first graced the waters of Nootka Sound, a body that occupies the coast of Vancouver Island alongside western Canada, just above the Washington state border. He was a roughly two-year-old Orca (killer whale) named Luna, separated from his pod (a traveling family of Orcas that normally remain together for life) and starving for the attention typical to his species. Guests and locals were delighted by the friendly, playful swimmer, who frequently – make that constantly – pined for attention, playing and making eye contact with anyone who would receive him.
What follows this sunshiney scenario is a frequently sad and ultimately tragic tale, one marked by the incompetence of human organization and, perhaps, the misguidedness of those most committed to helping Luna. The Whale is assembled almost entirely out of footage taken of Luna during his stay off the island, giving it a diary-like immediacy that’s stylistically raw and unpolished but appropriate to its details of emotional intimacy and the messiness of life’s balance and imbalances. These sequences are effectively narrated by an unpretentious Ryan Reynolds and punctuated with sporadic talking head footage, suggesting an organic, altogether fluid time capsule. Luna seems to be acting for the camera, and he very well may have been. The effect he had on those who knew him is palpable; envy is a legitimate response towards those who appear here to tell their stories.
The Whale never gets overly philosophical about its subject matter, but one unmistakable theme at its core is nothing less than the very fabric of personal relationships and how the interconnectedness of life transcends the definitions and boundaries society imposes on the world around it. In describing the bond that was felt by people for (or is it with?) Luna, many used the word friendship, despite the literal-mindedness of unimaginative scientific minds who state that animals could not share in the human invention of friendship – that to impose such on them is mere anthropomorphization, the projection of human feelings onto things that cannot possibly share them.
A more realistic and open-minded perception (not articulated by the film) is that human beings are nothing more than evolved animals, and what we experience can be shared with other, more highly evolved creatures as part of necessary natural processes (we didn't invent friendship, but we are conscious of it). The governing body that seeks to prevent Luna from interacting with humans is just as misguided in their logic as those unfeeling scientists; their inanely reasoned attempts to keep the whale safe are precisely what guarantee his long-term doom. Luna reached out for love and received the back hand of a screwed up species. A minor bit of transcendence, The Whale bears witness to the triumphs and failures of our response to the miracle of his existence.
Join the Conversation