The sweet spot between creature feature and aquatic malarkey still kicks in 2026. Fans of the cult sub-genre didn’t necessarily need a grounded reality to wake them up, but the newest survival horror is set on expanding the impact of what a silly concept can do. Not only is it a visual spectacle that activates the fight or flight, Whalefall is one of the most unconventional settings to hold a story of familial forgiveness, and healing after loss. Can’t say I saw genre defiance coming, but I’m not displeased by this post-screening fatigue at all.
The film is a direct adaptation of Daniel Kraus’ novel by the same name. The source and its film follow Jay Gardiner (Austin Abrams), an average twenty-something going through the complicated stages of losing an estranged parent. His father, Mitch (Josh Brolin), was a guardian of tough love, and little compassion. He was a scuba diver, and although Jay might not’ve shared the same love of the ocean, he spent his son’s adolescence teaching him the ins and outs of deep sea safety hoping he’d some day apply those lessons elsewhere in life.
In the story’s exposition, Mitch accepts his terminal illness by opting for suicide in the open ocean, leaving his family with an empty casket to grieve over. Searching for closure one year after his death, Jay takes one last dive hoping to find closure in his father’s remains. Several feet below sea level, a sperm whale hunts a giant squid, and swallows them both in the chase. He wakes up in the stomach of the whale with one hour of oxygen left in his tank. It’s at this point where Jay discovers the brash lessons of his late father can be resurfaced to keep him breathing.
“Whale fall” is the term used by marine mammologists to describe the death and decomposition of a whale. Postmortem, the whale’s bodies sink to the ocean floor and create a pool of concentrated nutrients, transforming the otherwise nutrient-poor seafloor into an oasis for decades of life afterwards. The doubling of science and interpersonal relationships of this description is the foundation of the two halves Whalefall offers. Even after death, the impact of our loved ones, estranged or not, can have value for the future. That, and the insides of a whale have enough oomf to take you out. Biology is awesome, but the stomach of a 80 foot beast is the last place you’d want to find yourself trapped in.
Author Daniel Kraus’ story is based in as much biology as fictionally possible, leaving fantastical tales like Pinocchio’s feel like light work. You’d assume that without significantly bending the rules of science, the story would be near impossible to replicate on screen. Brian Duffield’s 2023 alien home invasion No One Will Save You started the director’s reputation for filming the unfilmable, and nailing it. After reading the novel, Duffield was happy to take on the challenge with Kraus as a co-writer. The result is nothing short of a high stakes thrill ride.
The guts of Whalefall’s emotional baseline is carried by Brolin and Abrams, even with both of their performances being extremely limited by the story and setting. I can only describe Brolin’s echoing monologues from the afterlife as powerful- holding strong levels of regret and hope. Unlike Abram’s recent Resident Evil, there’s no room for physical acting, forcing the actor to carry the load via facial expression against oppressive camerawork. The intricacies of suffocating interpersonal relationships almost blends too well with textbook claustrophobia.
Brief flashbacks give the viewer only half a break, as bereavement is expressed too explicitly past the halfway mark. When we jump back to Jay inside the whale, the viewer is met with the expected genre of discomfort. When grief gets heavy, many of us on land will avoid digestion in therapy, but Whalefall takes “digestive” to a deeper, and more literal display of facing healing. The viewer is not exempt from that discomfort to a slight fault, but not enough to fully distract from how ethereal and otherworldly the film expresses itself.
Whalefall clearly takes ultimate pride in going practical whenever possible. Watching Jay’s skin start to dissolve from stomach acid inside a 360 degree pulsing flesh chamber is somehow beautiful under faint bioluminescence and intense tonal choices. The score is fine, but the wall of sound is incredible, and really enforces the reality of catharsis in an objectively horrible situation. I’d be begging for quiet if I spent an hour being taunted by the squelches of marine organs the way Jay has.
Whalefall understands that grief doesn’t really make sense, and urges the viewer to find something tangible inside something absurdist. Although I still can’t wrap my head around how this could be ultra-effective, what I do know is that my heart rate and levels of melancholy have never seen or felt anything like it. Fans are sure to feel welcome to have it screening on the largest theater screens nationwide.
