The Life of Chuck

A tender, time-twisting tribute to the beauty of an ordinary life

When you think of the pairing of Stephen King and filmmaker Mike Flanagan, your immediate thought is likely horror. The American author is famous for novels like It, The Shining, and Misery, while the American filmmaker has delivered some of the most acclaimed horror in the last decade with Oculus (2013), The Haunting of Hill House (2018), and Doctor Sleep (2019). Yet their latest collaboration ventures far from the horror genre, instead embracing a more philosophical and contemplative tone.

The Life of Chuck (2024) is adapted from a short story in King’s collection If It Bleeds. Told in three acts and in reverse chronological order, the story begins at the end: we follow a high school teacher (Chiwetel Ejiofor) in a dystopian near-future that feels uncomfortably present—rolling blackouts, raging wildfires, and mounting conflict between Pakistan and India. When the face of a seeming nobody, Charles Krantz (Tom Hiddleston), begins appearing on billboards and ads with a cryptic message—“Thank you, Chuck, for 39 great years”—no one can explain why, especially amid an apparent apocalypse. We then move backward in time to meet Chuck as an adult: an unassuming accountant. Eventually, we arrive at his childhood, where he is raised by his math-loving, alcoholic grandfather (Mark Hamill) and his dance-loving grandmother (Mia Sara).

The Life of Chuck is difficult to summarize—or even introduce. That ambiguity likely contributed to its initial struggle to secure distribution, despite winning the top prize at the prestigious Toronto International Film Festival. The film begins as a gripping dystopian drama but gradually transforms into a slice-of-life meditation on an ordinary man’s existence. It ultimately feels more akin to a Noah Baumbach or Richard Linklater film than to the usual work of Flanagan or King, evoking the emotional resonance of King’s Stand by Me and The Green Mile.

This isn’t a cradle-to-grave biopic but rather a presentation of three key moments in Chuck’s life, tied together by Nick Offerman’s warm narration that channels King’s lyrical prose. Both King and Flanagan have a gift for crafting vivid characters in mere seconds, perhaps best illustrated in a mall dance sequence where three people we’ve only just met share a moment so emotionally resonant that it nearly brings you to tears. Yet the emotional core of the film lies in Chuck’s youth, which gives us the fullest picture of his life and connects the dots established in the earlier acts. In many ways, the film mirrors how we get to know people in real life: starting with a surface impression, discovering small clues to their passions, and then uncovering the deeper history that shaped them. This reverse narrative structure is rare in cinema, used most famously by Christopher Nolan in Memento (2000) to depict the experience of short-term memory loss.

The Life of Chuck is a mosaic of small moments, interactions, and observations that cumulatively reveal the life of a man who may, at first glance, seem insignificant. But King’s story and Flanagan’s adaptation elevate the ordinary, framing the narrative with Walt Whitman’s poem Song of Myself, especially the line: “I contain multitudes.” This quote becomes key to understanding the supernatural undercurrents and thematic glue that binds the film’s three acts.

Some viewers may wish for more obvious connections between the segments or a more traditional narrative arc. Each act is a gem in its own right, but the transitions can feel abrupt or disconnected. Still, adding filler or more conventional storytelling would only dilute the film’s essence. The sparse structure is deliberate—and powerful. Padding it with exposition or additional characters would risk undermining the film’s emotional clarity and philosophical weight. Flanagan’s refusal to spoon-feed the audience is a courageous choice and one of the reasons I admire him as a filmmaker, both on television and in cinema. Like Terrence Malick’s later work—though far less pretentious—The Life of Chuck asks the viewer to meet it halfway.

Visually, Flanagan continues to impress with a clean, distinctive cinematic language that enhances rather than distracts. His editing and pacing feel like listening to a master orator—confident, fluid, and perfectly timed. He’s also one of the most consistent directors of actors working today, drawing superb performances from both stars and newcomers alike. While Hiddleston and Ejiofor are predictably excellent, it’s the younger cast—especially Benjamin Pajak as young Chuck—who shine. Even those with only a line or two make an impression, thanks in part to strong casting and Flanagan’s knack for coaxing depth from every performance.

In the end, The Life of Chuck is as difficult to classify as it is to explain. Its vignettes and meditations on what makes a life meaningful steer clear of sentimentality to deliver a heartfelt and enriching experience. With bold direction, a unique structure if slightly disjointed, and a profound source text, The Life of Chuck may not follow the rules—but that’s precisely why it shouldn’t be missed.

8.2/10