I read a lot of coverage of this film as it was covering out, because the algorithm picked up on my affinity for Aronofsky films and delivered article after article to me of praise for it or decrying it for its portrayal of obesity as … any number of things. Dehumanising, fatphobic, etc. But really this is more a film about the challenges of recovering from grief: Fraser’s character is conscious of what he does to himself as a result of his immense sorrow. He knows that society hates his body and hides it. He openly claims himself to be of such a physical state that he cannot possibly be loved. I think the accusations of fatphobia fail to recognize that this film portrays a character who actively suffers from his perception of society’s regards for his body and all he wants is to be loved like any other. He doesn’t need to accept himself, or be proud of his body, to be a model for how people universally want acceptance and love. His love for people, despite the suffering he has endured at their hands, doesn’t fade. Effectively this is a story about how one man wants to be remembered, and he wanted to be remembered for kindness and, finally, for authenticity. There’s no assumption of transformation or metamorphosis, no inspiration to be better, just acceptance.