Mike Flanagan’s The Life of Chuck, adapted from Stephen King’s novella, is one of those rare films that defy easy categorization. It is not a horror film, despite King’s reputation and Flanagan’s own long résumé of gothic tales. Instead, it is a meditative piece that explores what it means to live, to connect, and to leave traces behind. Told in reverse chronological order, the story unspools like a puzzle, inviting the audience to piece together a life that feels both intimate and vast. The film begins not with a birth but with an ending. The world is falling apart—technology sputters, societies unravel, and the sky itself seems to be collapsing. Amid this chaos, strange billboards appear carrying a simple message: “Charles Krantz, 39 Great Years. Thanks, Chuck.” No one knows who Chuck is, or why his life seems linked to the unraveling of reality. In this opening act, the apocalypse is less a spectacle than a metaphor. Cities crumble quietly, people cling to each other, and the end of...