Life, Animated

As I write the world’s eyes are turned on LA. People who are already inundated with attention are about to have even more thrust their way. At this moment, they sit in their make up chairs, delivering their audition tape- false humility - to mirror. Later, they will temporarily vacate their mirrors, to pace their living rooms, to practise their acceptance, titled: Why Donald Trump is such a bad man? In a 45 second speech, they will do what respected journalists, experienced politicians and right-thinking people failed to do: they will scold Donald Trump so badly that he will take to Twitter and resign from office - in 150 characters. (Actors: the best way to pique Trump tonight would be to ignore him altogether, to say nothing about him; for there to be a blanket ban on his name. Publicity is the man’s sustenance. Rumour has it he exists on a diet of newspaper headlines and oppositional placards. Apparently, memes are his source of roughage.) To put it succinctly, The Oscars is a celebration of the over-celebrated. It is an evening where the back-slapping rings so loud that the thirty-piece orchestra have a struggle to play over it.

Actors: it's time to get climb on.

For all of that I love The Oscars. I say that, I’ve never actually watched it – not in its entirety anyway. Given the Oscars is longer than a space mission, I’ve never had the chutzpah to watch it. I’m far too sensible to go to a black tie event – even televisually - on a school night. To paraphrase Dolly Parton, “If you want the champagne you have to accept the hangover.” I’m not prepared to endure weeklong weariness for the fizz of celebrity, so I’ll reluctantly turn in early. Tomorrow though I’ll be up, all excited and buzzing to see who won, wore and said what. Because ultimately the cynicism of the first paragraph was an act: a B-movie performance on how to appear cool and ironic. In all honesty, I love the movies and the hoopla that goes with them.

Tonight’s Oscars promises to be great too. The head-to-head battle is between a film I’ve seen, La La Land, and a film I want to see, Moonlight. This, in my mind, is a wonderful thing. Neither are big sluggers that benefitted from the weight of major producers. Being made on lightweight budgets, both are punching well above their weight. I guess what I’m saying is the films have entered the conquest on their vision alone – these are works of auteurs, not committees: La La Land was written and directed by thirty-two year old prodigy Damien Chazelle; Moonlight was produced for just $2 million by Barry Jenkins. Whoever's arm is lifted at the end of the evening should feel mightily proud.

Which is better? There's only one way to find out: FIGHT!

Despite all the press coverage on La La Land and Moonlight, I believe the film people should be talking about is Life, Animated. Nominated in the Best Documentary category, Life, Animated is a film that does a better job of celebrating cinema than the Oscars itself. I first heard about the feature on Kermode and Mayo’s film show, where The Good Doctor prescribed it to his legion of listeners. 

Fortunately, early this week I saw it was part of the Storyville season on BBC4; so setting my memory to record I vowed to catch it at the weekend. 

Well, I loved it and The Girl did too. 

Sometimes the best stories are better than fiction- and in this case it’s true. The film tells the story of Owen Suskind, a kind, loveable man who’s on the verge of graduating. Owen has the condition of autism and has, along with other adult sufferers, been in the care of specialists. He’s about to live independently for the first time – the thought of which makes him a ‘little nervous and a little excited too.’ His mother and father are also apprehensive, but they have the benefit of knowing how far their son has come.

Owen and his family.

Nineteen years previous, Owen did not resemble the man he is today. He had gone quiet. Someone, something, had hit the mute button on him. Try as they might, his parents could not find the means to reactivate him. Desperate, they sought specialist help. Following examination, they were informed Owen’s language had broken down; that his autism was so profound he may never speak again. And for that year he didn’t. Physically, he inhabited space, but cognitively he was lost within it. The only joy Owen took was from watching old Disney videos with his brother Walter. Owen only became

animated when he saw these animations.

Then, aged four, something of a miracle occurred. Owen spoke the word, ‘justervoic.’ Only it wasn’t a word, but a phrase: “Just her voice.” A line Ursula delivers to Ariel in The Little Mermaid. Amazed, his parents took him to a therapist, arguing that his speech had returned. Pragmatic, the expert surmised the speech wasn’t authentic, but artificial: a child parroting out of context what they had heard. Weeks later, Owen’s father picks up his son's Iago teddy, and mimicking the character’s voice asks, “Why are you sad?” The child replies, “Because I don’t have any friends.” Ironically, through a stuffed parrot they discovered their son wasn’t parroting; instead Owen was using cartoons to express his emotions. From the prison of regressive autism, they had finally found the key; it just so happened it bore the name, Walt Disney.

Iago isn't all bad.

The story doesn’t end there though. Yes, the family find they can use Disney movies to bridge the gap between Owen and the wider world; but when it comes down to it, Disney classics are two-dimensional. Every Disney film ends with the boy getting the girl, with the conflict neatly resolved – life isn’t like that. Life rejects classification; defies four-part narrative; conflict lasts; songs aren't succour – the boy doesn’t always get the girl. Ultimately Disney can’t help children escape life's nightmare kingdom – only family can. Witnessing how the love of Owen's family allows him to face his challenges is truly magical.

For all of the 5 stars reviews though, the greatest plaudit comes from the famously litigatious Disney, who green-lit their material for the film. Director Roger Ross Williams showed a raw copy of Life, Animated to Disney's lawyers; so overwhelmed were they, they gave him carte-blanch to use any footage he wished.

Right now, around the world, everyone is talking about that Best Picture envelope. Who will win? Who will lose? But for me, there’s a tight-lipped one more worthy of your attention. Gilded in gold no less impressive is the envelope for Best Documentary. I hope tonight when its mouth finally opens it says the words, Life, Animated. Owen and his family deserve it.

Life, Animated is available on iPlayer.