Annecy Review: Trauma takes strange, startling shape in The Orbit of Minor Satellites

I've never seen a movie like The Orbit of Minor Satellites.

Writer-director Chris Sullivan is much more of a multi-hyphenate than that title suggests. Throughout the credits of this fascinating and strangely touching film, I saw Sullivan's name pop up again and again. Art direction, sound recording, acting, music. That this filmmaker wore so many hats on this production makes so much sense, as this is one of those movies that you watch and you can feel the fingerprints on it, the human element that makes film (and other creative acts) so compelling. There is such a strong vision at work in The Orbit of Minor Satellites, something truly unique unfolding before your eyes. It's an acquired taste, to be sure, a movie that won't necessarily connect with everyone. But I think it's also a movie that's so easy to admire, and one that might grab you even if you don't quite land on its wavelength. I'm glad to say that I very much did land on its wavelength, and enjoyed the weird ride.

The film centers on the relationship between a psychiatrist, Derwood Richards, and his patient, Rosemary Hamm. Rosemary is haunted by the death of her sister in a car accident, an accident that she considers herself responsible for. It's kind of a case of "the wrong kid died." Ruth Ann was the good child, the angel. Rosemary is the problem child, perhaps epitomized in her need for extensive therapy. 

Rosemary spends much of her time living in a sort of fantasy world on a newly discovered moon of Saturn called Maelstrom. In this world, she envisions herself as the various crew members of a Russian expedition to said moon, where they've been sent to establish a colony and explore the exciting new environment. There, they also meet a giant buffalo creature, whose face looks like a creature from mythology, or even the devil himself. The cosmonauts regard him with some trepidation, since he's huge and potentially dangerous.

The film is threaded mostly through the therapy sessions these two characters share, with occasional dips into the Maelstrom mission, Dr. Richards' home life, and flashbacks. This isn't a linear affair. It's a bit challenging at times to orient yourself in time and place, but there's also a feeling of knowing that you're seeing everything for a reason, that these disparate elements and scenes have been placed just so in the service of a grander vision. I, for one, don't mind being a little untethered in the world of a film, especially one so bold as this. There's a freedom to that surrender, to letting go of the need for typical narrative conventions, and being pulled along to odd corners and far-flung worlds. And here, I felt more that I did understand what was going on than I didn't, which is obviously a nice balance to hit.

There's so much to untangle here, a lot to ponder, to chew on. The film obviously deals a lot with the burden of surviving tragedy, particularly being a survivor of an incident that led to the death of a child (or multiple children). How do you compartmentalize that survivor's guilt, how do you keep on being human, what does it look like to heal? There's a burden to being alive, being aware, and that burden becomes so much heavier when you pass through the fires of hell and come through still breathing, even if you're burnt, scarred. There's such a deep humanity to this film, and I found myself coming away from it with a sense of gratitude for the people who come up alongside us in life, and walk with us along the strange journeys of being human. In this case, it's a doctor who's willing to imagine himself in the vast expanses of space. But for us, maybe it's a parent, a spouse, a sibling, a friend. Finding a soft place to land and take a breather is sometimes just a matter of meeting the right person at the right time. It can make the strangeness of being alive a little easier to parse.

Just as the meat of the movie is hardy, chewy, so, too, is the approach to the visuals. I've rarely seen a movie that is so full of visual interest as this one. Sullivan and his team of animators have conjured something really special here, a mad mixed media vision that gives you even more to weigh as the credits roll. The film uses a bit of stop-motion (mostly for scenes of toy cars driving up to various buildings), lots of hand-drawn animation, and a fair helping of live action. Sometimes, the characters shed or re-grow their animated skin, transforming before our eyes. It made me wonder in which form are they being more authentic, more nakedly themselves, and which is the mask they hide behind. Sometimes, the animation is frazzled, scribbled lines filling out the silhouettes of actions. Other times, there's so much detail in the wrinkles of a face, the creases of a body. It's beautiful, but not in the way that the word "beautiful" makes you picture. It feels honest, cutting right to the heart of what this movie is aiming for (and in my opinion, achieving).

I'm so glad that I'm ending my Annecy coverage (as far as I know...there are no more screeners waiting in my inbox) with The Orbit of Minor Satellites. While many of the movies I've covered from the festival are glossy, shiny, ready to ship to general audiences, here's something marching to its own beat, fiercely itself, fresh and exciting and (to some) probably off-putting. It's a great reminder that animation can be anything, can tell any story, can tackle any subject matter. It can give shape to trauma, healing, human connection, and loss, in ways that no other medium can. 

It can remind us that even a short life is worth living.