Oscar winning director Chris Landreth has seen his share of couples like Dan and Mary Rutherford, the main characters in 'The Spine', his 15-minute animated psycho-realist portrait of two vulnerable individuals tangled up in a seemingly inescapable web of spirit-crushing co-dependency.
"I would say the inspiration was being curious and also a little bit boggled by couples who I've seen over the years who have been in relationships for a very long time that are the most toxic and seemingly unhealthy relationships that you can imagine, and wondering what keeps these people together and I wanted to approach that in a way that was respectful and in a way that gave some insight."
The film begins with Dan and Mary, who have endured 26 dedicated, but often listless years of marriage, in a surreal group counseling session, futilely trying to come to grips with the gradual degradation of their relationship. Dan is a sagging, colourless shell of a man whose identity is inextricably linked with his morbidly obese wife's maternal nagging. But there's much more to the story than initially meets the eye.
"In the case of Dan and Mary, you see at the very beginning that they have a relationship which neither of them should be with one another and I wanted to explore what kind of perverse, yet...beautiful things might keep (them) together."
The 'beautiful things' Landreth mentions only come to light after a brief period of liberation for Dan, who comes into his own when Mary suddenly leaves him. During that time his physical appearance drastically changes, most notably his spine, which seems to regenerate and sparkle with an aura of psychedelic colours.
"He acquires a new identity, he develops the backbone that you see in the film, he develops an awareness, a self-awareness, a curiosity of life and of art."
Which begs the question --- why did he waste so much time with Mary?
Landreth cites his own real-life experiences and observations for the possible answer to that question.
"Often enough it's not just simply a situation of being in habit or being in something that is inherently stupid or unhealthy, it was that there was some kind of glue holding this together and that there is an emotional beauty to that."
When Mary unexpectedly returns, Dan once again degenerates and sinks into his previous role, and one can't help be feel resentment towards his overbearing wife.
That is, until Mary's psychic stains are revealed - unveiling a kind-hearted woman who wanted badly to have children, but was unable to. Fertility drugs threw her thyroid out of whack, causing her to gain an obscene amount of weight. In her hurt and desperation, she turned to Dan, looking upon him as the child she could never have. Dan ultimately sacrificed his own life and identity to carry on the heartbreaking façade, and when the two embrace near the end of the film, it's an emotionally confusing moment.
"There is a sense of tragedy and in a sense they are doomed," Landreth explains. "There continues to be this horrible toxic element to their relationship but on the other hand there is this noble and sweet part of that as well."
The film concludes with the brilliant colours that Dan briefly adorned fading into oblivion, as he once again gives up his individuality to soothe his fragile partner, whom he affectionately calls his, 'songbird'.
"Dan is a selfless person in a big respect," Landreth concludes. "There is a lot of co-dependency that I'm trying to explore in the film, and he has either grown or sunken into the role of a surrogate child. And that is something I have seen happen in relationships all too frequently."
Remarkably, Landreth has managed to encapsulate a lifetime of emotional vulnerability and psychological drama in a few short minutes. The depth of the project is a testament to his filmmaking mastery.
michaelt@citytv.com
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