Do you suffer anxiety attack when you attempt to write about something that is dear to your heart? An important childhood memory? An experience in a lifetime? Your favorite book? The most significant events that happened that may have shaped who you are?

Maybe it’s just me. This is why so far I have not been able to write about what happened at BlogHer this summer. Why I did not even mention my going alone to a dive bar in downtown Chicago to watch my favorite band The Boxer Rebellion. It meant too much for me to run the risk of potentially screwing the memory up by attempting to write it down.

Does this even make sense?!

I watched “Mary and Max” tonight. I cried so much over it that by the end there was a pile of Kleenex on the sofa next to me. In my usual fashion, I agonized over talking about it at all: What if you watch it and are disappointed because all my gushing is going to make you go into it with high expectations? But I HAVE TO talk about it. I am still awake because I cannot get Mary and Max out of my head. So welcome to my therapy session, Spill and Be Done with It.

Oh, and if you are going to watch the movie, remember you MAY hate it. There. Now we are safe from disappointment caused by high expectations…

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Mary and Max is a feature-length claymation created by Adam Elliot and team (who had won the Academy Award for Animated Short Film in 2003) and premiered on the opening night of the Sundance Film Festival in 2009.  The plot is deceptively simple: Mary Daisy Dinkle (Toni Collette) is an 8-year old girl living in the suburbs of Melbourne. Max Jerry Horowitz (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is a 44-year-old obese Jewish atheist living in New York who also is later diagnosed to have Aspergers syndrome. Mary is awkward, neglected by her parents, unloved, and friendless. Max is, well, in a similar boat. Their lives intersected when Mary randomly picked Max’s name out of an American phone book to write a letter to. You see, Mary wanted to find out whether in America babies come from the bottom of a beer mug like they do in Australia. For 20 years they wrote and sent each other chocolate, with some interruptions, encouraging and supporting each other oftentimes without consciously doing so.

The movie is consisted to a large extent of the reading of the letters they write each other and of the narrator. Dialogues are kept to a minimum. Some of you will no doubt be delighted to know that the omniscient narrator was voiced by Barry Humphries (whose alter ego is none other than Dame Edna).

There are plenty professional reviews to be found via google search which saves me from total panic attack since I suck at writing reviews which require logics and persuasion. I am better at gushing. It is rather my feeble attempt at keeping what moved me in this movie alive via my remembering the bits and pieces. From the opening lines:

Mary Dinkle’s eyes are the color of muddy puddles. Her birth mark, the color of poop.

To the innocent, “nonsensical” questions Mary asked Max (“Do sheeps shrink when it rains?” “Do gooese get goose bumps?”). To Max’s literal answers to Mary’s questions and his straightforward sharing of his life view (“I like being an Aspie! It would be like trying to change the color of my eyes.”) To the parallel between Mary’s innocent questions and Max’s puzzlement over human behaviors (“He couldn’t understand why he was seen as the odd one while everyone else was considered normal. Humans were endlessly illogically. Why did they throw out food when there’re children starving in India?”)

I want to write down every single piece of these gems.

As in all other stop-motion feature films, Mary and Max is a labor of love. An incredible achievement of art, design, crafts, architecture, photography. More than the visual feast, it is an incredible feat that the story never turned saccharin; I half “expected” the movie to be a formulaic tale of triumph of two outsiders over their difficulties through finding each other in this lonely world. It is not warm and fuzzy.

I am in love with the writing by Adam Elliot. I drank in every word. In my usual crazed obsessive fashion, I envisioned myself swallowing the words whole so as to absorb them directly into my being.

Max: I asked my mother when I was four, and she said they [babies] came from eggs laid by rabbis. If you aren’t Jewish, they’re laid by Catholic nuns. If you’re an atheist, they’re laid by dirty, lonely prostitutes.

Mary: I am sorry to hear that you are fat. Mum says I am fat too and I am growing up to be a heifer… which I think is a type of cow. Maybe you should only eat things which begin with the letter of each day!

Narrator: He agrees with his favorite physicist [Guess who?] that there are only two things infinite: The universe. And men’s stupidity.

Like I said, I had this urge to take out a pen and paper fire up my laptop and jot down the letters word by word. I wanted to remember them. I wished, while I was watching the movie, that Adam Elliot had turned the letters into a book. Because he did not, I kind of panicked as the movie progressed as I could not memorize all the things that touched something deep inside my heart. (I am AWARE of how insane in the membrane this was…)

I still wish he would. Many reviews and blog posts mentioned the epitaph used for the movie:

God gave us our relatives; thank God we can choose our friends.       —– Ethel Mumford

I don’t disagree that this is a major theme threaded throughout the film. However, ultimately the lesson, at least the one that I walked away with, that Max in his unconventional way has taught Mary is this…

Love yourself first.