As a mom to a non-speaking autistic daughter, watching the Pixar short film “Loop” was an absolute smash-up of emotions. Much like a toddler—or Lina playing with the “feelings” folder on her Proloquo2Go—I was happy/nervous/excited/overwhelmed/empathetic/thankful/happy/happy/happy all within the space of one minute. And the film lasts nine.
Every time I say to my husband, “Let’s watch Loop again,” he asks, skeptically, “Are you sure??” because it makes me cry every—damn—time, my tears streaming along with the film. Then I dry my face and say, “Let’s watch it again,”—yes, I’m stuck in a loop, if you will—because it’s the good kind of cry that cleans out your eyes and your heart (along with plenty of snot from your sinuses).
For the most part, I’m not crying from sadness, but from approximately 97% of every other feeling known to humankind. Here’s a very small sampler of the thoughts running through my mind as I watch and rewatch and rerewatch again:
“Ooooh a short film about a non-speaking girl? Get the popcorn. We’re doing this.”
“Wait, they’re putting her in a canoe with a STRANGER? This seems dangerous and where is the supervisor going? What if she needs help? Does she have an AAC device? WHERE ARE HER PARENTS?”
“Awww, she listens to that ringtone the same way Lina used to play her Baby Einstein musical toy.”
“Wow, her vocalizations are SO MUCH like Lina. Wait, please tell me they actually used an autistic actor…[frantic googling]…ok phew. Continue.”
“OMG the stimming on the grass…I can’t…it’s just like Lina stimming on her shirt tags…” [Sobbing uncontrollably because I’ve never seen anyone so like my daughter on screen and yes it’s an animated character and yes it feels ridiculous to cry over grass and shirt tags but just let me have this okay?]
“Oh no! The aversive noises, the hands over the ears! Can you please get some more popcorn? Yes it’s only been four minutes but they flipped their canoe and I’m STRESS-EATING OKAY??”
[More sobbing because the neurotypical character doesn’t know how to make the autistic character feel better and as a parent I feel his frustration and guilt in the depths of my soul.] “Hang in there, you! And you! Both of you! GahHhhhHHh!” [Blows nose like a goose with a bullhorn.]
“Ohhhhhh look at that beautiful little crooked smile, seriously has Pixar been secretly following Lina and recording her every move?”
“Whoever is chopping up those gd onions needs to stop right this second. Do we have wine?”
“Woof woof WOOF, I love it, I love Lina, I love whoever made this beautiful short.”
[Googles who made this beautiful short. Unsurprisingly, they are empathic, creative people.]
I was thrilled to see that the team did in fact use a non-speaking autistic teenager for the voice work. A behind-the-scenes video shows how they played pretend to record vocalizations with her full cooperation and consent, and it is utterly delightful.
My husband and I see Loop through the neurotypical perspective, but autistic individuals have also shared a lot of support for the film. For us, Loop helps us empathize with Lina, and it also feels like a way for people with minimal exposure to autism to understand some of the challenges that autistic individuals and their caregivers can experience.
If you have the ability to watch Loop—I think it’s only streaming on Disney+, which is kind of a shame—it’s worth the nine minutes of your time.
Only you can decide if it’s worth the hundreds of feels. I suggest it is.
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