When a film manages to turn a room full of jaded festival-goers into a collective mess of tears, you know it’s struck a nerve. That’s exactly what happened at Cannes this year with Tangles, a Canadian animated film that’s as emotionally raw as it is visually stunning. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how it defies expectations. Animation, often associated with whimsy and escapism, is here wielded as a tool to confront one of life’s most brutal realities: Alzheimer’s. Personally, I think this is where Tangles truly shines—it doesn’t shy away from the darkness, but it also doesn’t let it consume the story.
The film, based on Sarah Leavitt’s graphic memoir, is a deeply personal exploration of caregiving, loss, and the fragile bonds of family. What many people don’t realize is how animation can amplify emotional narratives. The use of light and shadow in Tangles isn’t just aesthetic; it’s symbolic. Scenes bathed in partial light reflect the disorientation and uncertainty that Alzheimer’s brings, both for the patient and the caregiver. If you take a step back and think about it, this is a masterclass in visual storytelling—using the medium to mirror the emotional landscape of the characters.
What this really suggests is that animation isn’t just for kids or lighthearted tales. It can—and should—be used to tackle complex, adult themes. Tangles proves that with its star-studded voice cast, including Abbi Jacobson, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and Bryan Cranston, who bring a depth and authenticity to the characters. But it’s not just the big names that make this film resonate. A detail that I find especially interesting is the inclusion of personal dedications from the cast and crew after the credits—names of loved ones lost to dementia. This isn’t just a movie; it’s a collective act of remembrance.
From my perspective, this is where Tangles transcends its medium. It’s not just a story about one family’s struggle; it’s a universal ode to caregivers everywhere. Director Leah Nelson and producer Lauren Miller Rogen (whose own mother battled Alzheimer’s) have crafted something deeply personal yet universally relatable. Their collaboration with Seth Rogen adds an unexpected layer of humor, which, in my opinion, is crucial. It’s not about diminishing the pain but about acknowledging that even in the darkest moments, there’s room for laughter.
One thing that immediately stands out is how the film balances specificity with universality. Leavitt’s story is rooted in her own experiences—her mother’s diagnosis, her father’s denial, her own identity as a queer cartoonist. Yet, the emotions it captures are so raw and human that anyone who’s ever cared for a loved one will find echoes of their own journey. This raises a deeper question: How do we tell stories about pain without drowning in it? Tangles answers this by weaving in moments of beauty, humor, and connection.
What’s also striking is the film’s ability to connect to broader cultural conversations. Alzheimer’s and dementia are often whispered about, shrouded in stigma. Tangles pulls back the curtain, not just on the disease, but on the emotional labor of caregiving. It’s a reminder that these stories deserve to be told—and heard. In a world where blockbuster spectacles often dominate, Tangles is a quiet rebellion, a testament to the power of storytelling in its most intimate form.
As I reflect on the film, I’m struck by its duality. It’s both a love letter and a lament, a celebration of memory and a confrontation of its loss. It’s not an easy watch, but it’s an important one. Personally, I think Tangles is a reminder that art at its best doesn’t just entertain—it heals, it connects, it remembers. And in a world that often feels fragmented, that’s no small feat.
