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***** (5 stars)

“Gloriously life-affirming”

Australian stop-motion artist Adam Elliot is new to me – somehow I managed to miss his previous animation, Mary and Max.  Oh my goodness what a talent!  What an imagination!  And what a splendid collection of characters, settings and props – every one of which is hand-made.  It’s visually stunning, brilliantly created, and a real emotional roller-coaster [insider reference to a significant moment fully intentional here].

Grace Pudel is a twin.  She and her brother Gilbert live with their father: their mother died at their birth – just as snails do – and their father, a French street performer who moved to Australia when he married their mother, is severely disabled after an unfortunate accident.  Their life is hard, but not without its joys, until the father dies.

Heartless Child Services separate the children and place them the opposite sides of the continent.  Both are extremely unhappy, but have no way of being re-united: all they can do is write to each other.  Gilbert is lodged with apple farmers who practice a very extreme religion – this is so horrifically well-portrayed I couldn’t laugh at it.  Grace is simply neglected by her incredibly toothily smiling ‘parents’, who follow one extreme fad after another.  The only things that make Grace’s life bearable are her growing collection of live snails and snail memorabilia   

– until she comes across the indomitable Pinky, who brings life and colour into her drab existence.

You wouldn’t think things could get any worse, but they do.  I was beginning to wonder whether there would be any relief in this catalogue of disasters – but be reassured, dear reader: there is light at the end of a very dark tunnel, but I’m not going to share any spoilers!

Memoir of a snail explores the strength of human connections, the extent to which people will go in pursuit of what they firmly believe to be right regardless of its effect on others, and humans’ reactions to extreme stress and unhappiness. 

Surrounding oneself with a snail shell of Stuff creates an impermeable barrier to any sort of relationship with other humans or the world outside: it can take a great shock or an immense amount of courage to leave the safety of the shell and dare to risk being alive, to live rather than simply exist.  Thank heaven for Pinky’s final utterance – “potatoes”…

This is a gloriously life-affirming film – which is available on the BFI website if you weren’t able to be at the FilmHouse last night.  There’s a lot of humour [though some of it made me wince rather than laugh].  It’s an exploration of the perils of hoarding and keeping guinea pigs, and a very strong warning about the dangers of extreme religion [and possibly apples]. 

I am definitely going to add it to my ‘when you’re feeling really bad and need to know there’s hope somewhere’ list.

I hope you’ll discover and enjoy it too.

Memoir of a snail, Manipulate Festival, Film House Edinburgh, RUN ENDED

**** (4 stars)

“An honest and courageous show”

Created and performed by Ninon Noiret, The Raft of the Crab uses words, music, puppetry, contemporary dance and the Chinese pole to explore Ninon’s relationship with the cancer which might have destroyed her performing career and taken her life.

The fact that Ninon was in front of us, displaying a breathtaking ability with said pole among her many other talents, could perhaps have indicated that neither of these fates came to pass – but still the audience was gripped by her narration.  From the beginning, where she sadly sings ‘happy birthday’ to herself, to the final quizzical introspection – ‘what will you do with the rest of your life?’ we are drawn into the confusion and challenge of her world, into which the dreaded crab – cancer – so rudely erupted.

She puts a brave face on it – but the fear is there too, the rage, the loneliness, the despair: the insensibility of others and the black humour with which she attempts to survive when at her lowest.  The words flow out – sometimes English, sometimes French, and sometimes inaudible: the really important pieces of information and comment, however, are delivered with a microphone and a dazzling smile, even when the message is grim.

Two puppets assist her.  One is life-sized – the self to whom she speaks when she is pondering how the crab first came into her body.  The other is half her size, a shrunken and virtually bald image of the self she becomes through chemotherapy, constantly tugging at her inadequate hospital gown, smoothing it down, ‘making herself decent’ – heart-breaking.

There’s also a large blue crab: the cancer, with whom she has a love-hate relationship – a friend as well as an enemy, something both inside and outside her, something which takes away a part of her but is also at times her whole identity.

This is an honest and courageous show in which Ninon reveals a lot about herself and those around her.  Sometimes the battle isn’t with the cancer but with the people she has to deal with – even her family, at times.  She questions herself – even in this dreadful time, the artist/ performer part of her is thinking about how she can put her experiences into a show…  The graphic physicality of her struggle to regain mobility, confidence, the courage to fly up the pole is striking.

So too is her final question: what will you do with the rest of your life?

It’s a question we could all ask ourselves, whether or not a crab appears to ruin our birthday celebrations.

The Raft of the Crab, Manipulate Festival, The Studio Theatre, Edinburgh, Run Ended

***** (5 stars)

“Totally absurd anarchy”

KAR is a show which makes me wish I had a completely new vocabulary with which to describe it: ordinary words seem utterly inadequate.

As we enter, we are thanked for coming and for our condolences.  If we wish, we can take a small red nightlight holder whose candle is lit and place it in front of a rectangular plinth on which a man is lying.  Two black-clad men, one on roller skates, are in attendance on him – one attends to the cigarette in his mouth, removing it and tapping its ash off when required.  The other joins him when it becomes clear that the recumbent man needs a drink [which appears to be either whisky or vodka].  All this time, the [very poorly looking] man wheezes out a short musical phrase on the small piano accordion on his chest…

Having ushered us all in, the third man leaves his post at the door and scrutinises us all, checking against a long list in his hand.  Suddenly “Where’s Anya?” – utter chaos ensues but she doesn’t appear.

At last the dying man speaks – “I’m leaving” – a violin lament accompanies his last tortured wheezings

“He’s dead”…

Respectful silence.

Suddenly the man sits up, pronouncing “Not yet….. later…. Tomorrow….”  It’s both a shock and a huge relief

And we plunge into an hour of totally absurd anarchy, which is virtually indescribable!  Five extremely talented artists keep us immersed in their surreality.  It might help if you have a nodding acquaintance with Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina [which I read quite a few decades ago] and possibly understand Russian – there are some haunting folk-like songs weaving through the show. 

But quite honestly, all you really have to do is sit and silently admire the staggering virtuosity of the performers – Anna Bubníková, Jiří N Jelínek, Ivo Sedláček, Pavol Smolárik and Matija Solce.  Not only are they accomplished singers and musicians – violin, cello, double bass, piano accordion and a jaw-dropping array of percussion implements, including at one point a scythe – but also puppeteers, mime artists and comedians with very impressive physical dexterity and an impeccable sense of timing.

There’s a lot of vodka, some tea, two tiny steam locomotives, glasses of all shapes and sizes, an urn, a Eurasian woodcock…

And among it all, an irrepressible zest for and celebration of life

Yes, we will die

But later…tomorrow…

Not today!

Fekete Seretlek: KAR, Manipulate Festival, Festival Theatre Studio, Edinburgh, Runs until 5^th February for tickets go to: Kar – Capital Theatres