All language subtitles for Memoir.of.a.Snail.2024.1080p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.H.264-FLUX_track3_[eng]

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes...

Pinky...

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh...

Oh, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Don't worry.

I'll be OK.

I wasn't always this alone.

My childhood
was full of people.

Hmm...

Dad used to say that childhood
was like being drunk.

Everyone remembers
what you did, except you.

But my childhood
was sobering, Sylvia.

I remember everything,

right from the start.

I'd always liked
feeling caged in,

snug, and protected.

It was a shock
to be born premature.

I wasn't fully baked,

and looked like a baby rabbit.

I was named
Grace Prudence Pudel.

My twin brother, Gilbert.

The nurse said
we had two souls,

but one heart.

Mmm. I liked that.

Our birth was
very strenuous for Mum,

and she died.

We left her womb

and she entered her tomb.

Mother snails do the same

after they've had their babies.

Don't they, Sylvia?

As I grew older,

I suffered a smorgasbord
of afflictions.

I was always back in hospital
for something.

The doctor said
I was like a china doll

you could shatter
with just a stare.

Eventually, they needed to
fix my floppy lip.

Things went bad.

I lost so much blood,

I needed a transfusion.

The doctor asked Gilbert
if he'd give me his.

Huh?

Oh.

He said yes,

even though he thought
he'd have to die to save me.

How long before I die?

They quickly explained
he wouldn't die.

His body would make new blood.

Oh.

He became everyone's hero
that night.

Especially mine.

To cheer me up,

Dad gave me
Mum's old jewellery box.

Ooh!

Inside, it had
her snail collection,

and her ring.

She'd loved snails as well,

and had been a malacologist.

I thought Gilbert
should have the ring.

Ooh.

I'm going to wear this
till the day I die, Gracie.

Despite my woes, Sylvia,

I believed in glasses half-full
and silver linings.

Gilbert's glass
was half-empty, though.

I remember
how he was often sad.

It seemed like he had a secret
he wanted to tell.

He was like Holden Caulfield,
James Dean and Charlie Brown

all rolled into one.

He saw people as a threat.

At school, he was always
my warrior, my defender.

Rabbit face, rabbit face,

rabbit face, rabbit face.

Give me that.

Hey, morons.

Hmm?

Agh!

...able to breed
a chicken with a giraffe.

He said that
he's able to lay eggs,

but has a really long pecker.

Our home was our sanctuary,

a place where we felt safe

to read our books
and watch our favourite shows.

I loved my bedroom.

It's where
everything was just so.

Right angles brought me
enormous comfort,

as did my snails, Sylvia.

They were my friends,

so I made more of them.

I knew they'd never leave me,

hurt me.

Or die.

I didn't like people dying.

I wanted to save people.

Save the homeless.

My favourite was James.

One Christmas,
I covered him in decorations

so he could feel
some Christmas cheer.

He loved his tea.

Huh?

Ah! Ah.

Ah...

Good on ya, little possum.
Good on ya.

He was once a magistrate,

but was defrocked
for masturbating in court.

Back then,

I thought masturbation meant
chewing your food thoroughly.

He once told me that

masturbation
was the thief of time.

- Ooh!
- Huh?

James gave me
my first real snail.

Ah!

Your mum, Sylvia.

He told me to put her
in a big jar

and feed her Vegemite.

While I was busy
trying to save the world,

Gilbert wanted to
break free from it.

Free others.

Huh?

Ugh!

Once, he let our neighbour's
cockatoo escape.

Fly, Mildred!
Come on, fly!

Bye, Mildred!

Gilbert said Mildred
never seemed so happy.

If he wasn't
letting animals free,

he was rescuing them.

He didn't
care about the dangers.

I'll save it, Gracie!

- Gilbert!
- Ah!

Come on, fella!

Agh!

Over here, Gracie!

Gilbert loved animals
so much

he became a vegetarian.

Aww!
Now she's got a boyfriend.

Look, Gracie,
they're hugging.

Ugh...

Eggs, wow!

We'd created
our own little family.

They hatched, Gracie!
Babies!

You became
my favourite, Sylvia.

Your swirl went opposite
to the others.

Gilbert named you after
Mum's favourite author.

But the thing that
made Gilbert really unique

was his love of fire.

He wanted to eat it.

He'd spend hours
playing with fire.

I remember how he always
smelt like burnt matches.

At school, the girls swooned.

He was the flame,
they were the moths.

But he was more interested
in reading, and magic.

I think he just wanted
to disappear.

And spend all his pocket money
at Bert's.

Bert was the type of person

parents told you to avoid,
Sylvia.

Someone who might offer you
boiled lollies.

Ooh.

Bert seemed
anything but magical.

Gilbert's dream was

to be a street performer
in Paris.

Look, Gracie!

He was always practising.

Oh, shit!

Ow, ow, ow!

And often burnt himself.

We got little scars
from the sparks.

And when we
put our arms together,

they formed a face.

Oh, look, Gracie!

It felt great
when we did this.

Our feelings aligned.

A lot of twins
say this, Sylvia,

and it's true.

I felt his emotions,

his happiness
and his sadness.

Which seemed to be

the fourth member
of our family.

Mum's death had left a hole.

Dad had tried to fill the void,

but... he had his own problems.

Dad was French,

and had once been
an animator in Paris.

He made stop-motion films

with an old Bolex camera.

He showed them to us
sometimes.

To pay for his art form,

he busked on the streets.

Bonjour, messieurs dames,

Je suis
l'incroyable Percy Pudel.

Mum met him on a holiday

she'd won in
the Woman's Weekly magazine.

Hep-ah!

Oh!

Et voila, messieurs dames.

Ohh...

Wow!

Bonjour,
mademoiselle d'escargot.

Ooh! Ooh, la, la!

They fell in love,

and he followed her
back to Australia.

Bonjour! Je suis
l'incroyable Percy Pudel.

Wanker!

Hey, w... Watch out!

Agh!

Mum had only just
got pregnant

when his career was cut short
by a drunk driver.

He never juggled again,
and became a paraplegic.

Then, slowly,

an alcoholic,

just like the guy
who'd hit him.

Money had
always been a problem.

Much worse since his accident.

His pension barely paid
for his wheelchair batteries.

Winning Scratchies

was the only thing
that brought him hope.

We found them everywhere.

To make matters worse,

he developed sleep apnoea.

Huh?

We'd have to clap
to wake him up.

Despite our hardships,

our little family unit
was strong.

And there was plenty of joy.

Ready!

Our happiest day was
when we went on the Big Dipper.

It was scary.

Scary because it was
100 years old.

Wah!

Dad felt alive,

escaped his body.

When he died,

he said he wanted his ashes
sprinkled off the Big Dipper.

The day got even better
on the way home

when Gilbert found a Scratchie
on the ground.

We won $20!

So Dad bought 20 more.

Too bad, Dad.

He hated we had to
look after him.

I suppose his cage
was his body.

His glass wasn't full or empty.

Just... a glass.

Knitting and black jelly beans
were his other addictions.

He was the one
who knitted my snail hat

and made the eyeballs out of
his old juggling balls.

The jelly beans
made his tongue all black,

and his breath...

...aniseedy.

Watch, Gracie.

We arranged them
on his head

while he pretended
to be asleep.

He let us do stuff like that.

We were free to
do what we wanted, Sylvia.

Ah!

He said childhood
was life's best season.

It never lasts,
but everyone deserves one.

Oh, mon fils!

Bravo, Gilbert!

He was so proud Gilbert
wanted to be a performer,

follow in his footsteps.

Ah... Ohh!

Bravo!

That night, we got out
mum's jewellery box

and sang our heads off.

# ...gentille alouette

♪ Alouette, je te plumerai

♪ Je te plumerai la tete... ♪

♪ Je te plumerai la tete

# Et la tete!
Et la tete!

♪ Alouette!
Alouette!

♪ O-o-o-oh... ♪

Hah. Good one, Dad.

Later, dad got out
his old Bolex camera

and gave me some tips
on how to animate.

I wanted to become an animator,
just like him.

To top the day off,
we had a competition

to see who could create
the best hairdo.

I won.

I remember
the stillness that night...

...the wonderful memories
of that day,

fresh in our heads.

A day so precious...

...but fleeting.

Huh?

Despite our clapping...

...this time,

Dad never woke.

We couldn't afford
a proper funeral,

so Dad was cremated
by the government,

his ashes given to us
in a cardboard box.

I sprinkled him
into his jellybean jar.

He would have liked that.

Child services came
to take us away.

Come on, you two.
Let's go.

And we were to be
sent to foster homes

in separate states.

We had no relatives,

and no-one wanted to
adopt twins,

especially weird ones like us.

Look after it, Gilbert.

Hurry up.
Say your goodbyes.

Bye, Gracie.

Bye, Gilbert.

That was the last time
I saw my brother.

The last time I smelled
his scent of burnt matches.

We never got to sprinkle Dad
off the Big Dipper.

Our lives were
turned upside down

and back to front, Sylvia.

We had no choice
but to move onwards.

Upwards.

Sidewards.

I was sent to live with
a childless couple in Canberra,

which had won safest city
three years in a row.

Some people
even wore helmets driving.

Back then, Canberra wasn't
the exciting place it is today.

I suppose 'settled' is
the wrong word for how I felt.

'Traumatised'
was more accurate.

The separation from Gilbert
made me anxious.

But you and your siblings,
Sylvia,

you brought me some comfort.

Lovely.

My new foster parents,
Ian and Narelle,

were... pleasant enough.

They were accountants

for a company that made
traffic lights.

They were well-meaning,

and addicted to
self-help books.

Hm?

- Good morning!
- Hey!

They believed
a good dose of self-esteem

cured everything.

Every week, they'd make me
a new certificate.

Our little baby.
Oh, we're so proud!

Now, watch this.

My finger work!

On the weekends,
they'd play netball.

Gracie, can you
get the ball for us?

They tried to get me
to play as well.

Here we go.

Catch it!

Oof!

Oh, no!

Ian!
What's happened to her?

-You're right, babe.
-Babe?

She's going blue!

Sometimes I faked
asthma attacks.

Hey, Narelle,
better get the puffer!

I felt bad telling lies,

but sport was
one of my allergies.

You alright, babe?

Breathe, pumpkin, breathe!

Their favourite colour
was beige.

They even had guinea pigs
that were beige.

OK,
we're off now, pumpkin.

- See you later.
- Bye.

On Saturdays,
they went to key parties.

Ready, love?

I'm looking forward
to tonight, babe.

They were swingers,
Sylvia.

Darryl!

Back then,

I thought swinging
meant something else.

My new school
was predictably bad.

-Grace Pudel!
- Huh?

Stop daydreaming.

I tried to make friends.

But Gilbert wasn't there
to break their fingers.

So... Hmm...

I absorbed the abuse,

came home, and played with
my clay friends.

I missed Gilbert like crazy.

We wrote each other letters,

and I saved every cent I could
to go see him.

He'd been sent to live with
a family of fruit farmers

near Perth.

I definitely got
the better family, Sylvia.

He HATED his.

Dear Gracie,

my new parents, Ruth and Owen,
are strange,

and do a weird sort of praying.

They make me pray
four times a day.

They said the more I pray,

the more the pain of
Dad's death will disappear.

They're really old-fashioned,
and don't even have a phone.

We all have to have magnets
taped to us.

They reckon it keeps
our auras balanced,

protects us from the devil.

Ruth is obsessed
with her poor budgies.

I reckon she loves them
more than her own kids.

Worship thy apple!

They've built
their own church and school.

Owen is the minister.

Cleanse thy soul!

Cast out thy demons,
and worship thy fruit!

Hm?

He's got
stomach ulcers,

which he blames on the devil.

My new brothers
are all morons.

One of them is always staring.

Worship the baby Jesus!

I have to work in
the orchard after school.

The brothers
get the better jobs.

Ruth said if I'm going to be
a good orchardman,

I'd have to start at the bottom
and work my way up.

I'd rather eat glass.

Hmph!

Ugh!

Anyway,
they can all get stuffed,

'cause as soon as
I'm old enough,

and got money,

I'm coming to get you.

I'll walk across
that big, burning desert.

We'll escape to Paris.

I'll become a fire eater.

And you'll become
an amazing animator!

It'll be great.

Gilbert's letters
gave me hope,

so I tried to get on with life,

squashing my sorrows
down into my shoes

as the years dragged on.

To pass time,

I began volunteering
at the local library.

One of my jobs was to erase
rude drawings done by boys.

Ugh...

That's when I first met Pinky.

I saw her returning books
into a rubbish bin.

She thought it was
the return chute.

And had been doing it
for months.

- Excuse me?
- Hm?

Um...

She was mortified
when I explained.

Ah, poo.

Don't worry,
I won't turn you in.

Oh, thank you, dear.

Bless your cotton socks.

What's your name?

Grace Pudel.

Uh, I'm Pinky.

Just Pinky.

Like Cher.

Or Liberace.

Or Prince.

Casanova!

Popeye.

People call me Pinky
'cause of this.

Lost it dancing
in Barcelona.

Agh!

Why are you dressed
like an ant?

Oh, um...

No, I'm a snail.

Oh!

Funny.

I used to think I was a pigeon.

She was
a true eccentric,

and smelt like ginger
and second-hand shops.

Dickhead!

She clothed herself
in corduroy,

And her face had more wrinkles
than her jacket.

It was hard to know
where the fabric ended

and her skin began.

Apart from you, Sylvia,

she was my first real friend.

My only real friend.

She'd lived an amazing life.

I thought one day I might
make a film about her.

She'd seen the Northern Lights.

Floated in the Dead Sea.

Been an exotic dancer
in a schnitzel bar.

Ha!

Won a bee-beard contest.

Hee! My turn.

Bathed with
a snow monkey.

Made love to John Denver...

In a helicopter.

Take me home,
country road!

And once...

...played ping pong
with Fidel Castro.

She'd never been sick.

Her secret to longevity
were coffee enemas

and a daily shot
of ginger wine.

She'd outlived
two husbands.

The first, Hector,

had died just a week
after they got married.

Careful, sweetie.

Agh!

Bugger.

Her second husband, Bill,
had been a postman.

Who wrote love notes
on her mail.

Roses are red,

Violets are camp,

I'll be your letter,

You be my stamp.

You are the clouds,

And I am the skies,

Let me shipwreck meself

Between your thighs.

Smile.

Ready for my close-up,
Mr DeMille.

They'd just begun
a trek across Australia...

Just a little
to your left, sweetheart.

...when nature struck.

Oh! Oh! Oh!

No!

Bugger.

Careful, kiddies.

She was a real survivor,

and had so many jobs.

Dickhead!

Dickhead!

But they never
lasted long.

You're fired.

On her 80th birthday,

she'd got a job
promoting pineapple chunks.

Oh! Oh!

Gosh, she had
a great sense of humour.

She drove her dead husband's
postal truck

and once told me she wanted to
die peacefully in her sleep

like her cousin
who was a bus driver.

Not screaming in horror
like his passengers.

I'm not sure
whether she was joking.

It was hard to know with her.

Her house was fabulous.

It smelt like popcorn
and mothballs.

She had an enormous
trophy collection,

which I soon discovered
were other people's trophies

she'd found
at second-hand stores.

There were Post-it notes
everywhere.

She had a dreadful memory.

She was terrified
of Alzheimer's

and had taken up tap dancing.

She'd read it
staved off dementia.

She didn't believe in banks,

and put her savings
in an old tin.

She said she kept her secrets
in there as well.

You know, Gracie,

biscuit tins
rarely contain biscuits.

I'd never seen
her mysterious tin.

She was always hiding it
in different places,

and often
couldn't remember where.

Her home was also
full of seedlings,

which she later confessed
were marijuana.

She loved to bake
ginger hash-people,

because, she said,

they relieved her arthritis.

She also enjoyed gardening,

especially when
she felt a bit miserable.

She called it her Pity-Pit.

She wanted her ashes
sprinkled in her Pity-Pit,

be returned to nature,

fertilise her veggies.

Gardening fixes everything.

She also
enjoyed mini-golf,

and had built her own course.

Ha-ha! Hole in one!

But the thing that
made Pinky truly remarkable

was what she did every Monday.

There, there.

She'd visit the lonely,
and hold their hands.

She said the thing
the elderly craved most

was human touch.

She'd sit with them calmly,
in silence.

Something so simple,
yet so comforting.

- Hm?
- Ah!

An occasional ginger
hash-person helped as well.

Pinky told me she'd never got
to hold her own parents' hands.

She never said why.

Her childhood was off-limits.

Woo-hoo!

You know,

life isn't about
looking backwards, Gracie.

It's about living forwards.

She was the jewel
in the Canberra junk heap.

She'd crammed so much
into her life,

and I'd crammed nothing.

Pinky's friendship
helped ease my sadness,

my feelings of loss.

I suppose SHE was
the medicine I needed,

a vitamin for hope.

Bugger.

Better luck next time, Gracie.

The years
fluttered past, Sylvia.

Apart from Pinky,

letters from Gilbert
were the only things

that confirmed I existed.

I missed Gilbert like crazy.

Ian and Narelle
were still obsessed

about my mental health,

and sent me
to self-help classes.

Which was supposed to
raise my endorphins,

balance my chakra,
and cleanse my third eye.

Ready, set, go!

Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha!

- Ooh.
-Ha!

- Ha!
- Hm.

Ah! Oh, Craig!

- Mm! Heal me! Heal me!
-I'll heal you, Vicky.

- I'll heal you.
- Oh, Craig!

- Oh, Craig!
-Oh, Vic.

Part of me died
in those classes, Sylvia.

Self-help was just
a shallow, quick fix.

None of it actually worked.

I just wanted the earth to stop
so I could get off.

Puberty arrived,
and brought its gifts.

I'd have loved a boyfriend.

It didn't help matters

when Pinky convinced me
to get a perm.

Nice hairdo.

Ha-ha!

Dickhead!

There, there, love.

Ignore him.

I think we look fabulous.

Thank God for Pinky.

She became
my real foster parent.

Especially as
Ian and Narelle

weren't around much anymore.

They'd discovered nude cruises,

and were gone for weeks
at a time.

- Whee!
- Good morning.

Oh, hi!

I still grieved
the loss of my family,

and continued filling the void
with more and more snails.

If I saw something snail-y,

it HAD to be mine.

My obsession
had blossomed, Sylvia.

My room had become
a snail... shrine.

I'd become a snail hoarder.

Oh, I missed Gilbert so much.

His letters still gave me hope,

but he began to worry me.

I felt he wasn't
telling me everything.

Dear Gracie,

life at the Garden of Eden is
certainly no Garden of Eden.

Gilbert!
Get back to work!

Ruth seems to
have it in for me,

but I don't give a stuff.

- Sorry, Ruth.
- Ugh!

Oh, and she hates that
I call her Ruth instead of Mum.

And she hates that I won't
let Owen shave my head.

They make me work really hard
for lousy money.

There's no-one here to talk to.

I try to be friendly,

but their weirdo religion
has them all brainwashed.

The brothers
really hate me.

Poofter.

Owen forces me
to read the Bible,

and Ruth...

...forces me to eat meat.

Hello, piggies.

Eat it!

She's barred me
from playing with fire.

She's bonkers, and thinks
magic is the devil's vice.

And she's always
trying to stick

more and more magnets
on me to fix my aura.

But I don't care.

I hide behind the church
to practice my stuff,

with one of the brothers,

who... seems to like me.

Ruth reckons Lucifer's
trying to invade my soul.

So they tried to baptise me,

to get the devil out!

Dunk thee,

and cleanse thy demons!

Ugh!

I pretended
I was possessed.

I hid some of Owen's
antacid tablets in my pockets.

- Oh, my!
- Ooh...

It was hilarious.

Ben loved it.

Ruth is always
trying to control me.

She even tried drugging me.

Eat it.

Hmm.

But I'm not dumb.

I hid the pills in my cheeks.

Ruth says,
Jesus's love isn't free.

So, what money
we do earn, Gracie,

goes back to Jesus.

Pennies for Jesus.

Pennies for Jesus.

Pennies for Jesus.
Pennies for Jesus.

That's a good boy.

Huh?

Gilbert!

And Jesus then
gives his money back to Owen.

Thank you, Jesus.

And his vices.

Oh, Owen, how are you?
The usual?

Have a good night.

Pennies for Jesus,
and whiskey for Owen.

Hm!

Ah!

They're such hypocrites!

But I made them pay for it.

Run free, guys. Come on! Run!

I hate it here.

No!

- My budgies!
- Heh.

And I hate her.

She punished me.

Big time.

Hold him tight.

Sinners must be punished,
Gilbert.

Leviticus 24 -
an eye for an eye,

a tooth for a tooth.

Burn thy
wicked box of pleasures!

She punished
me, but it didn't bother me.

I'm fine.

Anyway, I'd better go.

I'm saving my money,
and I'll be escaping soon

and crossing that desert
to come and get to you.

Hang in there, Gracie.

Everything is OK.

See you soon.

Hopefully.

Love, Gilbert.

Puberty finally finished
its cruelty, Sylvia.

The season of our teens ended.

Oh, bubbles!

But life got even lonelier

when Ian and Narelle retired
to a nudist colony in Sweden.

It's a shame
we never really connected.

What family
we did have, though,

was now gone.

Is that your foot?

Despite my woes, Sylvia,

I tried to be optimistic,

be more social.

I remember how there
were intriguing people

at the library.

But they lived vicariously.

A boyfriend
seemed a work of fiction.

I felt invisible,
began to fade.

Pinky was the only colour
in my life,

still effervescent.

Her hand-holding idea

had become
a fully-fledged charity.

She'd even engaged
the long-term unemployed

to help out.

We went from home to home...

...hand to hand.

I think, over time,
the loss of my family

had somehow... frozen me.

I thought it was safer
to just...

live in a pretend world.

Oh, Dad would have been
disappointed

I'd resorted to trashy novels.

It was now just me,
some sexy pirates,

and a few frisky guinea pigs

who mocked my virginity.

The stereotype
was now complete, Sylvia.

I'd become an unloved recluse.

And the guinea pig hair
that coated me,

a lonely person's glitter.

As my boredom worsened...

...I found myself
having new urges.

I added kleptomania
to my list of hobbies.

Buying, hoarding,
and now stealing

became a cheap thrill
and distraction

from my mundane world...

...which slowly
began to collapse.

I lost three guinea pigs
that night.

I cremated them
in the backyard...

...and put their ashes
in little jars.

It looked like I was starting
a guinea pig spice rack.

My life had become
truly pathetic.

And things had gotten
out of control.

I held my own hand patiently,

waiting for Gilbert to
come and rescue me,

while I continued to withdraw

into the safety of
my snail fortress...

...lonely,

loveless,

and imprisoned.

But just as I was considering
joining a nunnery...

...from the mess of my life

came one of those
silver linings.

His name was Ken.

And he was obsessed
with his leaf blower.

There he stood,

more delicious
than a Chicko Roll.

Well, hi.

Could I, uh, maybe, uh...

He wanted to know
if he could blow my leaves.

His presence gave me
hot flushes

and sweaty knickers.

It was love at first sight.

He was a Canberra Adonis.

A Cadonis.

He was
a microwave oven repairman

and told me that
he was extremely shallow

and one-dimensional.

He said if he was an onion
and you peeled back the layers,

you'd just find more onion.

He had hobbies like me,

and enjoyed
repairing broken bowls.

It was a Japanese art form
called kintsugi,

based on the philosophy that,
just like the soul,

all things can be repaired,

and our cracks celebrated.

Ken said that
I was a broken bowl

and that he'd help repair
my wounds,

fill up my cracks.

He was so thoughtful
and community-minded

he volunteered as
a lifeguard at the local pool.

Mmm...

Hello.

He adored me,

and even built a milkshake
station in my kitchen.

We dated for a month,
and then...

What do you reckon?

Ooh!

He said
he really did love me.

Loved my quirks.

We celebrated
with another milkshake.

He said he'd make me
something special.

Spoonful of that.
Hmm, cinnamon!

- No!
- What?

Oh! I...

- That's my guinea pig.
- Oh!

A normal person would
have thought I was bonkers,

keeping those
guinea pigs' ashes.

But he didn't.

He loved all of me,

even my bum and wobbly bits.

Yeah. Nice. Oh, yeah!

Oh!

Yeah!

Nice, Gracie.

He moved in,

and I finally lost
my virginity.

We were desperate
to get pregnant.

But Ken was told
he was sterile,

from all those microwave ovens
he'd repaired.

Rotten luck.

But I wasn't too disappointed.

I had more than I could ever
wish for, Sylvia.

I had a Cadonis,

a herd of guinea pigs,

and a horde of snails.

Say cheese, Gracie!

We set a wedding date,

and sent Gilbert the good news.

Huh?

Oh... Wow!

Hey, Ben, guess what?

Ken gave him money
for an airfare to Canberra.

I asked Gilbert to walk me
down the aisle.

Pinky would be the flower girl.

We'd finally be a family again.

Finally sprinkle Dad's ashes.

My glass was now brimming,

and there were
silver linings galore.

Gilbert would live with us.

He'd be here tomorrow!

I'd never felt so happy,
so optimistic.

Delivery.

I'll get it.

Ooh!

Oh, for you, dear.

Dear Grace,

this is Ruth,

Gilbert's foster mother.

It saddens me to tell you

that Gilbert has died
in an horrific fire.

Our church burnt down,

and he was unable
to escape the flames.

Last week, I found Gilbert
and my son Ben...

fornicating.

Lucifer!

I'm sure you will agree
our only course of action

was to purge and correct
their homosexual sickness

in the correct fashion,

as instructed by... the Lord...

...our saviour.

This was not a simple task.

We could not just
pray the gay away.

So the only solution
was a dual expulsion

to cast the demons out,

eject the devil
from their souls,

and correct their auras.

Out, out, evilness!

Out, out, Satan!

Saaa!

The time has come!

Purge their souls!

Cleanse their sickness.

Gay, away!

Out, gayness!

Purge their souls!

Out, out, Lucifer!

Cast out thy demons,

and shock the gay away!

Ahhhhh!

Enough.

Excellent, excellent.

I am glad to say,
for my son, this was a success.

But for your brother...

Agh!

...the devil would not vacate.

And being
so full of Satan, well,

Agh!

...he assaulted me.

Lucifer!

Get him.

Look, an angel.

Huh?

Liar!

You Judas!

He's escaping! Catch him.

He then raced
to our church

and set it alight!

No!

Gilbert, stop!

He then sacrificed himself,

as penance for his sins.

We tried to rescue him,

but the inferno
was too intense.

The good Lord took his soul.

Let me out!

And Lucifer
lost the battle.

Now cleansed,
and with the baby Jesus.

We had a memorial
for him,

and are confident he is now
in a happier place,

with God and the baby Jesus.

Please find enclosed a vessel
of your brother's ashes.

I think it best you have them.

Once again, I am sorry to be
the bearer of such tragic news.

Gilbert was a good soul,

who, sadly, fell
to repugnant persuasions.

We will always pray for him,

as well as you.

Our deepest sympathies,
Ruth and Owen Appleby.

Losing a twin
is like losing an eye, Sylvia.

You never see the world
quite the same way again.

Grief is a nothingness,

leaves a metallic taste
in your mouth,

places stones in your stomach.

Tears don't flow.

They're too scared.

I no longer believed
in silver linings

or glasses half-full.

My glass was shattered.

I'd lost my mother,

father,

brother.

Luckily, I had Pinky.

Hey, Gracie.

And Ken.

His spoonfuls of love
kept me going.

But, weirdly,

my snails seemed like
my real family.

Real ones horde together
when threatened.

Survival in numbers.

I was emotionally attached
to every single one of them.

That's why I couldn't ever,
ever throw any of you away.

So I kept buying,

adding,

and stealing.

Eventually...

Excuse me, madam.

I got caught.

The shame was crushing.

And there were consequences.

Oh, Gracie.

And then...

...things got even worse.

Love can be blind.

Huh?

It can hide
darkness and horror.

It seemed Ken's onion
did have layers.

He didn't love ME.

He loved my FAT!

He had some sort of... fetish.

He didn't want to fix my bowl.

He wanted to fill it,
and fill it,

and fill it...

...with lard.

It was one thing for me to
create a cage for myself.

Bit of duck, for luck.

It was another for
someone else to imprison me.

Nice, Gracie.

I knew he admired
my... largeness.

But this was something more.

Oh, yeah! Nice.

He said he'd love me more,
the bigger I got,

and now I knew why.

What an idiot I was.

But not for much longer.

Oh!

Sorry, Gracie.

Pinky moved in
and tended to my wounds.

I'd read that snails hibernate

when they needed
to repair themselves.

I slept for a week,

and wrestled my demons.

Uhhhh!

I loathed myself.

My hoarding had caused this.

It had kept me poor,

and being poor
had kept me from Gilbert.

The money I'd wasted

could have bought a dozen plane
tickets to see him, Sylvia.

Now, he was dead.

Gracie.

Got your lunch.

Pinky put me on a strict diet.

And life became
slightly bearable.

As I slowly emerged
from my darkness,

I began to notice
how much Pinky had aged.

I'll never forget
the day I discovered

she had the beginnings
of dementia,

when I found her attempting

what she thought
was a jigsaw of a rooster.

That was just
a few months ago, Sylvia.

She was diagnosed
with Alzheimer's,

and went downhill quickly.

Pinky, what are you doing?

I'm looking for something.

What?

I don't know.

Hmm...

Roles reversed.

It was my turn to care for her.

Ah, my medicine.

One day, she decided
not to get out of bed.

Did I tell you that thing
I can't remember?

That thing I was looking for
but don't know what it is?

Oh, stupid brain.

Stupid disease.

What's the name
of that German guy

whose disease I got?

Uh... Guggenheimers?

Yeah, Guggenheimers.

Relax, Pinky.

It doesn't matter.

Oh, Gracie.

Such a marvellous friend.

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes...

Pinky...

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh...

Oh, Pinky.

Farewell, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Potatoes? Potatoes?

Sylvia... Ugh.

Maybe that's what she
wanted her last meal to be?

Goddamn life!

Ugh! Goddamn life.

Such a...

Such a stupid, stupid puzzle!

Damn it!

I'm so alone.

So... So alone.

Rabbit face, rabbit face,

rabbit face, rabbit face...

Nice, Gracie.

-Grace Pudel!
-Nice Hairdo!

Come on, you two. Let's go.

I hate it here.

I'll be escaping soon,

and crossing the desert
to come and get to you.

It saddens me to tell you

that Gilbert has died
in an horrific fire...

...fire, fire, fire, fire...

The potatoes!

The p... The potatoes!

Dear Grace,

if you're reading this,
then I'm as dead as a doughnut,

and you've found my biscuit tin

and some things
I want you to have.

You've been asleep for days,

and I need to tell you
important stuff

before my brain fully rots.

Oh, old age is such a bastard.

Creeps up without you knowing.

One day, you sink your teeth
into an apple...

...and they stay.

You go to straighten
the wrinkles in your pantyhose,

and then realise
you're not wearing any.

Oh.

Anyway, I digress.

My secrets.

Firstly, I'm an orphan,

and was raised in an orphanage,

after the Great War.

It was a terrible place,

where I was kept in a crib
day and night.

Never held or hugged.

The only contact,

the little boy next to me.

No, I won't tell you
the horrors I remember,

but do want to tell you

what it's like
to feel imprisoned,

caged.

It was simply dreadful.

But, in the years since,

I've learnt that
the worst cages

are the ones we create
for ourselves.

You have created a cage
for yourself, Gracie.

Your cage
has never been locked...

...but your fears
have kept you trapped.

Get rid of those snails!

Set yourself free.

You got rid of that creepy ken.

Now it's time for you
to shed your shell.

Purge your hoard.

Start anew.

A bit of self-pity's OK,

but it's time to move on.

There'll be pain,

but that's life.

You have to face it head-on.

Be brave.

Anyway, I want to
thank you, Gracie.

You've been terrific.

Not long now
till my number's up.

It's time to close my curtains.

For the first time in my life,

I feel older than I look.

And I look like a testicle.

Life's a beautiful tapestry

that needs to be experienced.

It's small pleasures savoured,

like smoking a cigar
in the rain.

Or wearing a jumper
straight from the dryer.

Enough rambling.

Time for both of us to let go.

Like I've said,

life can only be understood
backwards,

but we have to
live it forwards.

Snails never go back
over their trails,

always moving forwards.

Time for you to leave
some glittering snail trails

all over the world.

And remember, never...

never go back.

All rise.
Order in the court.

Miss Pudel,
your crime is serious.

Theft is theft,

whether it be a diamond
or a cucumber.

And if you forgive the fox
for stealing your chickens,

well, then,
he'll steal your sheep.

However...

I can tell from your face

that you are full of
shame and regret.

And true regret
is punishment enough.

I know you are a kind person.

As, many years ago, a little
girl showed me kindness

when I was at my lowest ebb.

Ah! Ah...

Ah.

Good on ya, little possum.

Good on ya.

That little girl gave me hope
and courage

to start again,
and escape my...

...my vices.

Oh!

You may have light fingers,
Miss Pudel,

but I know you have
a heart of gold,

and have done many good deeds.

I therefore release you
from your charges.

Case dismissed.

Ah!

Life had bashed me
round a bit,

but the roses smelt better.

And I finally started to become
the person I'd always wanted.

I made a film about my life.

It wasn't very good.

But a few people came.

I even had a question
and answer session afterwards.

Any... Any questions?

Mm-mm.

Mmm...

Oh, well.

Thanks for coming.

Yes.

I've got one.

Do you believe in magic?

Gilbert?

Yes, it's me.

I... I walked across
that desert.

It took me a while
to believe Gilbert was alive...

...how he'd
escaped the fire...

...and how his ashes
were nothing more than...

ashes.

His urn
now found a new purpose.

The cycle of life continued.

And your job was done, Sylvia.

We were all
finally free of our cages.

And even though our family
had shrunk a little...

...we were together again...

...with only one thing
left to release.

Gilbert still smelt
like burnt matches.

The setting sun
tingled our skin,

our two souls...

...and our single heart.

♪ Alouette, gentille alouette

♪ Alouette, je te plumerai

♪ Alouette, gentille alouette

♪ Alouette, je te plumerai

♪ Je te plumerai la tete
Je te plumerai la tete

♪ Je te plumerai la tete

♪ Je te plumerai
la tete