The story takes places in present-day Belarus. Masha (Marya Imbro) is a young model. Her pointy, translucent body makes for a striking, alien-esque figure. She is stubbornly reserved, with a dispassionate expression, bleached hair and eyebrows. She keeps the titular snails at home for skin care purposes (their secretion has hydrating properties). And she carries a black umbrella everywhere.
Our protagonist has a strained relationship with her parents. Her mother forces her into bizarre alternative treatments in the hope to cure her of her anorexia. Her success in booking lucrative contracts is a point of contention amongst her model contemporaries. Perhaps it’s Masha’s inability to connect that rubs others the wrong way. Not to mention her party-pooping skills: she massacres a Sia song at the local karaoke, lavishing in her incredibly bad singing while leaving audiences with ear bleeds.
A series of events could change Masha’s life forever. She is about to take a new job, perhaps in China. And an encounter with heavily tattooed coroner Misha (Mikhail Senkov), a man 20 years her senior, could throw everything else into disarray. There is no meet cute. Masha is in hospital, presumably due to malnutrition . She witnesses the death of a patient in the next bed. Just a couple of hours earlier, she had complained about their heavy snoring. The event appears ignite some sort fascination with mortality. So she forces herself into the morgue where Misha works, under the excuse of locating her father’s body.
Masha becomes obsessed with Misha’s world: cutting up dead bodies, monochromatic tats, and very large and morbid canvas paintings. She relates to his bizarre lifestyle and choices. She is instinctively drawn to the older man, while also aware of her impact on his life. White snails copulate, just as our lovebirds have sex. This highly symbolic scene suggest that their relationship is messy and gooey, yet natural and spontaneous. Masha and Misha are birds of feathers. Creatures destined to meet. Even their names are complementary.
The age age does not register as inappropriate. Misha does, however, query her interest for an older and unfit guy. They forge a genuine connection, however random and awkward. Their future remains uncertain: barriers and preoccupations threaten to throw their romance off-course. Living in a Russian proxy state has significant reverberations for everyone.
What was initially conceived as a documentary becomes a piece of autofiction, with Imbro and Senkov playing a fictionalised version of themselves. The roving camera remains distant and respectful, much like the fly-on-the-wall type of doc. And actors rely heavily on improvisation. The outcome is a charmingly delicate and light film, despite the darkness that engulfs its two idiosyncratic leads. Minimal directorial input allows for authenticity to prevail. This is bold filmmaking, unfolding of its own volition.
Ultimately, this is a movie about the unlikeliest of bonds at the most difficult of times.
White Snail premiered at the 78th edition of the Locarno Film Festival. Also showing in the 31st edition of the Sarajevo Film Festival, and at the 29th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.
