All language subtitles for mmmm454545

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes?

Pinky?

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh!

Oh, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Don't worry. I'll be okay.

I wasn't always this alone.

My childhood was full of people.

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.

I liked that.

Our birth was very strenuous
for Mum, and she died.

We left her womb.

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 doctors 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 jewelry box.

Inside, it had her snail
collection and her ring.

She had loved snails as well
and had been a malacologist.

I thought Gilbert
should have the ring.

Ooh. I'm gonna 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.

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!

Gimme that.

Hey, morons!

Hmm?

...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 favorite 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 favorite was James.

One Christmas, I covered him
in decorations

so he could feel
some Christmas cheer.

He loved his tea.

Huh?

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.

Aha!

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.

What?

Once, he let our
neighbor'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!

Come on, Stella!

Over here, Gracie!

Gilbert loved animals
so much he became a vegetarian.

Ohh, now she's got a boyfriend.

Look, Gracie, they're hugging.

Eggs, wow!

We'd created our own
little family.

They've hatched Gracie. Babies!

You became my favorite, Sylvia.

Your swirl went opposite
to the others.

Gilbert named you
after Mum's favorite 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, wow.

Bert seemed anything
but magical.

Gilbert's dream was to be
a street performer in Paris.

Look, Gracie!

He was always practicing.

Oh, shit!

Ow! Ow! Argh!

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.

Mum met him on a holiday

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

Wow!

Ooh-la-la!

They fell in love, and he
followed her back to Australia.

Wanker!

Hey, watch out!

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 apnea.

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!

Whoo!

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

It was scary.

Scary because it was
a hundred years old.

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 scratchy on the ground.

We won 20 dollars!

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 jellybeans
were his other addictions.

He was the one
who knitted my snail hat

and made the eyeballs
out of his old juggling balls.

The jellybeans 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.

He said, "Childhood
was life's best season.

It never lasts,
but everyone deserves one."

He was so proud Gilbert
wanted to be a performer.

Follow in his footsteps.

Whoa. Whoa!

Bravo!

That night,
we got out Mum's jewelry box

and sang our heads off.

♪ Alouette, gentille Alouette ♪

♪ Alouette, je te plumerai ♪

♪ Je te plumerai la tete,
je te plumerai la tete ♪

♪ Et la tete, et la tete,
Alouette, Alouette ♪

♪ Oh ♪

Ha! 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.

Mr. Ian Ramsbottom,
who is agnostic, dyslexic...

- I won.
- ...and insomniac.

He stays up all night wondering
if there is a dog.

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 woulda 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 smelt 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.

"Traumatized" 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.

Hmm?

-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!

Oh!

Oh, no!

Ian, what's happened to her?

You right, babe?

Babe!

She's going blue!

Sometimes I faked
asthma attacks.

Hey, Narelle,
better get the puffer!

- Okay.
- I felt bad telling lies,

but sport was one
of my allergies.

You alright, babe?

Breathe, pumpkin, breathe!

Their favorite color
was beige.

They even had guinea pigs
that were beige.

Okay, 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.

Daryl!

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 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!

Hmm?

"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."

"Anyway they can all get stuffed

because 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.

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?
-Hmm?

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.

Oh, I'm Pinky.

Just Pinky. Like Cher.

Or Liberace.

Or Prince.

Casanova.

Popeye.

People call me Pinky
because of this.

Lost it dancing in Barcelona.

Argh!

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 secondhand 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.

Won a bee beard contest.

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.

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.

No! 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.

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 secondhand 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.

Fertilize her veggies.

Gardening fixes everything.

She also enjoyed mini-golf
and had built her own course.

Aha! 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.

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.

Whoo-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 were supposed
to raise my endorphins,

balance my chakra,
and cleanse my third eye.

Ready, set, go!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ooh!

Oh, Craig.

Heal me, heal me!

I'll heal you, Vicki.

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

Oh, Vick.

Oh, Craig!

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.

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 snaily
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.

"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."

Poofta!

"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 practise 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 baptize me
to get the devil out."

Dunk thee
and cleanse thy demons!

"I pretended
I was possessed.

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

Oh, my goodness!

"It was hilarious."

"Ben loved it."

"Ruth is always trying
to control me.

She even tried drugging me."

Eat it.

"But I'm not dumb.

I hid the pills in my cheeks.

Ruth says Jesus' 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.

Gilbert!

"And Jesus then gives
his money back to Owen."

Thank you, Jesus.

"And his vices."

Oh, Owen, how are ya?

The usual?

Have a good night.

Pennies for Jesus,
and whisky for Owen.

"They're such hypocrites!

But I made them pay for it."

Run free, guys. Come on, run!

"I hate it here.

No! My budgies!

"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 thoughts
of pleasures!

- Burn! Burn!
- "She punished me,

but it didn't bother me.

I'm fine.

Anyway, I 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 okay.

See you soon. Hopefully.

Love, Gilbert."

Puberty finally finished
its cruelty, Sylvia.

The season of our teens ended.

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 color
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 Chiko Roll.

Well, hi.

Hey. Could I, ah...maybe, ah...

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.

Mm. Hello.

He adored me

and even built a milkshake
station in my kitchen.

We dated for a month and then...

What do you reckon?

♪ Hallelujah, hallelujah ♪

♪ Hallelujah, hallelujah,
hallelujah ♪

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. Cinnamon.

-No!
-What?

Oh...um...
That's my guinea pig.

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.

Clean up, Room 6.

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?

Ooh!

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.

Oh.

Ooh!

Ooh, 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!

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!

Enough!

Excellent, excellent.

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

But for your brother
the devil would not vacate.

And being so full of Satan,
well..."

"...he assaulted me."

Aah! Lucifer!

Get him!

Look, an angel!

-Huh?
-Ooh!

Liar!

Huh?

You Judas!

He's escaping! Catch him!

Get him!

"He then raced to
our church and set it alight."

No! Gilbert, stop!

"He then sacrificed himself...

- Let me out!
- "...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 hoard 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.

Whoa!

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.

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.

Roles reversed.

It was my turn to care for her.

Ah, ah, 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?

Ah, Guggenheimers?

Yeah, Guggenheimers.

Relax, Pinky.

It doesn't matter.

Oh, Gracie.

Such a marvelous friend.

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes?

Pinky?

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh!

Oh, Pinky.

Farewell, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Potatoes?

Potatoes?

Sylvia. Oh!

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

Oh!

Goddamn life!

Oh, goddamn life!

Such a...

Such a stupid, stupid puzzle!

Damn it!

I'm so alone!

I'm so -- so alone.

Rabbit face! Rabbit face!

Rabbit face! Rabbit face!

Nice, Gracie.

Nice hairdo!

Come on, you two, let's go.

"I hate it here.

I'll be escaping soon

and crossing that desert
to come and get to you."

"It saddens me to tell you

that Gilbert has died
in an horrific fire."

Fire...Fire...Fire...

The potatoes!

The potatoes!

"Dear Grace,
If you're reading this

then I'm as dead as a doughnut

and you 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 realize 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.

Oh, a bit of self pity's okay.

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.

Its small pleasures savored.

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, 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!

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?

Oh, well.

Thanks for coming.

Yes.

I've got one.

Do you believe in magic?

Gilbert?

Yes.

It's me.

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 ♪