Art doesn’t always stem from the living. 10 years ago, the German-Austrian directing duo Levin Peter and Elsa Kremser met the painter Mikhail Senkov in Belarus. He worked in a hospital morgue in order to finance himself. In his opulent oil paintings, the two of them found that “the entire morbid world of dead bodies blossom once again.“

WHITE SNAIL is, on one hand, about Misha, the aforementioned artist plays himself in the film. His everyday between autopsies, cooling chambers, and creative self-actualization is soon ruptured by the fragile Masha (Marya Imbro). She is the other extreme in this filmic experimental setup: a Belarusian model who is struggling with herself and the world, which elicits self-destructive energy within her. Initially, Masha struggles with an eating disorder, later on she’s hospitalized after a pill overdose and with a plastic bag over her head. But as soon as she discovers the morgue, she becomes curious and creeps in at night to Misha’s realm using some excuse. She looks around and asks questions about the dead, Misha’s work, it all fascinates her very much. The way Kremser and Peter slowly bring their mismatched couple closer to each other and to the audience demonstrates a great deal of empathy for the kind of inner pain that especially younger people feel, not only in the post-Soviet world. Identity loss and a yearning for death as well as the search for warmth and security are the themes here. The images the film uses are unusual and powerful enough to be imbued with different meanings. Through the precise interplay of proximity and distance, a mystical space for understanding, doubt, and transformation is created.

Pamela Jahn (INDIEKINO MAGAZIN)

Translation: Elinor Lewy