Marcel The Shell With Shoes On

And Hugging

Marcel is a small shell, about one inch in size, that lives in a full-sized house with his forgetful grandmother. No one’s ever paid Marcel any mind, as he’s a tiny little critter who doesn’t bother anyone and seeks out joy wherever it may be. Dean Fleischer-Camp, who more or less is playing himself, decides to cast a light on the little trooper living in his AirBnB, which adds a colorful layer to this movie, as he is recovering from a divorce. In real life, that divorce was from the delightful actress Jenny Slate, who provides the voice for Marcel.

“Marcel The Shell With Shoes On” is the offspring of a number of mostly stop-motion-animated shorts over the years. The movie thus finds comfort in just spending time with the little mollusk with the bulging eye. He seems to have it all figured out, appreciating his isolated lifestyle with a grandma who doesn’t have a lot of life yet, and a couple of rowdy housepets that interfere with his delicate daily activities. There’s a serious sort of zen to Marcel walking on the walls with sticky shoes as he explains his wise life philosophies.

Unlike the shorts, a backstory emerges now that Marcel is at a new feature film length. He was once part of a lively social scene of shells within the house. But they were all misplaced when the previous owners separated, again the echoes of divorce, of willful separation of two people who once loved each other, and the damage they’ve left in their wake. Now it’s just Marcel and his nana, sitting together every Sunday to cheer on Lesley Stahl on “60 Minutes”.

Dean makes the very-online decision to put Marcel on video, and suddenly Marcel’s fame explodes. Attention arrives, much of it unpleasant, and he uses this attention to make a plea for his lost family. However, people start arriving at the house unannounced, sporting signs, knocking on doors, pestering Dean and Marcel. Marcel, as he is wont to do, reflects on this. What does it mean to suddenly feel the support of so many around you, but to still be alone? To get attention, but to still feel as if you’re the only one of your kind? And what to do about ailing grandma?

Full disclosure: I saw this on a plane a few months ago. I was making an emergency trip to see my mother. She just had a stroke, and the prognosis was basically worst case scenario. And something inside me broke open, painfully but necessarily. I thought of my mother, in a way I hadn’t thought of her in a long time. I thought of how I’d miss her, and I realized, for as much as we didn’t always get along, her disappearance from my life would make me feel profoundly alone. I would feel like the last of my kind, even if, literally, I am not. On the plane, people looked concerned about how many tears I shed, how I was sobbing alone watching this film. How I felt like I too was one inch tall, looking out the window at a terrifying, vast world I’d now have to experience alone.

Miraculously, my mother made a full recovery, which is good because I get to ascribe positive emotions towards this lovely little movie. Marcel’s journey takes him far and wide, but not before he has to conquer his own fears about the outdoors, the people, the opportunism, the mystery. There are cheap laughs to be had from a little guy with big expressive eyes (in this case just one eye) but this movie doesn’t go there. Marcel is a fully developed personality, erudite and thoughtful if entirely green about the world. Within a minute of this movie, you want everything for this little goober, and as it takes its time, the movie gets Marcel there. Like me, emotionally you’ll get there too.

It was a cruel adjustment to come from the streets to prison. I was arrested in my apartment, early in the morning and whisked away from my life very quickly, a life I’d never see again. I took a trip to the mental health ward before ending up in general population, surrounded by gang members and killers, many with state charges, some there for months, some there as of this afternoon. None too pleasant. Men were angry and bitter and knew there were no repercussions to being able to fight one another.

I remember chatting regularly with a fellow sports fan, an older guy who had been a gangbanger for a long time. One day, I had asked family to send me an NBA season preview (where I was angry to read that my Knicks had drafted Just Another Big Euro Stiff – turns out that was Kristaps Porzingis). He saw it, and suddenly became a little boy. He begged to see the magazine, and I said sure, after dinner. And he leaned forward and did something unlikely – he reached out and delivered a big, forceful hug. For months I had been communicating with family through walls. It was the first physical hug I had felt in more than a year. I didn’t care for this man, but it was compassionate touch, and I realized I hadn’t felt such a feeling in many, many months. In my happiest moments, I still feel the power of that embrace.

Next week is all about THE OSCARS!