Elongated noses, like wrinkly pickles or deflated balloons, protrude from the faces of the comically offbeat characters in the zany, rambling and historically relevant animated documentary “Endless Cookie” from animator Seth Scriver, a white man, and his half-brother Peter, who is an Indigenous person from the Shamattawa First Nations in northern Canada. Pete’s memories, which illustrate the intricacies of Indigenous life in Canada, are the foundation of this personal family scrapbook of a film.
As Pete recalls events that happened to him, to people around him or to relatives, the intimate reminiscences meet the macro, touching on the impact of residential schools, land claims by greedy companies and the disproportionate incarceration of First Nations individuals. On occasion, he speaks a few words or phrases in the Cree language and addresses the spirituality of his people.
“Endless Cookie” simultaneously chronicles the making of the project itself, which took nine years to complete, from receiving government funds to the different stages and challenges of recording Pete’s anecdotes at the crowded home in isolated and frozen Shamattawa (there’s only one store in town) that he shares with nearly a dozen family members and 10 dogs (one of them depicted as a bizarre, four-legged interpretation of Mr. Peanut). The characters’ design doesn’t necessarily reflect the physical appearance of the people they are based on, and yet when near the end of the doc family photos do come on screen, one can see how their animated counterparts capture their essence. For example, Cookie Scriver, Pete’s daughter, is represented as a chocolate chip cookie with legs, while other children appear as colorful blobs with wild hair or inanimate objects with faces.
The elliptical narrative introduces multiple threads, forgets about them for a while, and then returns to them, just as one does during a casual conversation with people familiar with these personal legends. One such yarn, about Pete getting his hand caught in an animal trap, functions almost like a framing device keeping the story mostly on track. Seth Scriver, the artistic lead in “Endless Cookie,” allows for the trains of thought to feel loose, reflecting the in-the-moment quality of his time traveling from Toronto to Shamattawa to capture the choir of voices interjecting and guiding the animation.
Numerous digressions allow for other members of the extended family to take the reins of the doc for short periods to share their own dreams or recollections in hallucinatory animated form. Brief cutaways — such as one where a mug of coffee throws in a quick quip or a sentient car seat listens to news radio programs on timely sociopolitical issues — are common as part of the film’s enjoyably meandering construction. “Endless Cookie” is reminiscent in its irreverent tone, scattered-brained structure and humorously grotesque look of animated TV shows on the more idiosyncratic side, such as “Regular Show,” “Adventure Time” or “Rick and Morty.” Not every viewer will respond to its humor.
Eyebrow-raising and prolonged as some of the sillier vignettes seem (they might test some people’s patience, as well as their tolerance to juvenile comedy), there’s often a piercing acknowledgment of the mistreatment Indigenous people have endured on the other side of their wackiness. That’s true of one where a character sounds like Marlon Brando in “The Godfather.” What’s incredibly surprising is that some of the most outrageously hard-to-believe tall tales included are the ones backed with photographic evidence.
A substantial portion of “Endless Cookie” explores Pete’s days as a young Indigenous man in Toronto, slacking around ordering pizza that he and his friends hope to get for free, or else dealing with alcoholism. But even as he recalls some of the most tragic episodes of his life, Pete’s laugh is infectious, and without saying the words, his hearty chuckles (often in unison with Seth) express an admirable “such is life” attitude. Seth Scriver succeeds at showing the world why he thinks his older sibling is a wonderful storyteller.
It’s not that Pete is particularly engaging or that he has a hypnotic voice, but rather that he can turn the most irrelevant-seemingly piece of insular lore into a funny bit that invites the listener to take the burden of existence less seriously, while never ignoring the past. Underneath the lowbrow fart jokes and images of caribou mating, the Scrivers’ “Endless Cookie” honors the legacy others left behind through their experiences so that it can help each new generation piece together their understanding of the embattled present.
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