You could argue that all of The Snowman is minimalist, since it contains no spoken dialogue, and narrative is cultivated solely through imagery and music. And what music it is.
The eponymous snowy dude is having a fridge bath to cool off after experiencing too much heat (heat from the fire; not from trying to escape the government appointed forces of justice, you understand). He looks out wistfully at the sky and leaves the room (again, not to try and evade the law. Just to take a wistful look at the sky, surely).
The boy grabs his hand as anxious piano plays. The heightened drama as the snowman takes his last few steps on the ground are accentuated by the rising orchestral score, leaving a small pause of silence as he and the boy rise into the air, thus escaping those damned pigs (wait, we established that he’s not trying to hide from anyone, didn’t we? Or did we?). Then, those glorious piano notes come in, as does Aled Jones’ angelic voice. It’s whimsical, iconic, and beautifully rendered through song and imagery.
But wait, who is that? The snowman’s partner in crime staring at him as he flies by? Look! More of them! All in suspicious hats, too. And you know you can never trust a snowman in a suspicious hat. Particularly one that’s airborne. And the kid’s in it too? He points down at a travelling ship. A potential raiding target? But no. That tipsy guy with the crown hat spots them just in time. They’ve been spotted. Too risky. And then they’re sighted by a girl. Too many onlookers. But the snowman isn’t perturbed. He carries on confidently smiling as always. Nobody’s going to find them in the icy mountains of despair. Apart from Mr Whale. He’s a reliable lad. Those penguins? Also fine. No damage done.
Ah, the fireworks. The coast is clear. No law-abiding fools around here.
Well, I may have gone a bit off-kilter there. But the important thing to remember is that there’s some great music, and some heart-warming visuals.