Right on the line between bleak and hopeful is where you’ll find Memoir of a Snail. The latest from stop-motion maestro Adam Elliot ends his fifteen-year break from feature filmmaking, with the acclaimed 2009 animated movie Mary and Max being his last full-length effort. As is typical for the art form, Memoir of a Snail has been long in the making, eight years from Elliot first developing the idea to its premiere at this year’s Annecy animation festival. Similarly to Mary and Max, Adam Elliot’s Memoir of a Snail is an exploration of trauma, playing with unimaginable grief in the same breath as comical absurdity.
Writer-director Adam Elliot finds inspiration in the people around him, with the idea for Memoir of a Snail being spurred by his mother’s quasi-hoarding habits. His research into hoarding revealed just how much of the habit is triggered by trauma, giving birth to our tragic protagonist, Grace (Sarah Snook). With her mother passing away during childbirth and her father Percy (Dominique Pinon) meeting his demise when she and her twin brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee) were still kids, Grace’s upbringing in 1970s Australia was more like an everyday uphill battle.
Memoir of a Snail is framed by Grace unwinding the story of her life to one of her pet snails, animals to which her connection deepened as she was separated from her brother Gilbert in the childcare system and became isolated from any real family. The film interrogates the human need to reflect on the past, pontificating how it affects our ability to live in the present. Grace is in a constant process of grieving, a tale full of if-only’s and near brushes with happiness. As she gets stuck in a dull job, a bad relationship, and an increasingly cluttering house, Grace becomes stagnant, hoping that her twin sibling will one day come to lift her out of her depression.
The heaviness of Memoir of a Snail‘s story is reflected in the film’s visual palette. We’re introduced to endless miles of browns, olives, grays, blacks, and beiges, this oppressive uniformity hanging over the movie. This is interwoven with Grace’s hoarding vice. So many frames are packed with incredible detail that further visually tightens Grace’s enclosure. It’s an incredible way to express how life can do us over and how, without thinking, we can craft our own prisons.
However, misfortune and sorrow aren’t the point of Memoir of a Snail. Despite all the pain and tragedy, filmmaker Adam Elliot manages to weave one of the funniest animated movies of the year. He has an ability to explore his characters to their limits, finding a comedic trait within them and bringing it to the surface. This is excellently exhibited in Grace’s foster parents, Ian and Narelle (both voiced by Paul Capsis), whose beige, normal representation is contorted when you learn that they are nudist swingers. From that moment, anything they do is hilarious, helping balance out the heaviness of the plot.
Adam Elliot’s ability to find absurdity in the absolute depths of despair within his script is unparalleled and speaks to the thesis of Memoir of a Snail – joy is never out of reach, and hope keeps us alive. The dreams each character holds onto have opposing effects on the movie. On the one hand, they elevate the story from being pure hurt. On the other, seeing dreams dashed away leaves a whirlpool in your stomach. Grace’s belief in her brother’s eventual rescue is the one thing that gets her out of bed, and once it dissipates, she stops being an active force in her own life.
Though painful to watch, Grace’s narrative highlights something beautiful about the power a sole dream can have over the way we decide to see our lives. This theme is explored beautifully and subtly throughout the film, enabled to do so through the incredible range of stop-motion animation on display. The characters’ huge ping-pong-ball-shaped eyes allow for great expression, but the star of the show is the shape of their mouths. Their malleability adds to the expressiveness of their faces tenfold, and the way they curl between poses is so satisfying to watch. Each person’s mouth seems to move differently, too, subliminally adding to their characterization.
On-set props are also perfectly sculpted. Whether it’s a street sign, a car, a book, or a bottle of whiskey, everything is immediately recognizable but imbued with Adam Elliot’s visual sensibilities. Memoir of a Snail is the kind of animated film that reminds you why people are crazy enough to commit their lives to stop-motion storytelling. The way an auteur is given the chance to build every cell of a frame from scratch is an alluring level of control that only a true genius could execute on the level that Memoir of a Snail does.
Looking back has limited value, as is said in Memoir of a Snail, “Life is understood in reverse, but we have to live it forwards.” It’s a Miyazaki-esque ode to the idea that, despite the troubles we’re forced to trudge through, we must try to live on. This means holding onto dreams and finding joy, even when the walls begin to close in. Memoir of a Snail can play as one of the saddest films to come out this decade. However, much like with life, you can choose to see the hope in it.
Memoir of a Snail is full of shades of gray and plays notes of joy and sadness simultaneously for you to decode, leading to an ultimate plea to look more forward than back. Adam Elliot’s latest forces you to make your way through the dark to find that hope, implanting knots in your stomach while sowing the seeds for an eventual kernel of warmth in your heart.
Memoir of a Snail premieres in Limited Release in the U.S. on October 25!
Release Date: October 25, 2024 (U.S.) & October 17 (Australia).
Directed by Adam Elliot.
Written by Adam Elliot.
Producers: Liz Kearney and Adam Elliot.
Main Voice Cast: Sarah Snook, Charlotte Belsey, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Mason Litsos, Eric Bana, Magda Szubanski, Dominique Pinon, Tony Armstrong, Paul Capsis, Jacki Weaver, Bernie Clifford, Davey Thompson, & Nick Cave.
Composer: Elena Kats-Chernin.
Production Companies: Arenamedia & Snails Pace Films.
Distributor: Madman Entertainment.
Runtime: 94 minutes.
Rated R.
