Memoir of a Snail: life is bittersweet in Adam Elliot’s stop-motion tragicomedy
Adam Elliot’s claymation family portrait is crafted with love but the film’s relentless bleakness can be hard to take, writes Ivie Uzebu, one of the critics on this year’s LFF Critics Mentorship Programme.
Reviewed from the 2024 BFI London Film Festival
Loosely inspired by overheard conversations and the idiosyncrasies of his family members, the semi-autobiographical tragicomedies of Adam Elliot’s filmography always handle delicate, bittersweet stories with immense care. The stop-motion animator’s latest feel-bad ‘clayography’ Memoir of a Snail explores how easily the guards we put up to protect ourselves can become their own prison, and what can be done to escape it.
Christened ‘The Crown Prince of Plasticine’, Elliot is fascinated by the lives of outsiders whose swirls – according to the protagonist in his latest film – run “opposite to the others”. The oddball at the centre of Memoir of a Snail comes in the form of Grace “Gracie” Pudel (Succession’s Sarah Snook), a woman who finds joy in hoarding snail ornaments that is said to be inspired by Elliot’s mother and close friend. A twentysomething Grace assumes the position of narrator, retelling her life story-to-date (seen through flashbacks) to her cherished pet snail, Sylvia – named after her late mother’s favourite author (Plath). As a child, Grace was close to her twin, Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee), but when their father Percy suddenly passed away, the two were separated by the foster care system, causing Grace to withdraw.
The claymation feature, a clear labour of love that was recently awarded the Best Feature Film prize at the 2024 BFI London Film Festival, was developed over an eight-year period. Set in Canberra, it’s all beautifully, unapologetically Australian, complete with a trip to Luna amusement park and characters who munch on Chiko Rolls.
Like Elliot’s last feature Mary and Max (2009), the film explores an unlikely intergenerational friendship: Pinky, an elderly woman who once worked as a table dancer, becomes a key player in Grace’s life. Their relationship, and Grace’s enduring hope that she’ll be reunited with her twin, helps her persevere in the face of grief. But soon, as Grace puts it, her “mundane world slowly [begins] to collapse”. And so too does the purpose of her misery – which appears at times, excessive. The film descends into a series of misfortunes, eroding its structure and leaving audiences to reckon with the elevated levels of tragedy unfolding. Grace remarks that sadness “seemed to be the fourth member of [her] family”, and it, likewise, becomes an additional character within the narrative. At times, Memoir of a Snail (2024) appears to be missing the light touch and maturity of the writer-director’s previous work. It risks becoming heavy-handed – fingerprints still visible on the clay figurines.
But Elliot does eventually rescue us from this blaze of bleakness – the final act resembling an extended encore as we reach the welcome release of the dénouement. Composer Elena Kats Chernin’s soaring strings spiral through the score, underlining the potency of Grace’s platonic love and sibling connection in the face of life’s adversities. It invites us, alongside Grace, to shed our shells, and leave our trail of anguish behind.
► Memoir of a Snail arrives in UK cinemas 14 February 2025.